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Transit
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Pops pushed his wobbly shopping cart to the corner of Alice Street and San Fernando Road. He leaned into the garbage can and sorted through fast food wrappers and weekly papers to get to the recyclables: plastic, aluminum and glass. It was usually worth the effort to dig deep into the stink. Glass sank to the bottom.
The old man wiped his hands down the front of his trenchcoat. He could tell from the looks people gave him, he reeked worse than the garbage can. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. To hell with anybody who cared.
Farther down the street was a bus stop bench where he could take a breather. Pops pushed his cart down the wheelchair ramp and into the street. It picked up speed as he crossed the road, rushing forward until it crashed into the cement bench.
"Watch where you're going, old man!"
Pops looked up, surprised to see The Kid standing there.
The Kid hesitated, just as stunned. "Pops! What are you doing all the way down here?"
The Kid stood with hands stuffed into a puffy black coat, headphone wires dangling from his ears. A black baseball cap sat askew on his head. His jeans were clean and there was chub in his cheeks. The Kid was doing good.
"You holding?" Pops asked.
The Kid turned down the volume on his iPod. "You can't handle what I'm holding, Pops."
Pops took a pack of Camels from his own coat pocket. He shook out the last cigarette and lit up. He looked The Kid up and down.
"Gimme that hat," Pops said.
The Kid shook his head. Winos were so pathetic.
"You got it made in the shade," Pops said.
The Kid gestured to Pops’ shopping cart. "You're not doing so bad."
Pops looked down. It wasn't enough, not yet. Not for what he'd need to get through the night. Competition was tough these days. He'd gotten a late start, and from the contents of the garbage cans he'd hit so far, he could tell that damn Korean family had gotten up early.
The old man wiped his hands down the front of his trenchcoat. He could tell from the looks people gave him, he reeked worse than the garbage can. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. To hell with anybody who cared.
Farther down the street was a bus stop bench where he could take a breather. Pops pushed his cart down the wheelchair ramp and into the street. It picked up speed as he crossed the road, rushing forward until it crashed into the cement bench.
"Watch where you're going, old man!"
Pops looked up, surprised to see The Kid standing there.
The Kid hesitated, just as stunned. "Pops! What are you doing all the way down here?"
The Kid stood with hands stuffed into a puffy black coat, headphone wires dangling from his ears. A black baseball cap sat askew on his head. His jeans were clean and there was chub in his cheeks. The Kid was doing good.
"You holding?" Pops asked.
The Kid turned down the volume on his iPod. "You can't handle what I'm holding, Pops."
Pops took a pack of Camels from his own coat pocket. He shook out the last cigarette and lit up. He looked The Kid up and down.
"Gimme that hat," Pops said.
The Kid shook his head. Winos were so pathetic.
"You got it made in the shade," Pops said.
The Kid gestured to Pops’ shopping cart. "You're not doing so bad."
Pops looked down. It wasn't enough, not yet. Not for what he'd need to get through the night. Competition was tough these days. He'd gotten a late start, and from the contents of the garbage cans he'd hit so far, he could tell that damn Korean family had gotten up early.
The Kid peered into the cart. It wasn't enough for what Pops would need. The Kid felt a pang in his stomach. He looked down the street for the bus, then kicked at a pebble. He asked, "You still staying at that place off the Harvard exit?"
"Shhh!" Pops said, spraying saliva. He looked around to see if anyone was listening. He didn't like for people to know where he stayed. It was hard to find a place where a man could sleep in the open and the cops wouldn't hassle him. |
But at the bus stop they were surrounded by people who lived regular lives. None of them would want to share a dusty vacant lot off the freeway.
"Yeah, I'm still there," Pops said.
In the long silence that followed, The Kid looked for the bus again, then looked at his watch. Pops finished his cigarette and threw it in the gutter. The Kid said, "Can I get a smoke?"
Pops crushed the empty pack in his fist and tossed it into the gutter too.
When he did, The Kid caught sight of something green. He leaned over and picked up the empty pack. He plucked a twenty dollar bill from inside the plastic wrapper. He felt his face go hot. "What the hell, old man? Throwing away cash money?"
Pops snatched the twenty out of The Kid’s hand. "Cash money," he muttered. "Cash money."
