This story, quite literally, came to me in a dream last night. I wrote it down as quickly as I could so I'd get the details right. Probably one of the more vivid dreams I've ever had. Comments are welcome. Enjoy!
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Street Configuration
"Hey man, you got any money?" It was a dirty, blonde girl asking, wearing a cockeyed, black toque on her head, indignance written all over her face.
"Um, no. Sorry," I lied. Sure, I had cash on me. But I wasn't about to give it away to a bunch of street kids. I just minded my own business, sitting on a bench, enjoying some scenery, feeding pigeons. Just killing time, really. And the last thing I wanted was some homeless kid hassling me for spare change.
She scoffed. "You don't have to lie, you know. You could just say you don't want to give me anything."
"Okay. I don't want to give you anything. Is that better?"
"Fuck you, man," she steamed, walking off. Well, more like shuffling.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Why couldn't people just leave me alone?
A few minutes later: "Hey, can you spare a few bucks?"
Before I even opened my eyes, I started with, "Look, I already told you..." And then, when they were open, I realized it wasn't the same girl. "Oh, sorry. You're a different one."
She nodded her head. Definitely not the same girl. This one had brown hair, thinner overall, wearing a barely-held-together pair of glasses. One of the lenses was jet black. I didn't know if that meant she was blind in one eye or the original lens got busted and she just thought this looked better--cooler, maybe? "So, what do you say?"
I sighed. "I just don't hand money out to strangers, okay? It's nothing personal."
She shrugged. "That's fine. Doesn't hurt to ask." She smiled and scampered off. She didn't seem at all upset about it, which was fine with me. Last thing I needed was homeless people drama.
I decided I'd had enough of this and pulled out my phone. I browsed through the shortcuts stored in it. Still getting accustomed to the listings, I picked one at random to see where it'd take me. I hit the button on "ny187." A moment later, I found myself sitting on a bed in a dark bedroom, a lit hallway to my left, leading into a living room with a burly black guy wearing a wife-beater, sitting way too close to his TV, trying to enjoy his dinner. He didn't even notice my presence, and I made haste to hit another shortcut as fast as I could.
I chose "ny141." The street again. A nicer area, this time. No bums, anyway. It was just something I never got used to, being constantly hassled for money. I didn't care if they wanted charity or were just trying to sell me stuff. Not interested. Please, leave me the hell alone! I strolled through an area with all the signs in Ukrainian. Neon lights. Everyone ignored me, just the way I preferred it. But somehow, I ended up thinking about that girl. The second one, with the funny glasses. The one I met on the bench at ny122.
I wondered if I should go back, if she'd still be there. Now, I didn't feel the least bit guilty about brushing off the first one. But the second one... I don't know, maybe that was her scam. Her smile and charm, using them to get to people. To get things from them. I could be so cynical sometimes. But I found you'd rarely go wrong assuming the worst about people.
And yet, I went back anyway. Back to that bench. She must have seen me because she showed up again. "Back so soon?"
"Um... yeah." I honestly didn't know why. I just felt a need to be there. Well, to see her, really. Curiosity, maybe?
"I don't suppose you have money for me this time, do you?" There was nothing but politeness in her tone, mind you. Not demanding in any way.
"I guess I'm just curious as to why you do this--I mean, why you live on the street, begging for money. Assuming that's what you do."
She stood in front of me, folding her arms, a little taken aback by my probing into her personal life, but she didn't run off or leave me hanging. "Yeah, I'm what you'd call 'homeless,' all right. But people don't know what that really means."
"What happened? Were you abused or something? Orphaned? Kicked out on the street by your parents?"
"Well... no. I have great parents, actually. They always treated me well. I just did this for myself."
"Why, did you do something wrong? What the hell are you punishing yourself for?"
She laughed. "You think this is a punishment? I love it out here. I don't have to answer to anyone. I can do what I want, when I want. Keep any schedule I like. Sure, it has its downsides, and I wouldn't say it's for everyone, but I wouldn't give it up for anything."
"And what do you do with the money people give you? I suspect you aren't saving it up to get yourself off the street, then."
She shook her head. "No way. I just spend it on whatever I need. Food, water, pot. Whatever. I try to split it with the others, too."
"Others?"
"Well, yeah, there are whole groups of us that stick together. Helps everybody through the lean times, you know?"
I suppose it made sense. Being the logical, inquisitive type, I started formulating how they'd split up territory, pool their take, and then vote on how to spend it. Something like that. A little like oldschool piracy, maybe, only they asked instead of just taking by force. I admit I was pretty fascinated by the whole idea, but I couldn't wrap my head around the notion of being de facto homeless.
