Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Gathering some sense, I get down on my knees beside the bed and reach under to pull out Dino’s emergency duffle. Unzipping it, I check the contents. Money, guns, false passports. Opening the passports, I find one with my photo but a different name.
Perfect.
Taking the duffle across the room to the walk-in closet, I shift the clothes on the hangers to reveal the safe. I open it in record time and unceremoniously throw stacks of hundreds into the bag. Quickly walking to the drawers, I grab piles of clothes and throw them in beside the money.
This is it.
My life in one bag.
Sad.
That is so sad.
But I won’t dwell on the past. I’m going to leave the past where it belongs.
Behind me.
Without a backward glance, I walk out of my house, leaving the front door wide open, and get into my car. Once I start driving, I open the window and throw my wedding ring into oncoming traffic.
And as I do that, I laugh.
Living on the streets could be worse.
When I say it could be worse, I mean I could be doing worse things than sharing a blunt with a homeless guy, Joseph, down his alley. And when I say his alley, I fucking mean it. From the discarded, torn brown sofa to the small chest of drawers with his few items of clothes in it, this alley is his home.
Happened to meet Joseph when an older homeless guy, Wilbur, kindly offered me a tin metal hat spouting all kinds of shit about government conspiracies and microchips inserted into the brains of unknowing citizens. According to Wilbur, if you want to scramble the chip, you gotta wear the hat. Joseph came out of his alley, wearing one of those stupid fucking hats, and looked to me, smirking. “Sorry about that. Wilbur,” he called to the crazy dude, “come on down here and tell me one of your stories.”
But Wilbur had other ideas. “No. I’m making a friend, Joe.”
Joseph looked at me with pity and amusement. “No gettin’ away now. He’s claimed you.”
It had been a long time since I had spoken to anyone. The company—for once—was welcome. Kept me from thoughts I shouldn’t have been thinking anyway. “No problem.”
Don’t ask me how it happened, but not five minutes later, down Joseph’s alley, while we wore tin foil hats, Wilbur told us about the time he won a hand of cards against Elvis.
After Wilbur told us about the time he dated Marilyn Monroe, he called it a night, and I was left with Joseph. I could tell immediately that this guy was a good guy. Gave off a distinct vibe that yelled safe. I introduced myself, and he shook my hand, nice and firm. And for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why the fuck this dude was homeless. I pried, but all he told me was, “I’m better off here than I was working.”
We shot the breeze for an hour then I took off. Joe offered his couch for the night if I had nowhere to stay, and although I had nowhere else to go, I declined.
Now, a week later, here I sit on the moldy-smelling couch, playing puff-puff-pass with my new friend.
Comfortable in the silence, we watch people walk by in a rush. They’re always in a rush. Five years ago, I was in a rush. Five years ago, I was one of those people. Now, I’ve got all the time in the world.
Looking up at the starless night sky, I gaze over at my companion. “You ever miss it?”
Joseph doesn’t need me to break it down. He gets me. “No.”
“Not even a bit?” I push. “You don’t miss having a nice car and a roof over your head? You don’t miss women?”
“Okay, I miss women.” He exaggeratedly shakes his head sadly and sighs. “No chick wants to fuck a homeless guy. It’s just not sexy.”
High as a fucking kite, I laugh. I laugh because it’s true. I laugh and laugh till the memory of her smiling face makes my gut churn. Inhaling the smoke, I then exhale and admit out loud for the first time ever, “I miss my woman. And my son. I’d give anything to be with them tonight.”
Joe plucks the blunt from my fingers, inhaling. As he exhales, he prods, “And that’s not an option?”
I shake my head, looking out into the street. “Not until I take care of business.”
A heavy hand slaps me on the back. “Then take care of business, bro.”
Leaning back on the ripped brown sofa, I place my hands behind my head, close my eyes and sigh. “Yeah. Working on it.”
I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep till I woke up on Joe’s couch with Joe nowhere to be found. I felt like an asshole taking his bed from him, forcing him somewhere else for the night.