-seven days in a week-

[Bernie (DELETED 4405)]

I had a place to live once. It was a big place. Now share a place. It is like a school with different people from different backgrounds and from different places. Except they do not teach much. I get to sleep with them all in a big cafeteria on a cot. I get a thin green blanket for the night and I have to keep my money in my underwear because the gang of big guys would take my shoes. This is my third pair of shoes. I like the black Nike swish across the red background. They have black bottoms. My last pair had white bottoms. I wish these had black laces because the white looks stupid.

I looked up to the sky. My eyes blinked as I spot the sun. The sun had moved slightly west. I've sat here for hours. I do not know exactly how long, but hours seems about right. I wish I owned a watch. I do not have money for a watch. I do not have money for much of anything.

My legs now crossed Indian style and butt upon the cement. A dark grey hooded sweatshirt pulled up over my head. I play with the splintered fabric of my jeans which exposes my left knee because I'm just sitting here with my butt upon the cold sidewalk. My back against the hard brick of a building as I hold a sign towards the public. The same sign I've held up for the last twelve days. With the same dirt spattered fast food cup perched at the base of my red shoes.

StarVed.
Cold.
HomeLeSs.

My eyes wander to another person passing me by. She walks fast. I cannot help but look to her. She does not even look at me. Do I look funny? Will someone tell me if I look funny sitting here? She passes me by quickly. I watch her backside shift side to side as her stride gradually slows to a more normal pace. No one cares about a homeless man. They avoid us like the plague. It's as if we have some type of disease that will jump right off like fleas and infect them too.

"Well **** them-all of them!" I blurt out. "and your little lives. That's right. I said LITTLE lives. L-I-T-L-E."

"What?"
"No. I do not care what you actually do." I roll my eyes and think "Now you will stare at me."

A man and his dog walk over. It looks like a mop with legs. His owner stops by the fence ten feet away. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights the smoke. As he does the mutt sniffs my red shoes. He turns, lifts his leg.

"**** man!" I shove him off. "Am I just a stump for your mangie dog to piddle on?"
The owner tugs on the rope and throws a copper coin at my cup as he passes. It falls over.

I fold my sign and stand up to challenge him, but I don't have the strength to even try. His actions make me feel like I do not even exist. It makes me sick to my stomach. I stomp my feet and jump right up behind the fellas track and shout.

"I do exist!! See!! I'm real. Human. Just like you!" I step backwards.

"What the hell man!" Hands shove me back.
"Hell? Oh I've seen hell." My temper rises as I turn about to face the next guy.
"You want to know about it. You want to know where I've been."

"Back off! Outta my way, psycho."
""Psycho? Psycho!" I see red, like the color of my shoes. Everything is red. His face, hair, hands, the grass, the street-red. "You are psycho. Yea. You. You and your pathetic suit jacket and briefcase."

I stab my boney finger into his eye and he screams. I laugh as the gooey boogers from his eyelid squish into my nail. He's pissed and shoves me again.

I keep laughing.

Twice, three times and I fall from the final push. I didn't catch myself. My knees buckle, hips smash to the sidewalk. Smash my cup. Soft temple of my head hits a lone pebble that was just waiting to be kicked into the curb. I feel like that pebble.

I curl up and cry.
I hate Thursdays.