Dead Trees

Paul slowly toked on an unfinished cigarette. The rain came down in sheets. The morning was dark and wet and sordid. The young man stood under the awning to the adult novelty store – glanced up and down the street with that hazy, cloudy look of intoxication.
   Unfinished cigarette. Paul stood near the corner under another canopy, silently watching the cars splash by, waiting for the cascading rain to disperse. The rain bounced up and hit his pants leg under the awning. Paul glared at the young man with the look of a predatory lizard.

   “I don't think they’re open yet.” Paul stated.

   The man shrugged. Looks at Paul, then away. He was tall and dark skinned with the color of mocha. Paul thought he was black, but his facial features were somewhat Asian. His combed back hair was slightly wavy and cut short on each side and on the back. He stood in blue jeans and a blue, work jacket was draped over a lanky body. His hands were firmly in his front pockets with hip jutted to one side in the universal stance of rentboys the world over.

   “Wanna go get some Starbucks?” Paul’s voice boomed in the silence of the early morning. Maybe a little too loud. The row of closed shops frowned. Paul felt awkward.

   The man faltered, then smiles, “Yeah. That’s sounds good. You buying?”

   Wind sounds like whispers through dead trees as they slipped into the café and are served hot coffee by an imperialist fag. Julio read the barista’s name tag. Stupid American queers.

- hobosexual, a work in progress

I've hit a conundrum. This novel was actually written over a year ago. Well, kind of. It was a 57 page short story which I had penned over a year ago for an online publication of gay short stories. I actually submitted another, shorter story in lieu of this one. It sat in my harddrive waiting for attention. The problem was, though it related a tragic tale of a homosexual transit and his trip from El Paso to San Diego, I really wanted to elaborate on how vicious and cruel the homeless system was to the general client population - i.e. shelters, Human Resource Departments, and the life in general. Shelters are generally ran by horrible, greedy people who steal the meager possessions of the clients, embezzle the donated funds, favoritism, and rampant sexual harassment. I wanted to elaborate those issues from my first hand accounts through hobosexual. One thing that I had decided was, I wanted to cut down on the sex. That was hard. Homosexuality runs rampant in the homeless circles. I had added a "sex scene" to the novel. Previously it did not include one, but the pick up of the hustler actually fit. Now I have a second piece concerning the protagonists romp in a nearby adult theater. My choice is difficult - add it or delete it.