#  The Ugly Story

A Hobo's Life

* * *

#

* * *

Dedications

For Rain, Yum-Yum, and KT.

* * *

#  The Ugly Story

#

#  By Dick Murphy-Scott

Copyright 2012 by the person who authored this, all rights reserved. No part of this book can be reprinted or quoted to make a buck without giving me at least a dime. All names are phony, except for places and the famous. Some of this is crap. Anything fictitious written in this tome is to make me look better

All rights reserved by the author. Don't steal my stuff. I wrote all this, most of which is pure crap, and if anyone should make a dime off of this it is me. All names that represent semi-real people are changed. The events depicted here are done in a way as to show me in the best possible light, sad as that may be. I even wrote this disclaimer by myself and never went to law school, could you tell?

* * *

##  The HOBO

* * *

* * *

I am a liar.

Pumping shadows flickering in the hall told of three figures. There were two tall thin shapes and a very slight one flickering on the bricks and wooden doors. By the curve of a bobbing shadow's hip I knew that was Candi. Grunts told me another was male, but that was not really important to me. The love I had for Candi didn't fool me. I knew she was a whore long before we had anything together.

Quiet sobs of a child cut through my body. Don't get me wrong; I am a scumbag. But there is just something so base and vile about a woman pimping with her own kid in tow. "Hey bitch, get in here," I shouted; I knew that would stop her for a moment.

It would make her furious that I interrupted her. Calling her out for what she was cracked her phony little world. These were the times when the small little girl child that Candi was long ago came out and was seen. The child who was sexualized and beaten by a long string of step fathers. All the things she only talked about when she was drunk and ugly. This image of her past interfered with what she wanted to be seen as. So did her crummy little home.

The place was run down and was once a motel. Now it was used as apartments by the day, week, or month. The old pool had seen better days and was empty of water. Cracks ran down along the side and grass was growing in them. Not that it really got hot enough to use it. The weather in Santa Cruz rarely breached eighty.

There was scattering, whispers, and two of the long black figures came back to the doorway. The child was crying in a silent and unchild-like way. Candi looked a mess; her short skirt was hiked up enough to tell she wasn't wearing panties. Brown hair with no shine was draped around her head in a heap. What a sad broken bitch she was. All the pain in her didn't make up for her being such a wretched excuse of a mother. It just made her a sorry whore and my love was mixed with disgust. What feeling I had for her were like shit mixed with vomit.

The child didn't truly concern me. It didn't belong to me and I didn't care for it. The odd little thing hardly spoke a word. The eyes were so big and full of despair. Sometimes I felt bad for it. Too bad there wasn't a pound for unwanted children. This one would be better off if it could be put down.

Candi matched the old place. It was once nice and would be great if it was fixed up a bit. The peeling paint and the lumpy furniture reminded me of her body. Not symmetrical anymore and faded. The misuse and neglect made the place look older than it was. Same with Candi.

The way her eyes lacked light told me she was stoned. The child would not look up. "What the fuck bitch?"

"I was just talking to that guy, ok?" The child looked at her mother. That child's face gave away the truth.

I just stared at her. Deep down she was hoping that I wouldn't say anything. In her mind she thought I needed her. Like her home was my cage. That was the way she liked it.

"How much for the kid?" I asked her.

Slap, "I would never sell my baby! How dare you! How dare you!"

Candi was crying and the child started making small noises through her runny nose. I knew she was selling her kid too. Why else would the three be in the hall? It made me angry and sick. Right now I was starting to lose something that kept me human. It was a time to choose; let it go or control myself. The powerful urges and wildness grew, but I did not indulge them yet.

Normally there would be people haunting the halls, hanging out near the parking lot. Not now, they mind their own business. No one wants trouble so when voices carry anger the denizens crawl into their holes.

"Fuck you, lying whore. How much?" I could feel something swelling in my stomach.

All she did was cry and hit at me. There were some small scratches from her on my arms and so in my defense I grabbed her. Groping around I got the money she had in a pocket.

Then it let go, the wild beast that didn't think; it did. Spitting in her face I whirled around and threw her body against our door. The thud was dull and she made a small noise. The wall was splitting with old paint and I could see the wood underneath and some fresh red from Candi's head. The child looked up with big eyes and a dead expression. There was something about that look that got to me. Once I started pounding Candi I couldn't stop.

Last night I had looked at her face and her body and found them so beautiful. It gave me great pleasure to be with her. Even her unbalanced muscles had a delicate beauty to them. Now I was causing her to swell and pop. Blood was running from her nose into her mouth. It was attractive in a weird powerful way. Bam, I hit her lip and split it open. Thud, I kicked her stomach and she doubled over.

The longer I went at it the harder I hit and all the while she just took it. There was no fight in her and the beast raged on in me. The only reason I stopped was because I ran out of punches and kicks. What was left of her was ugly, as ugly to look at as she was to think about. The child looked up and right into my eyes. Her eyes were wide and deep as tears flowed quietly from them, "Please don't go," she said staring hard at me.

For a second I caught my breath and thought. That child made me full of sorrow. Nothing could help her and no one really wanted her. As for me, I felt sorry that my clothes had to touch my flesh. There was not much I could do for another human.

I kicked Candi aside and left.

My shit was not at her place. It was with Randy. We rented a storage locker together and tried to live with girlfriends. Our storage locker was like a shopping cart is to others. Chicks can usually get section 8 because they have children. Often we ran out of girlfriends though and ended up living on the street and under bridges.

Men are not allowed to get broken. No one wants a weak man. That is the way of the world. When a man is broken he is cast out and aside. The looks from others are disgusted and cruel. Women are expected to need help. All they need to do is look good and crank out babies. There is no one who wants me. Not that I am someone to feel sorry for. I broke myself.

But no matter how a man breaks once broken he is used up. Then we're thrown away. Trash. Broken men are never fixed, they are trash. That is the state of being for me and my friends.

Randy was often hanging out at the clock tower this time of night. The cops will be coming soon so I had to hurry or I'd miss him. Then the choice will be to wait by the river until he returns tomorrow or try and find him there. The river was dark and quiet this time of year. Unless there was rain it moved like a snake on glass. Not that I couldn't figure things out on my own, but I really needed a friend.

I was confused about what had happened. There was emptiness in me. Hitting Candi had been pleasure but I hated myself for enjoying it. That shouldn't have happened. I should have left when I first felt the urge. Right now I want to get high. Sometimes that is the only way I can stand myself. There are times when the things I did haunt me like old films that won't stop playing. Watching them drives me angry and crazy at the same time. There is not much I can do to leave myself. Even death might not really be an end. Otherwise I would have done myself in long ago.

If Randy had gone to the river he'd be getting high. It is amazing how high Randy can get. For me getting high is just a way to make time pass quicker and forget what I am. Instead of living through each tiny minute I take an express high to the next day. Not true for Randy. When he is high he goes to new lands and has special adventures. I wish I could join him.

