A Hobo's Paradise

The shelter slams its doors shut at nine-thirty at night to the chagrin of many a squealing junky. Slept the first fitful night on the dusty floor with a thin mat between the tile and I. Snoring, farting, screaming all perfunctory. Early morning woke up at four (Wouldn't you?) splashed water on my withered face and stare at my borrowed flesh in a mirror cracked. How did this happen? My plans were so simple. Well...No use dwelling on it, roll with it, son, roll with it.

Swig down warm Victory coffee and spend the following day at a porno theater in Pacific Beach to while away the time. Time it seems I have an abundance of. In the flickering dark, trolls and speed queens do their ballet cruising for willing patrons. After receiving a much-needed blow job from a passive pansy, white feller and cute in a collegic kind of way, witnessed a free live sex show by a bizarre couple in the back theater. Muscular yet old coot and a flat-chested puta, to be exact. Stood there arms crossed and watched transfixed and nasty. The bitch was doinked by an old friend and some out of control hippy freak, sweaty and wild mane of hair. A couple encircled by obese and old men masturbating wildly.

Back at the ranch, receive a bunk and casual communication with bunky who seems to be docile and non-threatening. Hoorah. Sleep fitfully and cold, issued paper thin blanket and no pillow. Decide to buy a damn pillow first thing the next day.

The next day, I buy a pillow (Such luxury you can't understand.) and venture down to the house of Chuey in Tijuana to retrieve some of my clothes. Chuey was kind enough to hold my footlocker of personals and a bag of clothes for the duration of this transition. The wifie, Lucy, prepares a mouthwatering Mexican dish of arroz con pollo and fried platanos and I eat like a king or a hog. Depends on how bitchy you look at it. Return to Vinnie's and a much needed hot shower with myself and another white guy hung like a black man. What is this phobia of humongous peni? Makes my mind move in strange directions. Afterwards, I return to the patio and mingle with the local hobos amongst loud patter of speech under a warm starry sky. Meet fellow travelers and compare stories and travels to different and far flung places. Walking past me and I kid you not was my villainous evil arch-enemy, Dan Cokenour, face scarred and body frail and thin, but it was him. I growled through clenched teeth, "Cokenour." His eyes met mine for a split second and then he disappeared into the smoky darkness. Smoke was from cigarettes, kids, I'm not a writer of tacky noir.

The following day, got hired on the spot at a swanky hotel in the posh Gaslamp Quarter of San Diego and will start work soon, I was so happy I bought myself a Frappuccino Mocha from Starbucks with my last fiver. Mmmm. However, must prepare for tomorrow, which has been labeled Bug Day. What Kafkan nightmare will this entail. Distant rumblings from the troops at the mention of this day.

A ver.