Playing Uno by moonlight. Crack addicts buzzing us on the cold concrete as the train roars by a red blast of steel and popping electricity. Booze in my rucksack keeps us warm as the cold breeze starts up - but it's okay, Rocky the Dog makes it all worth while.
Finally, my traveling companion - who we will call Cookie or Alex - depending on your mood - after two weeks displacement from El Paso, Texas and living like a tramp in the concrete jungle has acquired a bunk at the Hobo Hilton. We can now get the ball rolling.
Speaking of rolling - called the Old Man for a hundred bucks in lieu for necessities. No can do, he says - just gave my divorce stricken sister $2000 for God knows what and I don't care. I am the perennial outcast with The Family, I suppose. I really feel no emotions for these people - every time I contact their petty judgemental asses all I get is grief. It is time to lop them off completely. I am alone in this world as of now and I wouldn't have it any other way. So long suckahs!
So back to The Report: Jumping through the hoops in the daytime - damn, got more appointments now than when I had my own place - and at night trolling with the Beats under the harsh lamp post lights yellow and questioning.
'Mota?' 'Rollies?' 'Smokes?' 'Beer?' 'Vicodin?' - echoes through the steel and concrete labyrinth from a million junkies - the mumbling sound of a crazed hag. Neat kindly folks - except when you need a smoke.
I stare up at the navy sky under a fuzzy moon. "So I guess it's time to start", I say philosophically to my boy - next week it is time to hit the pavement and look for work. I need cash to further my next harebrained scheme. Lucky me.

You are a true believer.
Blessings of the state.
Blessings of the masses.
Thou art a subject of the divine.
Created in the image of man, by masses, for masses.
Let us be thankful we have commerce.
Buy more.
Buy more now.
Buy more and be happy.

Enter that Chamber of Horrors and for two days sleep on a cot. The coughing and farting got real, you know. Real nasty. But, alas I batten down the hatches and move on. Thrown into a permanent bunk in The Hive. Hunkered down for the first good nights sleep in many a moon.

My companion wasn't so lucky and missed the boat - he now resides on the concrete lying dormant in his cocoon of tattered blankets. I feel for him, I guess - like I am responsible. I will keep an eye on the squirt.

Things are actually quite pleasant now - meeting past associates and colleagues and mysterious lovers. This time I must fulfill my destiny - time is running out and Old Man Time is looking at me staring at his watch.

The cold night fraught with danger and intrigue - man, them crackheads are funny. A jolly sad reckless irreverent bunch. Deathless angels wings blackened to the sky with the smell of scorched metal. I try to lay my head down on the hard concrete bench to sleep - the stars bright and clear all is well except for the piercing frigid wind. Like I said, I try to sleep but the Phantoms won't have it - troublesome little beasts. Lighters flick on and off in the woods sparking glass stems and the fags cruise at supersonic speeds so fast they pass without notice - lonely and petulant. I detest American fags.

Each night gets colder and more mundane and I am at the end of the rope - especially with my travelling companion. We glare at each other in silence over coffee tables of the world; eyes burning with hate and discontent. I know he wants to kill me so I just shrug it off with a haughty laugh. Silly boy.

Money finally runs out and it is all quiet like a mausoleum - the first leg of this trip has run it's course. Each night we gather our newspapers and booze for the long warmth in the cold night, but you wind up cold anyway. But after a couple of days doing a junky shuffle my number comes up and I am admitted into the hobo sanctorum. My constituent will have to wait a few more days. Son cosa de la vida, no?