Reaching in my pockets I find no fucking bus fare, so I am going to have to walk all the way down Mission until I hit Pacific. Normally this is not a hard walk but I find myself exhausted after what I did. My mind hurts more than my body aches.

At the end of Pacific is the clock tower. Bums of all kinds find refuge there. It is a safe place for us.

The clock tower sprung up at the end of the Pacific Garden Mall. It is made of brick and has a white cap on the top. Most people don't bother to come here because it is like a little island. Cut off by a busy intersection the traffic keeps them out.

Mission Street is alive with traffic and the sun is growing weaker, turning the sky electric. In a short time it will grow dark and my feet will start to hurt from the holes in my shoes. The tower is at the bottom of the hill, near the old school. The clock tower is much closer than I remembered. Or maybe I have more energy than I thought. Sitting on the grass is Randy, joking with the Viking.

"Hey man, I made a scene with Candi. Can you help me out for the night?" I ask him.

"Or sure DJ, but we can't go to Miranda's; Candi called her and all the hos are out looking for you," Randy answers.

That really means that he already was on the way out of Miranda's life. I doubt that he could have heard that from Miranda in such a short time.

The Viking shook his head for no reason. The spear in his hand is going to get him arrested. There are a few other people milling about. No one else seemed to care much about our conversation and I continued on. Not that I would believe everything Randy said.

"What did that bitch say?"

"Not sure. Just heard Kelly say they were going to kill you. We can chill under the bridge tonight, ok?" He asked.

"Yah, sure."

"Why did she kick you out?" Another question.

"Oh, I caught her selling her kid's ass and I turned her face into hamburger," I passively comment.

"Really? I thought everyone knew she did that? You were surprised?"

"You knew? Why didn't you tell me?" I was pissed.

"I thought you knew. Honestly, I paid for it once. It wasn't much though. The kid cried when Candi told her to suck my dick, and then Candi kept blowing pot in the brat's face to make her high, make her more manageable. The kid tried hard not to breathe and Candi kept slapping her. By the time she got the kid high enough to give me a blow job I lost my hard on. Candi said I could butt fuck the kid, but that I had to keep my hands off her vagina. I asked why and she said that she wanted her kid to be a virgin. Can you believe that?"

"Did you fuck the kid?" I asked.

"No. It got too weird."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I really was upset.

"Candi wouldn't give me back the money so I fucked her instead. I didn't want to say what I did to your old lady. And it was creepy. She made the kid watch."

"I'm glad to be done with that std test tube." By now I was getting sore knuckles from all the blows I'd landed on the bitch.

Randy could tell that I was tired and in silence we both started walking toward the bridge. In times of need the two of us would have sex, but we are not gay. Some people think that if two guys have sex that makes them gay, but that is not so. Gays have roles, male and female. Only one takes it up the ass. When guys have sex they take turns and it is just because they need it. Sometimes we need it, everybody does.

Walking down the levee together I feel really sad. Being homeless sucks. The kids call us trolls because we live under bridges and no one wants us around. Randy had some pot, it doesn't smell very good but it doesn't matter to me. This is just one of those nights that I want to pass as quickly as possible.

The grass is long and dark now. Shadows are dancing in ways that tell me that the river's edge is alive with unseen people. By the time we get to the place under River Street where we sleep I am beyond tired, dirty, and high. So are Randy and all the others that we can see.

The soup kitchen is not far from here. Looking at Randy I can tell by the smudges on his skin that he has not been at Miranda's for a long time. His legs look like sticks under folds of loose cloth that should be tight. It gives me pain to see how sunken his white face is and I notice his light hair looks thinner. The unmistakable smell of human shit hits my nose as I close my eyes and fall into oblivion.

The morning hits and I start to stir. This morning is full of sea scents and fog. Wisps of white fingers roll by the grasses that line the river bank. Pigeons coo from the rafters of the bridge. They hide in every little perch that is seen and unseen. Their shit, and sometimes a small egg, rains down on us. It is better than living by bats I suppose.

Looking out towards the river I can feel every stiff muscle. It has been A while since I slept on the ground and I had forgot the feelings that come with the dawn. Randy is staring straight up and I wonder if he is dead. There have been a few mornings when I woke up and one of the guys was stiff. That happened mostly in winter though. The idea of poking Randy and feeling the cold rubbery body of a dead guy is creeping me out. So I talk to him, "What's up for today?"

"I gotta go to Soledad."

"Why?"

"I need to talk to my cousin. I can get him shit through a cool guard. But I got to figure out how to pay for the bus."

In my pocket I feel the money I took off of Candi. Last night I was so amped up I forgot where I put it when I was trying to find money for the bus. I move to a pee spot and quietly take out the bills. There are five twenties. Selling a kid must be a great way to earn extra cash. Randy is a good friend but I don't want to give it to him, at least not all of it. After I finish up with my pee, I head back to where Randy is looking up at the pigeons.

"Hey man, I got twenty bucks you can have."

"Shush!" Randy jumps up.

"Don't talk so loud," he pulls me hard by my shoulder and walks me up to the levee.

"Thanks man. I owe you. I am still gonna need a few more bucks. Let's hang out at the mall and pan handle."

Along the river we find some cardboard. Randy has a marker and we fashion a sign that reads:

"HIV positive vetirin. Plez hep.

Any thin wil hep, nothing 2 smal"

We always misspell the words because it makes us seem even more pathetic. Today Randy really looks the part. I haven't been out of doors long enough to be believable. So I will kind of stand a ways off once we find our spot.

The food at the shelter will be gone by now, but we can dumpster dive behind the mall. Behind the five star restaurants lies the shit that can't be eaten. It sits in green dumpsters. This is the food we eat when we spend all our money on pot and alcohol. Many familiar faces are doing what we are and there is shit for all to eat. Some go to the clock tower to wait for today to end and some go with us to beg for money outside of stores. Going from the community under the bridge to the sidewalk where we don't belong is lonely and humiliating. The looks we get tell us how inconvenient we are to the others.

Tourists, rich people, hippies, students, wealthy students pretending to be hippies, and lesbians are the denizens of the Pacific Garden Mall. It is not even a mall at all. This is the real heart and downtown of Santa Cruz. Everyone here is out in the fresh air walking and stopping to eat or buy odd things. They stop and give change to street performers and people like us.

In an hour Randy has made another fifteen dollars. After that he asked the store if they would give him some money to leave and they gave him forty bucks to go someplace else. Now he had more than enough to make the trip. First stop was the beach to use the showers. His clothes would still suck and smell, but he would be ok enough to ride transit.

Kids stared at him as he used the shower fully clothed. The sea air was still very wet and cold, so I think he must have been uncomfortable. It was hard to tell by the look on his face and I wondered if he was stoned. What could be worth blowing all that money to visit a con in Soledad? Nothing. Randy had some weird fascination with prisons and cons.

