Mouth: His Story. (Part One)

Reads: 47  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Man deals with living on the streets; this is his story.

Submitted: May 29, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 29, 2017

A A A

A A A


Mouth's the name; ask me again, and I'll tell ya the same.  Sorry for being such a smartass, but being on the streets has made me bitter.  People don't give a hole about us; they'd rather see us die or just disappear, forever.  Nobody cares.

Been on the streets since I was in my twenties; I'm in my forties now.  Tried to get on my feet numerous times, but nobody don't want to have anything to do with me 'cause I don't have much experience and besides, I don't have a permanent address, let alone, a reliable vehicle.  I rely on the kindness of strangers or people givin' me money or even food.  Or even diving into Dumpsters, in the hope of salvaging something edible (hopefully!) or something fresh (like that is gonna happen ...) ....

I had been a ruthless gambler.  Couldn't stop, and I ended up losing it all: my girlfriend, my job, my home, my income, even my health.  My teeth are falling out of my mouth (and am always hurting; can't afford to get to a dentist, though I need to go to one, soon, I know this), and I'm crippled up with worsening arthritis, not to mention, a bum leg that is always givin' me fits (I have sciatic nerve pain, where the pain goes from my ass to the big toe on my left foot); I walk with a beat up forearm crutch I found in the trash a few months ago; it's better'n nothing, I guess.  I know I done wrong, and I am payin' a terrible price.  I could have had the life of Riley; instead I threw it all away, and I'm now payin' the fiddler, as they say.  I kinda got what I deserved.

Theyc all me Mouth 'cause I talk.  A LOT.  Seems my motor is always runnin', can't seem to shut up 'less someone stuffs food into it.  LOL  

I have many friends, even here on the streets.  Some of my buddies include Mushmouth, Turkey-Neck, Pinhead, Goober, Purple (Purple's a gal, not a guy), Methuselah, Tiger, and Action Jackson.  Others have gone on to better things, or some, like Meth-Head, One-Eyed Charlie, and One-Arm, have up and croaked; they are deader'n dead.  I miss them .... I think about them every day and hope they are having a great time in Heaven; one thing's for certain: they're no longer homeless and they must be having a ball hanging around with Jesus and everybody up that way.

Know this much: their lives are far better than mine or my buddies; don't mean to be, but I'm kinda jealous; kinda makes me wish I were dead and up there, so I can be in on the action myself.  Anything's better than this hellhole called the streets; people treat animals better than we homeless folk.  We don't matter to the top cats or to most people; to them, we're no better than rats scurryin' around or bugs crawlin'.

Well, I've found some money on the ground: $20.00.  Sa-WEET!!  Now I can walk to the Ihop and get something in my stomach; I'm so hungry I can't hardly stand it!  It's been a little while since I ate good last .... will write in here again soon, when I can find some blank paper or a notebook lyin' around; can always find something like that 'round the Dumpster or maybe in the alleyway behind Office Depot.  Until then, this is your new friend, Mouth, signing off! Take care, all!

~Regards, Mouth.  

*end of part one!*


© Copyright 2017 Karen Lynn. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments