Death...it is the one word that I've come up with to define her. Her is the same as lots of us...an outcast. Although she comes and goes...as deaths do. Shes mysterious...as many deaths are. One way shes not like death is that shes alive, and I'd expect she wants to stay that way...for now at least. Thus, we all have the same goal...to live. It was during chasing for this goal that we met.
I had woken early that morning, fully aware of the pain of starvation that quickly made me clutch my stomach. I almost had enough money to buy a bagel, that I was now staring at hungrily from across the the street in my so called "bed" (which amounted to three holed up couch cushions and a table cloth that had been thrown out the night before...a good find on my part). A crisp wind shwished past moving my hair in front of my eyes, reminding me that winter was on its way. Summer was easy to survive in, but I'd only been through one winter and let me tell you, its not all pizza and blowjobs. It was hard, not only did you have to get food but you also had to find heated shelter. Which was usually a public library. I got up, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the cold brick wall behind me. My mind slowly drifted to family and home (if you could call it that). And all the days spent in "America's dairyland" A.K.A Wisconsin. Jesus Christ that place was fake. Fake friends, fake communities, fake everything. My dad was a shoes sales man, which eventually led him to being a alcoholic. And a good one at that. But I couldn't blame him, that's what happens when you have such a pathetic job and your wife has just found out you cheated on her. And what my mom did ( other then getting cheated on) was something I refer to as...a prostitute. Which was another interesting fact that she confide to me and my dad as she stormed out of our umm..."home" (consisting of a tin can on wheels). So yes I suppose you could say my home life was unsatisfying. Which is what eventually brought me here...Chicago, a city of lights, crime, and adventure. Or so I thought when I first got here. But soon this all dissipated and became like everything else I ever knew about...it became fake. Lights eventually went out, all the criminals were soon caught, and the closest thing I've had to an adventure is when me and my cousin went to chuck-E-cheeses and I punched that fucking rat in the face for tryin' to grab my ass. But the funny thing was that he shouted surprise right before he did it. Thinking about all this started to make me feel strange. A kind of strange you can't quite explain. I then opened my eyes, threw the butt on the ground, and stepped on it as I walked away...possibly to scout out more possible winter homes ( A.K.A public libraries).