The air was starting to warm up as walked back to the Pacific Garden Mall. Once we got to the transit center he rushed to find his route and left me there smelling the fresh baked bread. The smell was so soft and fluffy that I went in and blew a few bucks on a loaf. The first bite was so wonderful that I can't explain it. Nothing is like eating food when you haven't had anything in your stomach for a long time. At least, nothing nice.

The texture and the smell made me think that all was well in the world. The only thing I could think about was chewing that bread. All of my other troubles seemed a lifetime away and as I pulled the white spongy middle from the crust I thought everything would be alright. For a moment I couldn't think about anything but the bread.

Eating takes less than fifteen minutes. Now what? Having a belly full of food feels wonderful and magical. It is early in the afternoon and I decide to stroll about like I am a lesbian and I own the city. A couple of girls with piercing on their eyebrows and short hair walk by me, "Love that Oprah," I call out as they give me a dirty look.

One flips me off and they decide to walk arm in arm. Chicks touching each other are really hot.

Pissing off lesbians is fun and easy to do. It seems like their kind is born angry or something. They hate men, society, other women, and most religions. Ok maybe that is not exactly true. At least the ones who I run into are like that. At least half of them are that way, or 50% of the obvious ones. Sometimes they like dogs, usually they love cats. Most are pretty hot looking in some way, even the older ones. Angry hotties who want to touch vaginas and be earth mothers really are cool. Oprah lovers everyone, just like the screwed up little housewives who hang on every word of the hippo-like creature of Zulu descent.

Zulu my ass, she probably is more European than Hottentot Venus. That chick needs to read  Roots . The blacks came from West Africa and the Congo via the slave trade with the Europeans. As you can see I spend too much time talking to lesbians about such things and watching Oprah. Actually, I love watching Oprah and talking to lesbians just as much. They seem to always have problems with me. Maybe it's sour grapes on my part, or I agree with them. I don't know.

I really need to score some pot. Hanging with Candi let me get dependent on her and made me soft. There was a time when I knew all the best dealers, but the transients often go and it is hard to know the replacements. To find my new sources I had thought Randy would point me to them. Now I am not sure when he will come back. Under the bridges the guys mostly deal acid. It sells well to the college crowd. They think it is really cool and a little commie. All of the UCSC people think that being a commie means that you are smart. They are the most narrow minded of students.

Acid sucks and I will only use it if I can't find some good weed. It can do more damage than pot. Morons spray paint graffiti so they can watch it when they drop acid. It makes the Grateful Dead sound good. I stay away from that.

Going back down to the levee sounded like a good idea. The fog was burning off and it would have been a good day to spend at the beach, but I was going to buy some vodka and pot if I could find it. The cops are pretty strict about open containers and drunk in public tickets at the tourist spots. Beer bottle beach was too far to get to today, so after I made my purchase I started walking up the San Lorenzo River and into the forest.

Once the levee ran out the river turned into a series of creeks. I picked one to wade through into the woods. I tended to avoid going in the forest. Once deep in the woods I'd had this strange feeling. It was like I was a part of it; of nature. This feeling of love, understanding, and acceptance had come over me. This was a feeling like being close to God, and I felt so good. That was the only time I had been without pain and sober at the same time. To be part of that would require me to live in ways I don't understand. That much change is just too hard. It was like receiving a birthday card with a check for one thousand dollars. Cashing a check is not something I know how to do, and I would need the check to be for a whole lot more than that to bother to cash it. Still, I would feel like I lost a lot. Whether or not that sense of belonging haunts me or not there is always a sense of loss; of what I could have maybe. If only things were different.

The vodka bottle is about one third gone by the time I find a nice spot to waste the day away. I can hear the train whistle. Strange, I didn't think that would be running today. But I am really not sure what day it is. Drinking is a sure way to put up a barrier between me and what is good. Vodka keeps me separate and alone. It also keeps me numb and from thinking too much. There is no way to access salvation when you are drunk.

Drinking brings about its own escape, although I wouldn't compare it to grace, it does save me. The world is looking a little better and the sounds of the creek are pleasant. Today is calm and I have a great place to sit and think watching the water sparkle in the flashing rays of the sun. Thinking about the day brings me back to Candi.

What could she be doing? The bruises must be in full bloom right now and every ache would make her madder at me. Not for beating her though. Finding out about her child would be the cause of her rage. To the world she pretends like she is this great mom doing all this great shit for her kid. Poor Candi. The truth is that she gives her kid worse than what she ever got. I really want to fuck her right now. There is something seductive about her. Even when I think about how much I hate her and the bad things that she has done I just want to shove my dick in her and pound. Maybe she fakes it, I don't know, but she always sounds like she comes. Her body quivers and shakes. It makes me feel powerful.

Getting up I realize that I am unsteady. Looking at my bottle I see that it is more than halfway gone. The little waves are almost touching the bottom. Slumping down I land on the ground harder than expected. Honestly I don't even recall drinking at all. It is a sad thing to miss out on the enjoyment of the tastes and flavors. Drinking can be so automatic that it goes unnoticed by my senses.

After this wears off I will go back to the bridge. Or maybe I will go to Candi's. Thinking about her makes me want to see her. It would be stupid to see her, but as the liquid leaves the bottle it seems like a better idea. When the bottle is near empty it seems like a damn good idea. If I wasn't drunk I could have made it back to her place, but instead I passed out in a field of mustard flowers.

A frog was trying to get out of my shirt and the movement woke me up. It was a strange tickling. Too bad for the frog I wasn't sure what the motion was until I smashed it into my chest. This made a nasty stain on my shirt. Another badge that told I was homeless. Slowly I was turning back into a troll. Like a fairy tale come true in a way.

Luckily I had passed out before I made it to Candi's. That would have landed me in jail. Unlike most of the guys I had never been arrested and I planned to keep it that way. My story was not working toward a happy ending but jail was worse than death.

The churning in my stomach and the pounding in my head from the vodka were not as intense as the hunger I felt. It is turning into real pain now and I wish I had not thrown the frog away. Sometimes little lizards and birds are around and if I am not too fucked up they are pretty easy to catch. This is not going to be a morning when I can do that. The yellow from the field of flowers is pushing on my eyes. It is so bright and unpleasant to look at and I just try to keep from throwing up. Acid tickles the back of my throat.

Even though I am really hungry I don't think I could eat without it coming back up. While there have been a few times that I ate my own vomit I really don't want to repeat that again if possible.

A figure approaches me. It is not someone I know and he is smoking. "Hey Dude," he says, "You ok?"

I can tell by the smell of the smoke that it is pot. "Yah, I'm good. I just got some cancer and would like something to take the pain away. Five bucks?"

I hold out the money, he takes it, and drops a little plastic bag with two joints in it. Nice fat ones. I was just hoping for one; this guy couldn't be a dealer.