A last cough of dust from my lungs and we pull out an hour late from El Paso, Texas - that dead museum of cowboys and drunk Indians and arrogant hostile locals - a real no where nightmare and I made up my mind to split but quick, girlfriend. So, 820 miles into the night and your ass hurts like you just been fucked by some randy and hung cock with the annoying meth addicted hag that wouldn't shut up from Tucson to Yuma - but I move onward anyway in my mad quest for adventure and the perfect life. Whatever the hell or wherever the hell that is.
I had taken a desert rat with me and he makes a good travelling companion - no bitching, no whining out of him because that's my department, see? And that's my department anyways, I can bitch like the best of them. So, the night turns into day and the day drags and the bus rumbles on past dry desert and scrub brush and rusted cars of Sanchez Motors under that everlasting blue sky.
We finally run aground onto civilization and my travelling companion is all gee whiz over the shiny clean metropolis where happy polite people stroll the streets not talking to anyone except via cellphones grafted to their ears - "Hey what's attitude you got?" Asks shopkeeper jovially at my friends shirt. It has Attitude on it. "A bad one." He says. "You're on my team."
We walk and wow and see the sights - me playing tour guide - and catch two movies at the grand cineplex. Resident Evil and 30 Days of Night. He liked the first one, I liked the second - no accounting of taste, I rekon. Night progresses and we pitch camp in the Park. But it gets cold and we are tired but the crack heads were in full bloom and they some annoying fuckers.
I have or rather had a friend that worked the night shift at a hotel of previous employment and my head pops an idea - shuffle through the darkness and the kid is working the desk and after blowing me a kiss we get a room free and gratis the night. Orale.
Sunny day next morning and munch at old diner joint for breakfast and them eggs were simply toothsome. Best damn coffee...ever. Spend Sunday walking around and visiting more sites and the night came and it was cold. Cold COLD. Tired and feet sticky and clothes smelt like crotch. Next day shivering in the sunset dawn like terminal junkies but must move forward - down to the marina and lay in the green green grass under warm sun and nap. Black hobo with a Popeye accent rolls up and disco dances on a concrete jetty - "They call me Tata."
Try to land a bunk at the mega-hobo complex but there is a two week wait. Not detered because I am on a mission from God, right? Gobble fattening hobo cuisine and wonder the streets some more silent and furtive in the night and then the rain came. Cold winds blew and we huddled in the concrete with other Fallen Angels passing a crack pipe too and fro. Sloshing with wet feet back towards the Park and sleep on the icy cold concrete benches. Wake up with shivering jags and I break down tired and fully exhausted and call the old man for help. Buckets of tears later and long confessional - "I love you, Son, I just don't accept your lifestyle," - Pops wires me some dough and we hunker down the day and night in a warm junky hotel and it was paradise I tell you.
Zipping across International Lines - first being harassed by American Federal agents leaving the country - I tell you the United Sates is not a free land it is evil and the evil has always been there. Orwell is rolling in his grave.
Past the hawkers and the barkers and the chubby spandex clad hookers grinning so nasty behind silver teeth we make it to a bar and slop down Delicious enchiladas and frosty cervezas and now at this moment with a good alcohol buzz on everything in the universe is all right.

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. Survive, it's the name of the game. Would I give a shit about these people that mock me? Nope.
I go where I want - I do what I want - I say what I want. And this seems to upset a lot of people.

This is where it is at and how it is done. I am he.

Night brisk and clear and the fags were out in full force at least one was. I had invited him out for drinks because I don't like drinking alone - no civilized transient should if you ask me and you didn't but I'm telling you anyway. Sitting in a patio at The Tool Box a piss ass elegant joint with this eighteen year old gangsta I found living like a Night Hero in the cold concrete and he never been to fag bars right and and no experience with touched flesh of Fallen Angels either - but I wanted to have myself a time so early on I admits between polite chatter and casual silence I drop the fag bomb - wouldn't you?
Kid was cool with it and the beer flowed those delicious frosty Coronas and them Bud Lites - my constituent scoping out the digs cause his virgin ass and cock is on full alert. His sexy ass walk through the bar to the pissoir and as he pass fags lift their heads like animals sensing danger. We cut next door to the Briar Patch - the neighborhood joint - got inna fist fight there a few years back - but that's another blog, another time. Hob knob in the back patio with El Paso's elite homos - laughing drinking joking. A real character he and he seizes me up the same I reckon.
The kid smoothed out after a few Rum and Cokes and we both got lit like the Rabbit's Moon and fell into a pit of giggles. Some of the homegrown fags cruised my boy but he brushed them off like dust and we moved on - out in the street holding each other up from laughing so hard. Move on to Chiquita's - the rough bar where I warned him that he would see all his goof troop friends that are faggy in shadows but boy killers in the sun. Shit sure as shinola there were three gangstas sittin on the bench out side sucking on smokes so nasty - much backslapping and surprised 'What you doin' here's' amongst them and strong macho affirmations of heterosexuality - no one talked to me cause I am not there. I never am.
Enter said joint and the place is jumpin and order a pitcher of brew settle down at a table and have the best time in many a moon. My pal - that killer with a killer smile - has the bestest too and changes his lateral about queers. Jokes, raucous laughter and singalongs to the old school tunes - my buddy tries to hit on a corpulent lezbo and that starts off many a jokes. Tranny - wicked and insidious cruises my friend - but his hetro world won't isn't can't let her in. "It's time" - the swish shrills behind the bar - and we both stumble laughing smoking into the chilly night to my trap. My boy sleeps on the futon and I crash in my bed. What you think we're queer or somethin'?