4:30 am....
Oops I forgot I’m homeless; we don’t get up that early.
10:00 am. That’s better. (At an undisclosed location.)
I get up out of my sleeping bag and, as usual, I urinate on my shoes. I don’t care, I’m homeless. After that, I go over and wake up my invisible friend Rick. He’s got some pretty serious mental health issues but, hey, he’s still my friend. Morning! Did you sleep okay? Without saying a word Rick takes a long swig off the K.D. and just gets up and pees on his shoes. Where do you want to eat today Rick? I said!! Where do you want to eat today?
Rick has that look, a look I’ve seen too many times before, like he has other plans. Rick hits a roach. “This place is a mess!” Rick says in a loud shrill voice, blowing out smoke at the same time. “What? What do you mean? I like our camp; it has all the comforts of home,” I say. “It’s all junk,” Rick replies, “nothing but junk.” “Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Let’s go get rid of it in the dumpster over there.” There’s that look again. “No, I got a better idea, let’s take it to the other side of the river, across the bridge, around the corner and four blocks down to the Ballpark neighborhood. Let's piss ‘em off and drop it all in their neighborhood.”
So I strapped the old mattress that has been at the camp for at least as long as Rick has, to my back. Tied the old dresser drawers on to the mattress, filled all the drawers full of the litter that is strewn around the camp (a lot of beer cans and whiskey bottles, you know, homeless people garbage) and put my trusty spray paint can up under my ball cap so as no one would see it. I’m sneaky like that. I got on my bike and off I went across the river, over the bridge, around the corner and four blocks down.
Rick always beats me to wherever it is we’re going, and he don’t even own a bike. “What took you so long?” Rick asks. Damn dude, I got all this junk on my back and I thought the cops seen my spray paint, so I had to give ‘em the slip,” I lied and handed Rick the spray paint.
I dumped the mattress in the most obvious dumpster that I could find, unpacked the dresser of all the litter, and threw the dresser against the wall. CRASH!! Then I proceeded to strategically place all the litter in the streets and the alleys.
After all this I decided to knock out a quick painting with Rick. When I got back to the alley where Rick was, there were three of the local drug dealers helping Rick paint all their social security numbers on the garage door, along with some very lifelike self-portraits. Very impressive, I said to my favorite drug dealer, but don’t forget the mole under your right eye. I pissed in the corner.
Oops I forgot I’m homeless; we don’t get up that early.
10:00 am. That’s better. (At an undisclosed location.)
I get up out of my sleeping bag and, as usual, I urinate on my shoes. I don’t care, I’m homeless. After that, I go over and wake up my invisible friend Rick. He’s got some pretty serious mental health issues but, hey, he’s still my friend. Morning! Did you sleep okay? Without saying a word Rick takes a long swig off the K.D. and just gets up and pees on his shoes. Where do you want to eat today Rick? I said!! Where do you want to eat today?
Rick has that look, a look I’ve seen too many times before, like he has other plans. Rick hits a roach. “This place is a mess!” Rick says in a loud shrill voice, blowing out smoke at the same time. “What? What do you mean? I like our camp; it has all the comforts of home,” I say. “It’s all junk,” Rick replies, “nothing but junk.” “Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Let’s go get rid of it in the dumpster over there.” There’s that look again. “No, I got a better idea, let’s take it to the other side of the river, across the bridge, around the corner and four blocks down to the Ballpark neighborhood. Let's piss ‘em off and drop it all in their neighborhood.”
So I strapped the old mattress that has been at the camp for at least as long as Rick has, to my back. Tied the old dresser drawers on to the mattress, filled all the drawers full of the litter that is strewn around the camp (a lot of beer cans and whiskey bottles, you know, homeless people garbage) and put my trusty spray paint can up under my ball cap so as no one would see it. I’m sneaky like that. I got on my bike and off I went across the river, over the bridge, around the corner and four blocks down.
Rick always beats me to wherever it is we’re going, and he don’t even own a bike. “What took you so long?” Rick asks. Damn dude, I got all this junk on my back and I thought the cops seen my spray paint, so I had to give ‘em the slip,” I lied and handed Rick the spray paint.
I dumped the mattress in the most obvious dumpster that I could find, unpacked the dresser of all the litter, and threw the dresser against the wall. CRASH!! Then I proceeded to strategically place all the litter in the streets and the alleys.
After all this I decided to knock out a quick painting with Rick. When I got back to the alley where Rick was, there were three of the local drug dealers helping Rick paint all their social security numbers on the garage door, along with some very lifelike self-portraits. Very impressive, I said to my favorite drug dealer, but don’t forget the mole under your right eye. I pissed in the corner.
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