"You look like you're thinking pretty hard," she said, sounding a tiny bit impatient. A nice way of asking, "You gonna give me some money or not?" She did answer my questions. I didn't want to be a prick and leave her with nothing.
"Yeah, sorry. Just kind of curious about all this."
"If you really want to know about us, you could just tag along with me for a while."
"Seriously?" What kind of offer was that? "Is that safe?"
She chuckled again. "About as safe as doing anything in this city. What, you think we're a bunch of savages who'll cook you in a stew? We aren't that hungry."
She did not, in fact, wait for an answer. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me along.
I couldn't tell you exactly where we went. When she noticed me playing with my phone, she stole it for a moment and punched a bunch of buttons. "Hey, what the hell are you doing? That thing cost a fortune!"
I tried to reach around her to snatch it back, but she deftly ducked and swerved to avoid my hands. "Jeez, you think I've never seen a fancy phone before? Here!" She tossed it back to me. "I put a new shortcut in. If we get separated, just go to ny555. They'll take care of you."
I took her at her word and we kept walking. It had grown dark, and we were moving into parts of town I'd never seen before. Old buildings. Abandoned. They looked like warehouses. And it was very quiet. Just gray-brown structures of varying heights, some dotted with square windows, otherwise nondescript, like some forgotten, modern ruin.
I heard voices as we kept going, and she seemed to know where we were headed, so I decided to trust her for the time being. She hadn't led me to think I shouldn't--plus, I could always use a shortcut to get the hell out, if the need arose.
Where we wound up was outside a warehouse surrounded by a chain-link fence. Others were already gathered here, people who looked like my new friend--a bit dirty, old-looking clothes, seeming to be either skinny or fat, with little in between. Some kind of ruckus broke out within the fence, but I couldn't really see. She went to get a better look, pushing through some of the others. I lost sight of her momentarily, then she came back, looking a bit panicked. "You need to take cover, okay? Over there." She pointed to her left, an area near the edge of the fence, cloaked in shadow. A couple people were walking dogs there, minding their own business, I guess. I nodded in acknowledgment.
"It's Reggie," she said. "Fucking cops are on him. Remember, 555." She threw her jacket onto the ground and rushed back through the crowd and, I figured, inside the fence. I heard shouting as I moved toward the shadows. Just in time, too: four police cruisers crashed the scene, busting out megaphones. They were so fucking loud I couldn't make out what they said--just sounded like explosions right against my eardrums. The dogs didn't like it, either. The doberman went wild, barking like crazy, and the other dog--this little snot-nosed Jack Russel--broke its lead and rushed me, for some reason. I lost my bearings for a second and rammed against the wall, trying to get away. But I must have hit my phone, because I landed on a bed. More than that, it was one I'd seen before. The lit hallway. The TV. Oh, and the black guy was standing in the corridor, looking pissed. "Motherfucker! The fuck you doin' in my house?"
"Uhh, umm..." I just stammered, trying to buy time, fumbling with my phone. Five-five-five. Fucking five-five-five. He took a swing at me right as I executed the shortcut.
Kids rushed past me, almost knocking me down. Well, teenagers. Young adults. Not really "kids." They knew what they were doing. They seemed happy, running through what looked like a tunnel. I recognized the general layout of a subway station. But it wasn't a modern one with electronic displays on every wall, super-high-speed light rail, all that stuff. Nope. Just bricks and frayed posters, decayed maps, rusting rails. Old-fashioned turnstyles.
One of them stopped and turned around, fixing his eyes on me. "You lost, mister?"
"Maybe."
He tilted his head in the direction the others were headed. "Come on."
Well, what else was I going to do? I followed him. I counted them up--eight--jumping over the turnstyles. I tried to push through a few of them, but they wouldn't budget. I found one that spun freely and moved through it. Beyond that, there was a cluster of antique arcade games. Things I hadn't seen since childhood. They swarmed the games, which still, it would seem, worked perfectly. Although I was tempted to try one, I really just wanted to know where I was. Not wishing to distract the kids playing games, I wandered around a corner and found several more crowded onto a couch, watching a television, the old cathode tube kind. What did they do, dig all this stuff up out of the garbage? Well... yeah, probably.
They were laughing, watching something they thought was funny. "Hi," I said in a moment of silence, getting their attention.
"Hey man," one of them greeted. "Who the hell are you?" Sure, he had a flippant tone, but he wasn't being a jerk. Just his idea of "friendly," I think.