Marijuana is a medicine. After a few puffs I felt much better and I thought I could hold down some food. The pot makes me feel crappy after I get a little higher. It is hard to go into stores really stoned and I didn't want to stop smoking even though I am starving now. When I was halfway through the first one I put it out to save the rest for later. Hopefully I wouldn't find Randy today because I really did not want to share with him. Unfortunately I was too fucked up to enter an establishment (or even find the right kind) so I went to the rows of green bins behind restaurant row. Everything tastes good when you are high and nothing I ate came back up. The sun grew more pleasant and I thought I could stand to look around. Instinctively I headed for the clock tower and there was Randy. In his hand were some papers and he seemed excited.

"Hey man," he said walking toward me.

Once he was close enough he gave me a hug.

"How was your cousin?" I asked not really caring. All I could think about was the pot in my pocket and how to smoke it without having Randy know about it.

"Oh, he's doing great. I think he might actually like prison better than being on the outside. He is pretty fucked up."

"Why did he end up in Soledad? That place is pretty hardcore," I am not really listening to Randy.

I want some time so I can think of a reason to ditch him for a while and smoke the other half of my first joint.

"Oh, he was just at the wrong place at the right time. He was going to see his baby mama Maria. You know how she is, well if you ever met her. Real crazy, always trying to cause problems.

Then he gets there at the house and she won't let him in 'cause she says she don't want her kid around a drunk. Mind you he had been drinking, but only like three beers. It takes a case to get him drunk 'cause he is around three hundred pounds.

So he is banging on the door, and she is calling the cops, because she has this bogus restraining order on him. He just gets through the door and sees her with the phone in her hands and some guy sitting on her couch with his son. So the dude just lost it and shot Maria. He shot the guy too, but the guy lived. Turned out to be Maria's brother, but my cousin didn't know that. What was he supposed to think?

It was just a bad scene. Once he got in the room, well, it looked like she was doing that to make him pissed. In a way she was asking for it. So now, because of her, he is in jail for the rest of his life. You should stay away from Candi. She is a worse bitch than Maria."

I hear something about Candi and my thoughts come back to Randy, "Oh yah."

"Hey my cousin gave me something cool. Let's go someplace so I can show you."

Off we start on our way to the bridge. My mind wants to keep all the pot for myself, but I think I should share with him. Would he do that for me? No answer comes to mind. Some vague picture of an old yet kind teacher telling me how nice it is to share my crayons is spinning about in some foggy back area of my head. The feeling I got was not very happy or nice when I let Jimmy Germalli use my new crayons. Thinking back it was not to feel good that I shared; it was to avoid guilt.

"Hey, look at these," Randy pulled out a bunch of letters and spilled them on the ground.

"What are they?" I ask.

"They are letters from women. My cousin gets them all the time. Most just want to pray for him, but he has three that send him money."

"What about sex?"

"Hey, Maria's sister gives him conjugal visits. I think they might be married, I'm not sure. I know she is raising his kid," Randy informs me.

"So why did he give you these letters?" I wonder what the point will be.

Randy seems very excited, "These women are the extras; he gets so many that he can't keep up. Some came with money in them. Instead of throwing them away he gave them to me. We can call them and say we are ex-cons and see what we can get. He says most are looking for sex. Ain't that sweet?"

"Yah, sweet," I say as we start to sort the letters.

I'm not really sure I like this idea. There are about one hundred letters in Randy's hands, and he pulls out more from his clothing. What I want right now is some alcohol, or weed, or anything. It is starting to get itchy under my skin. Even a cigarette would be better than nothing. Like a mind reader Randy pulls a bottle of gin out.

After we take a few swigs Randy puts all the letters out on the ground. Most of them are in white envelopes, but a few are pastels. Some of them have perfume that mixes with the scents of the river, the grass, and human filth. It is a strange fragrance.

The first letter I pick up has a picture in it. The woman looks like she is in her fifties and is very plump. I wonder if the photo is recent or not. There is a vague reference to missing her husband so I think she really wants some. Still, she doesn't sound like she wants to spend any money.

The next letter has a picture of a hot Mormon chick. I can tell by the way she writes that she will be willing to spend a fortune but is a real psycho nut job. It wouldn't be worth it.

On and on we go through the letters until we have three that look the most promising.

"You pick one," Randy insists.

"They are from your cousin, why don't you go first?"

"They are all awful; I don't know if I could even call one of them. Go ahead; you are better at this than I am."

I look the three over. They are all fat, I mean really fat. No they are all morbidly obese. The smallest looks like a two hundred and fifty pounder. The biggest, and ugliest, talks about getting around on her lark. The other is not as ugly as the first two, but she is a lot older. The big one, the lark rider, talks about working and sounds half way intelligent. It would be risky to pick a smart one, but who else is she going to find? I think she must understand how risky it is to write to cons. After a minute I pick her.

"Are you crazy? That bitch looks like she weighs five hundred pounds or something. She can't even walk far. All she does is work, why her?"

"If she works she has money. So I'll have to drink more to stand to look at her. Big deal."

In my mind I had decided to contact her. By now the gin was doing most of the thinking so I found a tourist with a cell phone to borrow and gave her a call.

"Hey, Candice, right? Look I got your number from a buddy of mine in Soledad, I just got out. I thought you were cute and was wondering if I could see you sometime."

Randy was laughing and the tourist was frowning hard. The tourist didn't look very tough so he just stood there and tried to stare his phone out of my hand.

She hesitated, and I could tell that she really didn't like me; at least not what she heard. It was obvious that I was drunk. All she would say is call back call tomorrow. Can't she understand that no one would stand her sober? It would be easier for me if I was drunk. It turned out she was in San Francisco. That posed a problem; how would I get there?

When the call ended I tossed the phone back to its owner who left as fast as he could. Randy and I left quickly as well. The guy might have gone for the cops.

After I got off the phone I was feeling a little angry. I really needed to fuck someone. Randy didn't say anything but he could tell I needed it. Swallowing hard he edged over to me and started to undo his pants. Taking his lead I did the same. We moved into the underbrush and found a nice soft spot to lie down in. I picked some grass and arranged it so he would be comfortable. There is lavender growing wild by the river and I pick some to cushion his knees.

Since we are not gay we don't kiss. I get on top of him like animals mount each other and slowly go in his ass. Deeper and deeper I push until I am as far as I can go. Randy is stiff and making small grunts, I wish I had some lubricant. I move faster and then it excites my cock to the point I just let it go. The anger leaves me and I feel pretty good. The two of us finish off the gin and fall asleep. There are times I really wish Randy was a woman.

The next thing I know it is dark. I'm not sure how long I've been asleep or if it is really late or really early. There is no one around and I decide to head to the Pacific Garden Mall.

The road is full of cars and many lights are on. People are in a good mood and not in that big of a rush so I assume that it is in the evening. The streets are full and car lights slowly string along the road. I am hungry, so hungry that it hurts. The alcohol has worn off and I am completely sober. Being like this is more pain than I can bear and a rarity for me. The street is beautiful and I feel like an alien who doesn't breathe this atmosphere.

