In a bag within the bag, there were shaving razors, deodorant, and hand sanitizer.
Troy immediately began to sort his stuff.
“Poppin Strawberry,” he said, looking at the juicebox.
He gave me his extra sandwich and a bag of chips and an apple.
Craig was chewing, holding half a sandwich. “Troy, gimme that other sandwich, man.”
“Nah man, I only got one. I gave the other one to him.”
Craig looked at me. “Lemme get it, man.”
I shook my head, laughing. “Oh my.”
Craig smiled. “Come on, man.”
He started proposing trades.
“I’m not really attracted to any of those offers,” I said, unwrapping my sandwich.
Troy said, “Man, kinda feel bad bout all the Jesus shit since we been boozin. Smokin stones and shit.”
Craig said, “Man, me too. Talkin bout prayin and shit and we out here all drunk — ackin stupid.”
“Ah well,” Troy said, opening a small bag of chips. He laughed a little and barked out some mucus. “God don’t judge, y’know?”
We ate in silence.
The sandwich was some kind of lunchmeat between bologna and salami.
I liked it a lot.
To say I only liked it a little, this would be a lie.
Craig threw some tomato slices over his shoulder. “Man, these tomaters suck.”
“‘Tomaters?’” Troy said. “What is that, some nigger sh — hah, no pun intended.”
Craig lowered his head, laughing.
He let his head hang for a second then looked up at Troy.
“Man, I got a fuckin job and a home and a wife and kids, and you out here.” He pointed at Troy. “You stupid, Troy. You really stupid.”
Troy laughed. “I know I know. I’s just playin, man. Settle down, hah. I’m a fung bum, man. My place smells like dookie and piss for fuck sake. Don’t lissna me.”
Like all the things you like about someone are things you see in a way that makes them complimentary.
And all the things you dislike about someone, same.
I walked around the corner and pissed on a garage, backing up on tiptoe to avoid the puddle.
Said bye to Troy and Craig and got walking.
It began to rain.
And for a second, I thought it was my job — as appointed by the city — to be outside to like, greet the rain.
To welcome it.
And who better than me?
Fucking no one!
TENTS
This afternoon there was a voice message on my phone — from Spider-Man.
The message was choppy but I heard ‘library’ so I walked by the library and Spider-Man was out front, using the outlet to charge his phone.
“Ohhhh, wha’s good man!” he said.
We hugged.
He kissed my cheek and said we should go meet up with Janet.
First we went to the 7/11 and got some King Cobras.
“What happened to your old spot?” I said, exiting the 7/11 and holding the door for him. “I haven’t seen you.”
“Dahhh. Man, I gave that shit up. We at Janet’s so long, you know, the car rental place, they cleaned it up. Shit, you kiddin me? Did me a favor! I couldn’t move them beds. Hell nah. You need some fuckin tools to clean that mess, nang! Needa fuckin crane, fuckin bulldozer.”
I pictured a bulldozer pushing his bed away as he sat on it, holding onto the sides yelling, “Gah be kiddin me!”—Janet speeding behind in her wheelchair.
“But nah, we over this way now,” he said, pointing somewhere.
We walked to a vacant lot near a different section of the Blue Line tracks.
The ground was mostly rocks and glass.
They were living up against a brick wall with a mural spraypainted on it.
Janet lay on her side in a sleeping bag, playing a game on her cellphone.
Ten feet away I saw an adult diaper stained with shit and blood, a pinched wad of bloody gauze next to it.
I sat on the rocks and glass, hands in my pockets to keep warm.
It was October and getting cold already.
“Yeah, we only stayin here like, two weeks though,” Spider-Man said.
He rested a piece of luggage up against the wall and sat on it.
They were moving to Las Vegas on Halloween.
They’d have Janet’s disability checks and Spider-Man would try to get his job back cleaning up hotels and casinos.
“Last time I’s there,” he said, “I had a job and an apartment the first day. First fucking day, du.”
He mimed unsheathing a sword from his back and went, “Shiiiiiiing…fuckatta here.”
He showed me the things they’d be taking with — two pieces of luggage, a reusable grocery bag, and two sleeping bags.
Without looking up from her game, Janet said, “Buh, beb. Ya bitch is hungry. Hehe. Shit. Dayum.”
Spider-Man reached into his hoodie pocket and took out a 7/11 deli sandwich, halved and stacked in cellophane.
“Ok,” he said, “but it’s just 7/11 sandwiches.”
Janet rolled over onto her stomach, reaching for the sandwich.
The sleeping bag unzipped a little.
She was naked from the waist down.
She moaned a little, “Ahh, beb, shit, fock. Ahhh. Hep, peez.”
Spider-Man took her hand and helped turn her over as he read the back of the sandwich package.
“They put so much shit innem now,” he said. “I don’t even know half this shit — fucking enzymes and shit. Fucking CO2 or some shit haha. The fuck!?”
I was looking at the mural spraypainted on the brick wall.
It had aliens wearing basketball jerseys DJing records that were pizzas, hearts with keyholes in them floating through outerspace, dinosaurs holding bow and arrows, floating hands dropping sand, the moon, rockets, swirls, cats.
Spider-Man told me about how he was there when the community helped artists paint the wall a few years ago.
Everybody set up a little camp in the lot, and they grilled and spent time with other families in the neighborhood.
“I mean yeah, we’re going to miss everybody,” he said. “Our first trip back probably won’t be for a long time, but — it’s whatever.”
Janet said some things about what Las Vegas would be like — as though repeating things Spider-Man had told her many times.
“Ey, there’s Keith,” Spider-Man said. He pointed to the alley across the lot. “KEITH! EY, KEITH!”
Keith was walking through the alley, trying to balance with his head down.
I’d heard Spider-Man and others talk about Keith.
Something about not smoking Keith’s weed.
Something about PCP.
Embalming fluid dipped joints.
Walking around talking to streetlights.
Something something.
Something about how he’s banned everywhere.
The 7/11, the liquor store, fucking outerspace.
Man, Keith banned from the fuckin galaxy!
“Keith!” Spider-Man yelled again. “Ey Keith!”
Keith kept walking.
“He got his headphones on,” Spider-Man said.
He threw some rocks.
Nothing.
“I’ma go get him,” Spider-Man said, ran off.
I asked Janet about the stuffed animals in the back pouch of her wheelchair — a blue bear and a little orange cat staring at me.
Janet said, “Wuh, one is called Bluey, and um, the other, Ms. Meow Meow.”
She formally introduced me to both, speaking for them.
I said hello, waving to each as they waved to me.
We had a short, polite conversation during which we discovered that everyone was having a nice day.
Janet apologized for them both being dirty and said they were going to get baths before they left, along with everything else they were bringing.
“Yeah,” I said, looking into the all-white eyes of Ms. Meow Meow. “Yeah.”