"You could at least buy yourself a pair of shoes."
Pops looked down, startled to see a pair of blue plaid bedroom slippers on his feet.
The Kid shook his head and said, "Dude, you need to get yourself into a program."
"I don't need no goddamn program!" Pops said loudly.
"Yeah, I'm still there," Pops said.
In the long silence that followed, The Kid looked for the bus again, then looked at his watch. Pops finished his cigarette and threw it in the gutter. The Kid said, "Can I get a smoke?"
Pops crushed the empty pack in his fist and tossed it into the gutter too.
When he did, The Kid caught sight of something green. He leaned over and picked up the empty pack. He plucked a twenty dollar bill from inside the plastic wrapper. He felt his face go hot. "What the hell, old man? Throwing away cash money?"
Pops snatched the twenty out of The Kid’s hand. "Cash money," he muttered. "Cash money."
"You could at least buy yourself a pair of shoes."
Pops looked down, startled to see a pair of blue plaid bedroom slippers on his feet.
The Kid shook his head and said, "Dude, you need to get yourself into a program."
"I don't need no goddamn program!" Pops said loudly.
The Kid was surprised. It was like a light had clicked on inside the old man. Maybe he wasn't as far gone as he looked.
"I know a guy downtown. They'll get you dried out, set you up in a little apartment..." "Apartment?" Pops shouted and flung his arms out wide. "You trying to kill me?" The Kid spoke softly, to try to quiet the old man down. "Chill out," he said. "It's |
okay." He caught a sidelong smirk from a high school girl leaning against a wall, waiting for the bus. The Kid shrugged an apology. She looked at her cellphone and snapped her chewing gum.
Pops thought a blood vessel in his head might burst. "It's like you don't remember anything."
"Don't go there," The Kid warned. He wouldn't let Pops screw everything up for him this time.
But Pops couldn’t stop now. "I carried you in my arms!"
"Shut up!" The Kid yelled. He'd had enough of it. "Shut the fuck up, old man!"
Pops shouted back, "I raised you better than to talk to your father like that!"
The Kid went stiff.
Suddenly, Pops didn’t have enough air in his lungs. He reached into his cart, grasping at bottles wildly. There had to be something left in one of them.
Isaiah felt his father's shame wash over him. "It's okay, Dad," he said. He grabbed a fistful of bills from his pocket and held them out.
Pops waved him away. "I don't need your charity." There were depths to which even an old wino like him wouldn't go.
"Take it," Isaiah said. He shoved the money into the pocket of Pops' trenchcoat.
The bus pulled up.
"I gotta go, Pops," The Kid said.
Pops stared into his cart.
Isaiah took one step onto the bus, then turned to look at his father. "When will I see you again?"
But the light in his father's eyes had gone out. Pops' lips moved silently as he grabbed the handle of his shopping cart and began pushing it up San Fernando Road.
The Kid cranked up the volume and walked to the back of the bus.
Pops thought a blood vessel in his head might burst. "It's like you don't remember anything."
"Don't go there," The Kid warned. He wouldn't let Pops screw everything up for him this time.
But Pops couldn’t stop now. "I carried you in my arms!"
"Shut up!" The Kid yelled. He'd had enough of it. "Shut the fuck up, old man!"
Pops shouted back, "I raised you better than to talk to your father like that!"
The Kid went stiff.
Suddenly, Pops didn’t have enough air in his lungs. He reached into his cart, grasping at bottles wildly. There had to be something left in one of them.
Isaiah felt his father's shame wash over him. "It's okay, Dad," he said. He grabbed a fistful of bills from his pocket and held them out.
Pops waved him away. "I don't need your charity." There were depths to which even an old wino like him wouldn't go.
"Take it," Isaiah said. He shoved the money into the pocket of Pops' trenchcoat.
The bus pulled up.
"I gotta go, Pops," The Kid said.
Pops stared into his cart.
Isaiah took one step onto the bus, then turned to look at his father. "When will I see you again?"
But the light in his father's eyes had gone out. Pops' lips moved silently as he grabbed the handle of his shopping cart and began pushing it up San Fernando Road.
The Kid cranked up the volume and walked to the back of the bus.
This concludes the Streetwise Cycle.
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