In my pocket I find ten bucks. This could get me a good sandwich or something, but I really want vodka. The little bottles would be in my price range. The sign that I made with Randy is gone or I would try and get a few bucks begging. Instead I ask this lesbian if she would buy me a sandwich. They often do that. Most of them won't give me a dime or the time of day, but they will buy me food.

Once she brings me a ham and Swiss I eat it fast. Every flavor dances on my tongue although I hardly chew it. I don't have enough money for what I want, but I get a bottle of orange schnapps on sale. The night air off the ocean makes its way to the mall. I can feel the beach and taste the salt. Then I start walking that way. As I get past the end of Pacific I see Randy. It takes me a minute to recognize him. There is something different about him and I am getting drunk. The orange schnapps makes me sick and queasy unlike vodka or tequila.

"Hey DJ, I ran into Phil. He has some bad news," Randy tells me.

"Yah? What news is that?"

"Candi is out looking for you. She is telling people you pimped out her kid. Says she is going to the police."

Fuck. Most people in jail are not innocent, but they usually didn't do the crime they got stung with. What gets pinned is usually something someone else did. Criminals do a hot potato dance with their deeds. They get tossed about and everyone runs away. The last fool standing catches the crap and gets burned.

That would be just like Candi to blame me for something I didn't do. Of course she is not going to turn me in for beating her up; the cops would want to know why. This way she can act like a good mom and get me thrown in jail. All the while pretending she never knew a thing. Whore. If I am in jail there is no way to pay for the storage unit and I would lose all my things. That bitch would love that; it would make her feel powerful to strip me of all my worldly possessions. What am I without my shit?

The unit, I was not thinking about it. I really should get the money and pay for the storage. It is hard, and putting it off will only make it worse. This feeling of hopelessness takes me over. Watching cars and looking at the lights is all I want to do. Those people never worry and have things handed to them. They drink water from France and don't even see me. Looking is hard; actually seeing me is too painful. Really I am not that far away from where they are. Not far at all. How many paychecks would it take before they are sleeping under a bridge like me.

After time has passed I start to walk over to the park by West Cliff Drive. There in the corner is a beat up tan pick up that looks very familiar. A cat is sitting on the hood. When I get closer I can see Sean sleeping in the front seat. Cool, Sean is a good guy and I can probably get a ride from him to San Francisco to see that Candice woman.

"Hey Sean, what's up man?"

Sean looks around and has a disoriented stare on his face. As he puts on his glasses I think he recognizes me.

"DJ?" He asks.

"Yah man it's me. How you been Sean?"

"Oh good. Working lots of overtime. Sam is trying to start a Dojo and is letting me bankroll him. He says that there is no real money in porn anymore."

Sam is Sean's dip shit bullshitting brother. Sean is a nice guy, works hard, only vice he has is Snicker's bars. The brother is just a worthless bum who talks shit and gets poor Sean to hand over all his money. If it weren't for Sam, Sean would not be homeless. The cats would have a decent place to live and Sean might be able to afford more to eat than Snicker's bars and Oreos.

"Hey, I might need a ride to SF soon, could you help me out sometime this week?"

"Oh sure, I have tomorrow off. What time do you want to go?" What a pal Sean is. I know he won't even ask for gas money.

"How about noon? Can I meet you here?"

"Sure. Do you want me to just drop you off or do you need a ride home?"

"I need to spend about three hours and head home."

"Great. I'll go to the wharf and then we can go back. Hope you don't mind my cats in the truck."

"No, cats are fine Sean. See you tomorrow," but hopefully he wouldn't have that moron Sam.

Things felt a little less claustrophobic. Now I had a way to get to the big fat ugly goose that lays the bankrolls I felt more in control. The shakes hit me a little and I really wanted a drink. There was no money in my pockets and it was getting late so I knew I was in for a rough night. The morning would hurt.

I stumbled along the road. How I hoped that I wouldn't see any cops on my way to the bridge. A bench caught my eye and I really wanted to just rest there for a while. But I knew if I stopped moving I would fall asleep. Sleeping in the open is dangerous for many reasons. So I forced myself to march on.

As I walked through the alleys of shadows and death I was totally alone and afraid.

Finally I got to the levee. Only a few more steps and I could sleep. Pounding pressure formed on my forehead to the point where I stumbled along blinded through the dark grasses and gray gravel. Once I found a little shelter in the brush I feel on the ground and began to sleep. It felt like death.

Morning came and I had new pains in my head. Worse yet I was shaky and it is very hard to hide this. I wasn't sure what time it was or where I was at exactly. Climbing up the levee I could make out River Street. I was not far from the shelter and I hoped they were still serving food. Once they were finished it would be hours before they would serve anything again.

Walking was still difficult but I managed to hike up the road a bit and stand in line. The wait seemed like forever but I got some food; eggs and toast. The meal tasted so delicious. The yolk of the egg was like liquid sunshine in my mouth. It took no time to eat and then I asked if I could shower.

It was my lucky day. Not only did they let me shower, but I was allowed to call Candice. I let her know I was coming up today and told her how I couldn't wait to see her and crap like that. The shelter found some clean clothes for me as well. It really is amazing how much people will do for you when you are sober.

Getting to Sean was very easy. Being clean made the pain of sobriety livable. He was parked where he was last night and happy to see me. A shadowy figure in the extended cab behind the driver's seat faced me. As I walked closer I could make out a short, stocky dumb looking man with unkempt curly blonde hair. I hoped it wasn't Sam but I knew that it was.

"Are you ready to go?" Asked Sean in a very cheery voice.

"Yeah, sure, let's go. Here is the address."

"Oh great. 19 th street is easy to get to. This is my brother Sam. Sam this is DJ."

The douche bag nodded trying to look tough. He looked like he was just a little too tall to be a midget wrestler. What a pansy. Everyone knew Sean looked up to his brother, so I just nodded back.

I sat in the passenger seat and we took off. It would take a good forty five minutes to get to where we were headed. Hoping to sleep a little more I started to doze, but Sean and Sam were in a talkative mood.

"Hey DJ," Sean cheerily pipes up, "My Brother Sam is going to stay with me for a while. Normally, he can't divulge his whereabouts but he is in between missions."

Oh here we go. No one other than Sean believes that Sam is anything other than a free-loading douche. Sean works as a security guard and gives almost all of his money to his suck ass brother. Instead of being able to live in a nice home Sean lives in his truck with his two cats. It just isn't right, and listening to stories about Sam is the cost of this ride to San Francisco.

On Sean goes about his brother, "He just came back from Korea. The Kenpo championships were held there this year. Sam came in first place and got to meet Chuck Norris!"

The diminutive dirt bag coughed then added, "Yeah, it was too easy this year. Chuck looked all washed up. There really was no other competition. I think I will look into MMA this year. Kenpo is just way too easy. But I am going to need more seed money to get a good trainer."

