As the late afternoon sun bathed the desert in a blinding yellow glow, I trudged from my hotel room at The Quail to Jack in the Box for some cheap dinner. Someone had just ordered thirty fucking tacos just as I arrived, so the three tweekers behind the counter where dashing around like chickens with firecrackers up their butts. Waiting for my order, old haggish woman wonders off the streets and starts drinking soda from the self serve dispenser. She did not have a cup, she slurped loudly with lips on tap. I looked away in apathy and dwelled on the days events.
The mystery on why Primavera wasn't answering their phone was revealed - their entire phone system is down. I learned this when I decided to visit their main offices. I spoke to a caseworker who processed me into their database via a shitload of paperwork. Being as insane as I apparently am, the caseworker at the main offices offered a plethora of services. I've said it once and I'll say it again, when you are homeless, you get a bunch of free shit thrown at you. I signed up and applied for one of their housing programs - it will take some time, but at least I am in their files.
I have decided that tonight will be the last night at this hotel. Tomorrow morning I will contact Primivera (the shelter) and attempt to get a bunk or I will stay at the Tucson Mission. Most likely I will sleep outside, but that is the fate that I have made for myself. remind me to change my socks, they are really beginning to smell.
On my way back to the hotel with my greasy burger and over boiled fries, I stared up into that big blue advance of post twilight sky, took a deep breath, and smiled. Things will work out...they always do. As I strolled down the sidewalk crawling with little lizards and cracked out hookers, I hummed Brazil to myself to lighten my mood...