Fear and Degradation.

Dust and cold wind blow under a fuzzy full moon. Dirt devils dance under long shadows of a dying florescent light. The screaming inside won't stop no matter how much I scream back. Silence, all of you! The smells of decaying flesh and urine soaked clothes permeate the walls infested with vermin, ticks, scabies, and bed bugs. I am now holding on by frayed and dirty fingernails. I don't want to hold on any more - I am tired, both physically and mentally. The snarling transients who shuffle past in a fugue state - they have all but given up. So have I, it seems.

I humbly text a family member for assistance, cosmic joke is he is in the same dire situation. A friend texts back - me mistakenly assuming that it was said family member, breaking radio silence strictly out of mortification - and asks if everything is all right. No. It is not all right and I fear it never will be. Our birthdays are almost aligned and he wants to make witty banter but I am not in the mood. Which puts me in an even lower frump. I do enjoy our chats.

Screams in the night permiated with hacking coughs of tuberculosis mixed with even fouler halitosis. The little Mexican has set up a shop of stolen sundries on a dented metal folding chair. He gives me a free Twinkie. I forcibly smile and say thanks. Don't know if he is flirting or simply being kind. Kindness, respect, common sense has been burned out of our society decades ago leaving a population of selfish, bitter assholes in it's wake.

Return to my spot and lay down in that filth and sorrow and think and think some more ignoring the whispers and the screams the best I can. My caseworker, like all the ones before her, says she understands. No she doesn't. How could she? Further more, I am coming to the realization that she suspects this is all an act. I don't look the part. I look presentable. I come across as calm and with ease. Not like a grime covered babbling retard with a public masturbation fetish. Outside appearances are everything, Mother always said. Never let them see you sweat or flustered. Don't make waves. So, I hide behind this mask of self reliability. It's a fucking madhouse inside. I am simply too mortified to reveal it. I don't want to terrify my young caseworker anyway if I let it out. There are limits, you know.

My train of thought is broken on account of a fight which breaks out between two drunken assholes. Punch. Pow. Blood splatters everywhere. One of the slobbering fools drops to the dirty ground, face contorted in agony and crimson blood splurts out from a broken nose. A lot of blood. I turn away on my side and go to sleep. The screams continue well into the night...