"Don't worry, there is a new construction site opening and APS is really short on guards. I can get all the overtime I want. I'll just stop taking days off."

"That sounds good," the evil little elf says from behind the driver's seat.

"I'll hook you up really good once my career takes off."

"So, why do you need money from Sean if you are Kenpo world champ?" I had to ask.

The minute that came out of my mouth I knew it was a mistake. Sean hates any logic when it comes to his brother. From now on I would mind my mouth better and keep a tighter grip on it than a Jew keeps on his wallet.

With a freakish little grimace Sam said, "Oh I made money, a cool million. But I let my guard down. You think that once you win the money it is yours, but no. I let a girl, you know. The check, the money, the girl, all were being controlled by the Korean Yakuza. If I had thought about it, I would have paid off the right people, got out quick. But instead I got nothing."

Sean was hanging on every word coming out of the douche bag. I guess it was amazing to see one of those things speaking.

"They came in my room at the Hilton Korea, I had a big luxury suite. Every kind of video game, training gear, full bar. It was a sweet suite."

I am sure no one ever said that before. Sean laughed like it was the most amazing pun he had ever heard.

"There were at least twenty guys with steel pipes, crowbars, knives. They tried to kill me. I held my own, but after a while I just broke away. I just ran. I think I killed at least three, maybe ten. Killing a person is a powerful experience. It wasn't the first time I had to do that, but it really doesn't ever get easier. Like making waffles. You get better at it, but the recipe is the same."

That really didn't make any sense, but Sean was bobbing his head up and down in agreement.

"So, I guess you will look out for the Yakuza in the MMA," I said.

"You try. But once you get on the radar it's hard to get off. That's why I'm going to just train for a while. Lay low. Build my skills and then take the championship. No one expects a guy like me to thrown down like I do. I can really compete in any weight class and win just because I can win the fight before it starts. I win it in their minds. Then I go in for the kill and make it reality"

Right now I could really use a drink. But no, I must be sober when I meet Candice. I have a plan for scamming women. While it is fool proof, it is not drunk proof so I must be careful. There are really only three rules that I follow. They have never failed me.

Rule one: No drinking for the first date. This way I am in control of what I say and don't make an ass of myself. It gives the impression that they can save me.

Rule two: Never spend the night on the first date. It is too pushy to move in right from jump-street. Nothing says I am using you more than setting up home the first night. The woman feels like she is losing control.

Rule three: Always have sex on the first date. There is nothing a woman wants more than to get fucked. After she has sex she wants to be held. If you have to go it makes her want you to stay. The next time you can stay, take money, and enjoy yourself. But the first date is business and sets the tone. Give her good sex and go away. That drives a woman crazy.

My thoughts are interrupted by Sam asking me something I don't quite hear.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you ever do any martial arts? I'm thinking about opening a Dojo, I might need a few trainers. With my major awards getting students will be easy, as long as Sean can earn enough to open one."

"I really don't know any arts of any kind." I say.

"Too bad. When I open up my Dojo it will be like a goose shitting gold day and night. Maybe we'll get a TV deal. I keep turning Hollywood down for movies and porn deals. I don't like what they did to Segal or Van Dam. Those were decent guys before they got stars in their eyes. Back in the day I trained with Segal. Sure did. We had all these plans to live by the law of the Samurai. But he just started whoring himself out. Really sad, I am sure glad I didn't end up like him."

This was going to be a long, long ride. At least it was free.

The scenery was beautiful. The day was warm and we took 280. Coming over the hill the view of South San Francisco was clear. Rows and rows of little houses as far as the eye could see. The Industrial City.

Then we came to the vet's cemetery. Rows and rows of white grave markers lined waves of green hills. The markers are all shaped the same and remind me of the little houses. The Industrial Graveyard.

On and on Sam drones on about some famous guy whose butt he's kicked. Sean listens and agrees. As we go along Sam continues to speak and Sean gleefully bobs his head in agreement. I can't help but feel sorry for Sean. That guy is really nice and has never done anything bad to anyone.

We take a wrong turn trying to get to highway one and get a little lost before we are on 19 th Ave. The houses have that weird look to them, like they were made by a cookie cutter and then colored in pastel frosting. They remind me of the grave markers. This is the city of rows of things lining hills. Up and down patterns that constantly repeat.

There is no space between Candice's house and the next, and there is nowhere to park. Sean takes a side street and finds a space where he can.

"Come back in three hours, ok?" I say.

"That sounds good," Sean says as he checks his watch Sam frowns.

"We might be longer than that. We have some business to deal with. If we can make it out, we will knock on the door. Otherwise, you might need another ride home," Sam adds in.

"Great, see you in three hours," I say as I leave the truck and shut the door behind me.

Sean waves like a small child would and Sam just scowls as they drive off. I walk back to the house of Candice. The streets are dirty and the sky is overcast. It should be warm this time of day but instead it feels cold and damp. One of the hardest things to do in San Francisco is to warm up, even in springtime. I wonder how long it has been since I last saw Candi and I wonder where I can find something to drink after I leave Candice tonight.

The houses have quirkiness to them and yet they all look the same. It seems like in trying to express their uniqueness as they conform to the same standards. There are rules for everything and even "specialness" follows form. When I get to the door I knock. This is a neat little house with a wrought iron gate. It has two stories above the street level and a small garage. The windows are guarded by thick curtains so it is hard to see inside. A seagull flies overhead as the door slowly opens.

Candice looks to be about four hundred pounds. She is standing on her own without the use of her lark or any other medical device. The black dress she is wearing blends in with her skin and her shape is like that of a gorilla. She bends and moves like one and has a face of a primate. It feels like I walked into the Planet of the Apes.

Clearly the picture she sent was of someone else, someone older and, as hard as it may be to believe, better looking. I doubt Candice is older than thirty. Sheepishly she looks at me and I think she is worried I might run away. The thought does cross my mind.

"Candice? I'm DJ. Nice to meet you."

After I speak her mood relaxes. She smiles and an amazing set of perfect white teeth beam from her face. "Come on in DJ. I got some dinner on the table. I know it be just after lunch but I always feed my guests."

The way she spoke was very charming. I thought she might be a phone operator or a singer. This was the first time I heard her when I was totally sober. Candice was the most amazing talking ape.

"So what do you do with yourself?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm looking for work, trying to stay away from booze. It's hard when you first get out of prison."

"You were in Soledad? That must have been hard. Life can be so harsh. What you need is a good woman, that's right. A good woman," she said.

"I know. The last one I had was just so bad. That's what landed me in jail."

As we talked she slowly lead me to her dining room. The home was decorated beautifully. The front room was a little seating area with cream colored walls and one piece of African art, a shield, some rattan chairs, and a banana tree. Up the stairs we entered a hall. It was painted darker and she had glass doors that lead into each room off of it. Taking one of the doors on the right we entered her dining and kitchen areas.

