Tuesday, June 2, 2015

homeless shelter

in the nook of mountains forged a small warm community that devoted the subtle movements strung toghterher into modest lives of mormon pioneer people.  the city grew and has always been economically sound.  there was a place where most rejects went even somewhere that was out of bounds for police to trespass.  the homeless shelter became the hub of money and drugs in the whole state.  imagine the hallway of a brooklyn projects multiplied by oakland corner drug dealers and all the crack dens poorer into one melting pot of sinister existence.  kids aged 10 - 35 with their pulled up face masks, occasional wool blanket and hungry look in their eyes.  the mexicans dominated the west end crosswalk corner where anyone walking across was pummeled with hispanic shouting you could only understand is, i have drugs if you need gringo.  I never spoke spanish but always planned on it.  during a desperate impulse a young man named cramer finally decided to see what this “shelter” was all about.  he had heard stories from aquantences in rehab.  he asked advice from one of these friends and they said to go to the porter potties in the back of the shelter.  this is where cramer encountered the spanish attack as he squoze his muscles upward and walked directly to the line of orange plastic outdoor bathrooms.  on the way he made eye contact with an old black crack head, he said “i’m looking for tina”  the crackhead tried to get him to round the corner and cramer just kept walking to the heart of what looked like the junkie land.  everyone moving back and forth so quickly saying ‘what you need, black, white, needles”  cramer was ddrunk on his friends leftover vodka that was the only way he could handle going to such a place alone.  it was like a dope heads dream, the slum of slums all dumped by the mall that was built years ago for the olympic games.  he decided something he learned in jail, and that was to stick to his own race.  he liked black people so it was easy for him to almost be lead away by them but decided it was best to stick with his own race. he found a guy who helped him buy a stringe from a black guy standing in front of the porter potty, step one get a syringe and step two get meth to shoot for his first time, he usually smoked the pickle jar frankenstein soul deafening substance.  but this time he was adventurous before going to the shelter he had sold his original pressing of the beatles white album to a failing head shop record store for $20  so he was ready to get something for it.  he used to love crack, then things changed.  the guys said they can’t get meth , just crack.  when he heard this his heart skipped a couple beats and eventually was able to reply “i like crack, i want to ttry before i buy so i don’t get burned”  the friends friend telephone line of people confirmed this was ok, and the first guy he had spoken to pulled out his pipe and handed it to cramer.  cramer had forgotten the delicate teqnique that burnt minds had learned after hundreds of wasted dollars and throbbing hot fingers.  he put the white smudge on and tried to melt it into the brillo pad.  this was a failed as he dropped the bowl and they loaded another.  he then had a shitty out door hint taste of vaporized cocaine and was urged to pay the money which he fumbled out and handed over.  the dealer handed him a purple pill bottle with two flat white “rocks”.  he went to open one and asked to use the new “friends” pipe he spilled more and loaded a hit, hit it, loaded a young hispanic boy in his 20’s a hit and he would trade his pipe to him.  chris was the other guy a sweet talking 35 year old from gainsville florida.  he was annoyed with the insane scene of hooded outcasts, pacing behind him, pulling liquid into syringes in clear daylight.  he had decided to ask if chris wanted to cruise and he would share his pipe for share of drugs.  they crossed past the bubbling low life dead beat hollywood to the mall where he had parked his car.  the chris guy proved himself on many occasions and helped me find my car.  so we were off looking for :a chill spot to smoke” we took hits all over the city only staying for a little while at each one, he enjoyed the inhale and then was back to the feeling of need with every exhale.  he had forgotten the stupid blind hungry that followed with submitting to the billow and pipe.  chris had lit the pipe for him so he wouldn’t fuck it up and char it, which in his finding state of mind would shave happened so fast.  he smoked all of it saving none.  and was left with an irritated man smoking black tar heroin.  he dropped him off after exchanging life stories told in fast forward and exchanging numbers.  he drove to a big lots shopping center where he relieved his bladder not he way out he hadn’t touched anything but the shoplifting sensors flared as he ignored and walked past a tied up pit bull screaming at him for blood.   he called and texted all contacts he knew directly in the city and eventually convinced a childhood friend he needed gas money to get home.  she didn’t give him cash, he picked her up and she filled his tank and he was able to talk 15 green faces out of her and drop her back at work, he called chris who was definitely left on an annoyed note and chris was very happy to hear from him and he parked and met up with the florida 35 year old.  he said lets get singles for all 15 so when i hand it to alex it will feel like more money, he never looked at the money.  i trusted this junkie with a little money and we went to the front of the shelter in search of ALEX , he saw alex and so did everyone else, he told me “alex is the shit he comes out once a day and has the best dope, we can get 2 white 2 black for this he won’t count the money”  we were the first to reach alex when my personal bubble was infiltrated by 20 hungry wolves and i and lost chris in the mix.  i was standing there trying to act like i was keeping watch, and was coming to terms with how chris ripped me off when thank god the florida failed salesman had called my cell phone.  thats how i knew this was a good crackhead junkie if anything, even if he lied about his current situation he was excited about alexs goodies and we went to my car where we drove and smoked and i enjoyed this a little emote because i was prepared to instantly say goodbye to the good feeling, and he said smoking heroin after would chill the finding which it did.  we popped around and i had 1 memorable crack hit and the heroin was cool.  chris listened to cramer read a short story he had written with no purpose other that to share his twisted mind.  chris told cramer how weird he looked at the shelter wrongly hitting the crack pipe.  cramer had managed to offend and confuse very homeless lost humans.  that was something that made cramer proud, he also was very happy to have chris excited about this writing as he read his short story to him and they passed a sheet of tinfoil between each other that looked like it was made out of a burger kind sandwich wrapper.  he shared more about his life and then cramer tried to muster up another $20  he got from a girl younger than him from georgia he usually used for sex, this time he got $20 out of her after a long frustrating wait while she got back from starbucks.  luckily cramer got chris back to the sheltingshelter in time for curfew so his bed wouldn’t be lost.  before he left we spent the $20 and he let me smoke all the crack to myself while he held the flame…that was nice of him he thought.  then he drove with his head down nodding and fiending back to his more local scene.  he has been obsessed with the entire existence of the shelter that must have millions flooding through it in drugs and single bills each week.  he never got a chance to use his syringe and even though had met a verbally absusive career drug addict felt kind of gypped, of course everything he spent he shared and he didn’t see how much chris put in his pocket for himself later, but his goal was accomplished and he even met a famous person, a comoditee named alex that was to be treasured and cherished on a silent lonely plane.  this place fucking exists .

1 comment:

jonathan mittiga said...

how have you been? had a dream about you last night.