"I was, uh, sent here, actually. By one of your friends, I think?"
"Which one?" Kid crossed his arms, like he was testing me. Dark bangs nearly covered his eyes. I wondered how that didn't bother the hell out of him, but I kept my mouth shut about it.
"You know what, I don't think I even got her name. Brown hair, glasses, one of the lenses was all black. Nice girl."
"Oh!" he snapped his fingers. "That's Jennifer. If you're okay with her, you're okay with us."
"Where is she? We were up at some warehouse and there was a fight, and I think she... joined in or something?"
"Yeah, fucking pigs were whaling on Reggie. She's always the one to jump right in."
"Oh. Is she okay?"
He shrugged. "She probably got banged up, but they took her in."
"When will she be back?"
He laughed, as if amused I didn't know. Shit, I'd never even had a ticket, much less been arrested for anything. "She'll be out in six to eight weeks, bro. I'm kinda jealous. She'll be getting three squares a day, for free, dude."
"Yeah, but it's still jail," I reminded. "Probably not the kind of place she'd prefer to be."
"You got that right. So, what's your story?"
"Story? I don't know... I don't really have one." I reached into my pocket to check my phone, and some change and a couple dollar bills fell out, onto the floor. "Shit," I swore under my breath, leaning down to pick up the money.
"Hey, I know you probably hear this all the time, but can you spare any of that?"
Yeah, I couldn't exactly say I didn't have any money this time. "You know, to be honest, I don't like to give out money to beggars, because I feel like I'd have to give some to all of them, and frankly I just don't have enough to do that! No offense. I mean, do you have a 'common fund' or something I could just put some money in? I don't want to leave anyone out."
He shrugged. "We'd just split it anyway, no matter who you gave it to. It's no big deal. I think it's the people who give us money that are more worried about it than we are."
"Well, in that case..." I dug into my pocket and pulled out a fifty note. "Here." I handed it over. "I hope that helps you kids out. But I should probably get going, myself."
"Yeah? You know your way back here?"
"I think so." As long as I kept "ny555," that is. "You sure you want me to come back?"
"Well, you might check back now and then. Jennifer would probably be happy to see you, you know, once she gets out."
"I'll think about it," I promised, punching "ny100," back to my apartment.
----
Street Configuration
"Hey man, you got any money?" It was a dirty, blonde girl asking, wearing a cockeyed, black toque on her head, indignance written all over her face.
"Um, no. Sorry," I lied. Sure, I had cash on me. But I wasn't about to give it away to a bunch of street kids. I just minded my own business, sitting on a bench, enjoying some scenery, feeding pigeons. Just killing time, really. And the last thing I wanted was some homeless kid hassling me for spare change.
She scoffed. "You don't have to lie, you know. You could just say you don't want to give me anything."
"Okay. I don't want to give you anything. Is that better?"
"Fuck you, man," she steamed, walking off. Well, more like shuffling.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Why couldn't people just leave me alone?
A few minutes later: "Hey, can you spare a few bucks?"
Before I even opened my eyes, I started with, "Look, I already told you..." And then, when they were open, I realized it wasn't the same girl. "Oh, sorry. You're a different one."
She nodded her head. Definitely not the same girl. This one had brown hair, thinner overall, wearing a barely-held-together pair of glasses. One of the lenses was jet black. I didn't know if that meant she was blind in one eye or the original lens got busted and she just thought this looked better--cooler, maybe? "So, what do you say?"
I sighed. "I just don't hand money out to strangers, okay? It's nothing personal."
She shrugged. "That's fine. Doesn't hurt to ask." She smiled and scampered off. She didn't seem at all upset about it, which was fine with me. Last thing I needed was homeless people drama.
I decided I'd had enough of this and pulled out my phone. I browsed through the shortcuts stored in it. Still getting accustomed to the listings, I picked one at random to see where it'd take me. I hit the button on "ny187." A moment later, I found myself sitting on a bed in a dark bedroom, a lit hallway to my left, leading into a living room with a burly black guy wearing a wife-beater, sitting way too close to his TV, trying to enjoy his dinner. He didn't even notice my presence, and I made haste to hit another shortcut as fast as I could.
I chose "ny141." The street again. A nicer area, this time. No bums, anyway. It was just something I never got used to, being constantly hassled for money. I didn't care if they wanted charity or were just trying to sell me stuff. Not interested. Please, leave me the hell alone! I strolled through an area with all the signs in Ukrainian. Neon lights. Everyone ignored me, just the way I preferred it. But somehow, I ended up thinking about that girl. The second one, with the funny glasses. The one I met on the bench at ny122.