The dining area was open to the kitchen. It looked like a master chef lived there. Shiny pots and pans hung in neat rows from a rack on the ceiling. All the appliances were stainless steel. The floor was spotless tiles of beige and cream colors.

This room had some framed modern art posters. The artists were all San Francisco artists. One was done by the cupcake guy and there was even a big eye painting. They didn't match each other well but lend a bit of history to the room.

The walls were a shade darker than the first room. Whoever decorated this home did so with care and style. It felt very modern and well done. Maybe she was connected to the design industry in some way.

"Your house looks great. The glass doors are really cool."

"Glass is so versatile. It opens up a room, and yet if you hang a window treatment you get plenty of privacy. Plus it be letting in some natural light. Colors look more alive in natural light."

Unlike listening to Sam talking, hearing Candice was very pleasant no matter how ugly she was. She set her table like she was preparing for a magazine shoot. This woman must be a wonderful cook with a kitchen like this. Then she pulled out a bag filled with KFC and another with McDonald's. There were more French fries than I had ever seen before in my life, and then she went in the kitchen to get another bag of KFC.

The food was really greasy and fresh. I loved the salty way it tasted. Conversation was enjoyable, if only I didn't want a drink so badly. I ate until I felt a bit queasy and then the food just sat in my stomach like a rock of hardened lard. But Candice didn't seem to ever get full.

After eating two Big Macs she started in on the chicken. Barely touching the meat she surgically removed the skin with her teeth. A favorite of Candice's was dipping French fries in KFC gravy and chasing it down with Pepsi. Sometimes she would dip the fries in Pepsi. She truly loved her fast food.

After dinner she brought out a banana cream pie and a sweet potato pie. Oprah loves sweet potato pie. The grease ball in my stomach was strangling my throat and I couldn't eat anymore. The lard was pushing to get out one end or the other. Maybe you had to build up some kind of immunity to the grease. Candice ate half of both pies before we went into the living room.

This was by far the most beautiful of the rooms. The walls were painted dark brown on the bottom and beige on top. The trim was done in different accent colors. The furniture was all black and colorful decorations were tastefully arranged on shelves. There were some house plants and a big screen TV. It looked like a room from a decorating magazine. Candice turned on the TV and we sat together on the coach.

It was amazing how hot and sweaty she felt. Sitting next to her I noticed a faint and odd smell. The odor was a combination of flowers, mold, sweat, and grease. Instincts told me to get away from her, but I knew if I wanted to get in with her I needed to fuck her. So I started to rub her lumpy back. I could feel folds of fatty flesh under her black dress. After a short while I unzipped the back of her dress and massaged on. She has bumps all over her back, and thick black hair. When the dress was no longer covering all of her back the smell grew stronger. She really resembled an ape now, only not a muscular one. A rolling mess of fat seas hidden under a covering of dark flesh and forests of thick hair.

On I went. After I undid her bra I marveled that they came that size. She turned to me and we started to kiss. The taste of sweet potato pie was still in her mouth. That reminded me of Oprah. I started to pretend that she was Oprah. A chubby brown version of poppen' fresh to knead and twist. Oprah had a little extra on her but I assumed it would be more solid and without the hair.

It was impossible to remove the dress smoothly. For a few awkward moments I pulled and yanked until it came off. From the look of her panties she was ready and I really didn't want to continue with foreplay any longer.

I pushed her on the floor, spread her legs and located her vagina. Pushing in quickly I started to move in and out. Several times I had to relocate her lady parts under the moving globs and slabs that hid them.

The folds and bags of fat were everywhere and jiggled and bunched with my every thrust. Moaning in pleasure I knew I had her and I was starting to feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Then one of the folds moved exposing the raw flesh underneath.

Her skin parted on her left thigh and I could see that the area where the skin was normally covered by the sheet of fat was red and sore. I thought I glimpsed some green and there were some blisters. Then came the smell. That smell was so awful and strong. It smelled as if a man had choked on a big hunk of government cheese and died with it in his mouth. Trying to pretend she was Oprah didn't help anymore. Oprah won't eat government cheese. I told her I was done and I was relieved to hear the knock on the door.

Quickly I put on my clothes. "I think I love you," I said. "I can't wait to see you again. My ride is here and I have to go."

She was quicker at getting dressed and met the guys at the door. After she invited them in we stayed another hour talking and eating. Candice wanted me to stay, she really was hurt when I wouldn't. That holding after having sex thing was a strong pull for a woman.

Feeling bad I gave her a kiss and told her not to worry. Quietly she slipped me a few twenties. "For gas," she whispered.

The three of us left her home and went back to the truck.

"Wow, you sure got a fine woman," Sean said.

Yes, she was a fine woman. But I wondered about what other hygiene challenges she had. Hope her ass was kept clean. The thought of her cleaning up after a shit haunted my mind. The ride back was filled with more bullshit stories about Sam and his Kenpo. For once I was glad to hear that crap. It took my mind off of how much toilet paper an ass that size would use.

When we got back into town I had Sean drop me off at the beach. It was still light out and I wanted to take a little walk. The shakes were almost over, but I felt pain. In my mind all I could think about was getting drunk. As I walked along I came to a place that was very familiar to me. I was standing in a spot where a picture of my mother had been taken when she was three.

The picture was of my mother at the beach on a summer day. She was with my grandmother, happy and carrying a sand pail. In the background was a castle that no longer existed. Long ago it was taken down. That castle had been so mysterious. This county had its share of castles, some still standing, others just ghosts in pictures.

As I stood there I wondered if I could go without booze. Could I live in a nice house and have intelligent conversations? What would it be like to not think about getting drunk most of my waking life. I wasn't sure and I walked on.

I came to a little market that has in it what I want. Fat Tire beer is calling for me, and I know right where it is. Looking down at the can I am drinking from I am wondering how it got where I am. Other than drinking I don't remember much else from the past hour.

I've got two six packs in a bag as I walk back to the clock tower. If I want to keep them for myself I had better drink them before I get back.

"Hey DJ," I hear Randy call. There are still four beers left, so I give him one. We are walking by the river. Randy never goes too far from it. It has a hold over him. Sometimes I think that he stays there just to bring me back to it. That is my big ego.

Right now I am feeling pretty buzzed. I tell him about Candice and he is happy for me. Tonight I watch Randy's body move and twitch. If it is possible I think he might be even thinner. Instead of going to the tower we head for shelter and spend the night talking until we fall asleep.

The next morning my head is pounding. Next to me Randy is breathing hard and I don't wake him. I need to go pay my storage locker bill but I want more booze.

I count the money I have left, I have five twenties. That makes a solid hundred and I owe at least as much to the storage place. If I give them sixty I am sure that will be ok for now. Having made up my mind to pay for our unit I set off down the levee and onto the street. Randy would not want me to do it, so I leave as quietly as possible.

The weather is cool, but not bone snapping icy like the fog in SF. The sun will probably make it out today. Grass and daisies are everywhere. The guilt that comes from drinking is coming back. Pain pushes the guilt away as I think about where I am going to get my next bottle from.

