We are here because of you.

This morning, it was more of the same. No room at Vinnies. I told Tony that we needed to go and apply for food stamps and sell them so we would have money for rent tonight. Since our social security numbers were different, we had to apply at two different offices. After that long wait, I was accepted but the food card would not kick in until two more days. I met Tony back at the shelter for dinner around 5:30 and explained to him what happened. He advised me that he didn’t even go, that instead he had stolen a bucket and went around washing cars for a few dollars.

Okay, I blinked.

Luckily he did make enough for that nights rent. Eleven dollars. This old black guy named Carl shared some weed with us and we stood in a soup line down on 13th and Island Ave. The filth of the world. This fat drunk Mexican was intimidating a white guy ahead of me, the timid asshole didn't even fight back. El Macho turned on me, I picked up a brick and said I'll knock the muthuh fuck oucha and his tune change quick. He tried to save face and wanted to shake hands I told the puto to go fuck himself. We were degenerating into animals among the yellow bonfires and screams of phantoms in rags and junkies quivering in someone else's over coats. Shiny over the dirt. Cut.

Jump that fucking train to Mexico quick. Tired and dirty. Clik-clak-clik-clak.

I decided to take up my friend Chuey’s invitation and stay in an extra room in his brother’s house up in the old colonias. The room was small and consisted of nothing more than a couch, in which I slept on. Tony got the floor. The house was without running water so a hot shower or any type of shower was out of the question. The night was filled with bitter sadness. As Tony snored on the ratty carpeted floor wrapped in a old Mexican blanket, I stood out in the cold under fierce stars and smoked my last Lucky Strike. Thinking. A year ago. Where was I? What have I been doing? Why do I continue to live like this? Reaching in my pocket I pulled out a five peso coin walked to the corner cafe Internet, kids stand spitting on the sidewalk under naked bulb, and jotted this for the fuck of it.

Times up, senor. Good night.