I wondered if I should go back, if she'd still be there. Now, I didn't feel the least bit guilty about brushing off the first one. But the second one... I don't know, maybe that was her scam. Her smile and charm, using them to get to people. To get things from them. I could be so cynical sometimes. But I found you'd rarely go wrong assuming the worst about people.
And yet, I went back anyway. Back to that bench. She must have seen me because she showed up again. "Back so soon?"
"Um... yeah." I honestly didn't know why. I just felt a need to be there. Well, to see her, really. Curiosity, maybe?
"I don't suppose you have money for me this time, do you?" There was nothing but politeness in her tone, mind you. Not demanding in any way.
"I guess I'm just curious as to why you do this--I mean, why you live on the street, begging for money. Assuming that's what you do."
She stood in front of me, folding her arms, a little taken aback by my probing into her personal life, but she didn't run off or leave me hanging. "Yeah, I'm what you'd call 'homeless,' all right. But people don't know what that really means."
"What happened? Were you abused or something? Orphaned? Kicked out on the street by your parents?"
"Well... no. I have great parents, actually. They always treated me well. I just did this for myself."
"Why, did you do something wrong? What the hell are you punishing yourself for?"
She laughed. "You think this is a punishment? I love it out here. I don't have to answer to anyone. I can do what I want, when I want. Keep any schedule I like. Sure, it has its downsides, and I wouldn't say it's for everyone, but I wouldn't give it up for anything."
"And what do you do with the money people give you? I suspect you aren't saving it up to get yourself off the street, then."
She shook her head. "No way. I just spend it on whatever I need. Food, water, pot. Whatever. I try to split it with the others, too."
"Others?"
"Well, yeah, there are whole groups of us that stick together. Helps everybody through the lean times, you know?"
I suppose it made sense. Being the logical, inquisitive type, I started formulating how they'd split up territory, pool their take, and then vote on how to spend it. Something like that. A little like oldschool piracy, maybe, only they asked instead of just taking by force. I admit I was pretty fascinated by the whole idea, but I couldn't wrap my head around the notion of being de facto homeless.
"You look like you're thinking pretty hard," she said, sounding a tiny bit impatient. A nice way of asking, "You gonna give me some money or not?" She did answer my questions. I didn't want to be a prick and leave her with nothing.
"Yeah, sorry. Just kind of curious about all this."
"If you really want to know about us, you could just tag along with me for a while."
"Seriously?" What kind of offer was that? "Is that safe?"
She chuckled again. "About as safe as doing anything in this city. What, you think we're a bunch of savages who'll cook you in a stew? We aren't that hungry."
She did not, in fact, wait for an answer. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me along.
I couldn't tell you exactly where we went. When she noticed me playing with my phone, she stole it for a moment and punched a bunch of buttons. "Hey, what the hell are you doing? That thing cost a fortune!"
I tried to reach around her to snatch it back, but she deftly ducked and swerved to avoid my hands. "Jeez, you think I've never seen a fancy phone before? Here!" She tossed it back to me. "I put a new shortcut in. If we get separated, just go to ny555. They'll take care of you."
I took her at her word and we kept walking. It had grown dark, and we were moving into parts of town I'd never seen before. Old buildings. Abandoned. They looked like warehouses. And it was very quiet. Just gray-brown structures of varying heights, some dotted with square windows, otherwise nondescript, like some forgotten, modern ruin.
I heard voices as we kept going, and she seemed to know where we were headed, so I decided to trust her for the time being. She hadn't led me to think I shouldn't--plus, I could always use a shortcut to get the hell out, if the need arose.
Where we wound up was outside a warehouse surrounded by a chain-link fence. Others were already gathered here, people who looked like my new friend--a bit dirty, old-looking clothes, seeming to be either skinny or fat, with little in between. Some kind of ruckus broke out within the fence, but I couldn't really see. She went to get a better look, pushing through some of the others. I lost sight of her momentarily, then she came back, looking a bit panicked. "You need to take cover, okay? Over there." She pointed to her left, an area near the edge of the fence, cloaked in shadow. A couple people were walking dogs there, minding their own business, I guess. I nodded in acknowledgment.
"It's Reggie," she said. "Fucking cops are on him. Remember, 555." She threw her jacket onto the ground and rushed back through the crowd and, I figured, inside the fence. I heard shouting as I moved toward the shadows. Just in time, too: four police cruisers crashed the scene, busting out megaphones. They were so fucking loud I couldn't make out what they said--just sounded like explosions right against my eardrums. The dogs didn't like it, either. The doberman went wild, barking like crazy, and the other dog--this little snot-nosed Jack Russel--broke its lead and rushed me, for some reason. I lost my bearings for a second and rammed against the wall, trying to get away. But I must have hit my phone, because I landed on a bed. More than that, it was one I'd seen before. The lit hallway. The TV. Oh, and the black guy was standing in the corridor, looking pissed. "Motherfucker! The fuck you doin' in my house?"
"Uhh, umm..." I just stammered, trying to buy time, fumbling with my phone. Five-five-five. Fucking five-five-five. He took a swing at me right as I executed the shortcut.
Kids rushed past me, almost knocking me down. Well, teenagers. Young adults. Not really "kids." They knew what they were doing. They seemed happy, running through what looked like a tunnel. I recognized the general layout of a subway station. But it wasn't a modern one with electronic displays on every wall, super-high-speed light rail, all that stuff. Nope. Just bricks and frayed posters, decayed maps, rusting rails. Old-fashioned turnstyles.
One of them stopped and turned around, fixing his eyes on me. "You lost, mister?"
"Maybe."
He tilted his head in the direction the others were headed. "Come on."
Well, what else was I going to do? I followed him. I counted them up--eight--jumping over the turnstyles. I tried to push through a few of them, but they wouldn't budget. I found one that spun freely and moved through it. Beyond that, there was a cluster of antique arcade games. Things I hadn't seen since childhood. They swarmed the games, which still, it would seem, worked perfectly. Although I was tempted to try one, I really just wanted to know where I was. Not wishing to distract the kids playing games, I wandered around a corner and found several more crowded onto a couch, watching a television, the old cathode tube kind. What did they do, dig all this stuff up out of the garbage? Well... yeah, probably.
They were laughing, watching something they thought was funny. "Hi," I said in a moment of silence, getting their attention.
"Hey man," one of them greeted. "Who the hell are you?" Sure, he had a flippant tone, but he wasn't being a jerk. Just his idea of "friendly," I think.
"I was, uh, sent here, actually. By one of your friends, I think?"
"Which one?" Kid crossed his arms, like he was testing me. Dark bangs nearly covered his eyes. I wondered how that didn't bother the hell out of him, but I kept my mouth shut about it.
"You know what, I don't think I even got her name. Brown hair, glasses, one of the lenses was all black. Nice girl."
"Oh!" he snapped his fingers. "That's Jennifer. If you're okay with her, you're okay with us."
"Where is she? We were up at some warehouse and there was a fight, and I think she... joined in or something?"
"Yeah, fucking pigs were whaling on Reggie. She's always the one to jump right in."
"Oh. Is she okay?"
He shrugged. "She probably got banged up, but they took her in."
"When will she be back?"
He laughed, as if amused I didn't know. Shit, I'd never even had a ticket, much less been arrested for anything. "She'll be out in six to eight weeks, bro. I'm kinda jealous. She'll be getting three squares a day, for free, dude."
"Yeah, but it's still jail," I reminded. "Probably not the kind of place she'd prefer to be."
"You got that right. So, what's your story?"
"Story? I don't know... I don't really have one." I reached into my pocket to check my phone, and some change and a couple dollar bills fell out, onto the floor. "Shit," I swore under my breath, leaning down to pick up the money.
"Hey, I know you probably hear this all the time, but can you spare any of that?"
Yeah, I couldn't exactly say I didn't have any money this time. "You know, to be honest, I don't like to give out money to beggars, because I feel like I'd have to give some to all of them, and frankly I just don't have enough to do that! No offense. I mean, do you have a 'common fund' or something I could just put some money in? I don't want to leave anyone out."
He shrugged. "We'd just split it anyway, no matter who you gave it to. It's no big deal. I think it's the people who give us money that are more worried about it than we are."
"Well, in that case..." I dug into my pocket and pulled out a fifty note. "Here." I handed it over. "I hope that helps you kids out. But I should probably get going, myself."
"Yeah? You know your way back here?"
"I think so." As long as I kept "ny555," that is. "You sure you want me to come back?"
"Well, you might check back now and then. Jennifer would probably be happy to see you, you know, once she gets out."
"I'll think about it," I promised, punching "ny100," back to my apartment.
I dig through what I have and see what I want to post, keeping your tastes in mind.