It takes the better part of an hour going down to the storage place. The strange people that run it are kind to me, but I worry they might be serial killers. It would be a good plan if you were a serial killer to run a storage place, be real cool with the customers, and stash all your victim's bodies in the empty lockers.

I go through the door and see Ted. He is at least 100 years old and always wears a dirty white wife beater and a baseball cap. Maybe he shaves once or twice a week. I pay him sixty and go. It is nice to know that my things will be safe for a while. The liquor store is right across the street.

I buy a beach bag and fill it with beers and a vodka bottle. I should know better than to drink hard liquor alone. If I have to share I don't get as drunk. People die from drinking too much too fast. Not that I would be upset with that.

The last thing I want to do is give anyone else a drop from my bottle. My world is starting to twirl about me. I think about that bitch and all the bad things that she did to me. Candi. Suddenly it seems like a very good idea to go to her home. Somehow I make it there.

I bang on the door and demanded she let me in. No one answers and it is very quiet. The neighbors must be gone as well. They are all out doing crap, and I'm here with no way to get in. This makes me really mad and I realize I have to shit. So I leave a big turd on her doormat and wipe my ass with the neighbor's newspaper. It feels good.

As I walk out I think about finding Randy. The thought of passing the time comes and I feel the despair of making it through the day. I walk along the road and stare down at the sidewalk so I don't stumble. I notice how ancient the cement looks and how cracked it is. Starting to panic because nothing looks familiar I look for a place to get my bearings. Finding a bench I sit down and think. I have no money left, I am hungry, I am drunk, and the street I am on is not familiar. After a few breaths I look around and realize I am close to Pacific Ave, and not that far from the high school. All these streets look the same when I am drunk.

Up I go and start walking toward the clock tower. Next street is a very old but well maintained. The gardens are crowded with flowers and the lawns are well kept. Some houses look like older people live in them; others seem to have hippies, full of wind chimes and sun catches, and still others look like normal families live in them. It reminds me of the neighborhood my mother grew up in, near Mission Hill. When I find the clock tower I see that Randy is there with some friends.

It looks like he is stoned. It is easy to tell if Randy is high because he talks too loud and tells strange tales of distant lands. I am pretty sure Randy has never been outside of California, but he talks about Mexico a lot. I sit down by him and listen.

"The mountains are alive there, I swear. They spew out lava, but not the kind that burns it is the kind that heals. I need to go back and get some so I can save all the people. I can heal all the diseases and make the old people young with the crystal lava," Randy says.

This makes no sense to me unless I am high too. But I enjoy listening to his crap and I wish I could think like that when I am baked.

Right now I am ok but I want to drink. I pull out two beers and hand Randy one.

"It's cold. I love cold beer. You are the best man. My best bro."

I notice an old round mark on his arm. It is a flat brown patch that looks like a giant mole. "Hey man, what's that?" I ask him.

"Oh, nothing. That is a birthmark."

Odd, I'd never noticed it before. But then I really didn't look at Randy without clothes in the day light. Come to think about it he was wearing long sleeves even though the weather was changing. That could have been a bad burn or some other injury. Those were things we never talked about because we had no way to go to the doctor. The times when our kind ended up with a doctor they never came back. It would be great to get some more beer and I had some money left. "Hey, Randy let's go get some suds and go over to White Lady's."

Randy nodded and we started out. The day was nice but I was tired of walking. As we arrived at the liquor store I noticed I was cramping up in my legs. Randy put the beer in his backpack and we set off towards highway one. Just under the onramp overpass, high above us, the road went two ways. One was up the hill to Felton, and the other was a dead end that went to White Lady's.

White Lady is the name of the ghost that haunts the graveyard that lies in the flat area just before the elevation rises into the Santa Cruz Mountains. The strange little road that runs along the graveyard has a few houses along it. One of them is the remains of the caretaker's house. This is what is left of White Lady's home. Rumors say that her husband killed her and she still thinks that she is alive. So every night she wanders the grounds of the graveyard making sure all is well the same way she did when she was alive. I have heard some strange stories about her, but I think it is mostly crap teen boys tell their girlfriends to scare them. Randy gets a little freaked out, but he knows that it is a pretty safe place to go drinking on a weekday afternoon.

Going down the dead end road is creepy. The houses are strange and it seems like there are never any people around. This makes for a great place to hang out and drink. As we walk down toward the little path that leads to White Lady's house the forest starts to take over the right side of the road. Her front yard is overgrown and a person would never suspect that a huge skeleton of a house is hiding behind the foliage.

I have walked this path many, many times but today the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. As we get to the path we both stop. The thought that White Lady maybe home today crosses my mind. That is stupid, I am letting all those dumb stories get to me. Quickly I turn onto the path and Randy follows.

We take the short walk past the ferns and the small trees to what is left of a great house. One wall stands against the trees like a giant children's drawing come to life. The roof is long gone and remnants of other walls remain. Most of the space is covered in graffiti and it normally looks really cool, but today I really want to leave. Beer cans and other trash litter what is left of the foundation. Slowly Randy clears a spot from the debris looking up at the giant wall the whole time. Maybe he is a little spooked today too.

After we get a good spot cleared out we get out the beer and have a couple. Today is starting to feel good and I can't feel the cramps in my legs anymore. The crystal lava is fading in Randy's mind and he can no longer remember where to find it. Our suffering is real again, and that is the way life is meant to be. The day is passing and the sky is getting darker. It was almost sundown when Randy asked me, "What do you think about all them stories?"

"What stories?" I ask.

"You know, about old White Lady and how she was killed, and walks around at night. You know that's why this place is still here. No one wants to build on White Lady's old house."

"I don't know. It happened long ago, I guess the only way to know would be to ask her," and that gave Randy an idea.

"Hey White Lady, did your husband kill you? Do you have something you would like to tell us?" Randy yelled this in a clear voice that echoed through the old structure.

The wind started to blow, and from nowhere clouds came. I have never been so scared before in my life as wild rain started to rip into my skin like needles. There wasn't a word said as we both got up and ran for the path. Lightning struck a tree and I didn't stop running until I got back to highway one. The crap came back to me leg but didn't slow me down. Exhausted I panted and waited for Randy. It didn't take long for him to catch me, and he was green. "I saw her man, I looked back when we left the path, and she was there man. She was looking at us and then lightning came, did you see it?"

"No, but I could smell burnt wood so I thought it hit something like a tree."

"It hit a tree and started a little fire and she just stood there, glowing. I swear, glowing."

"Maybe it was just a neighbor out checking the storm. Come on; let's get as far away from this place as we can."

"Want to go to Denny's?" He asked.

"Can't, I pissed myself on the way out."

As we got closer to the levee the feeling of being around living things made the creepy stuff fade away. But I must admit that as we were leaving the overpass I looked back and thought I saw a lady in a long white dress. It felt good to be away from that place. Along the highway we found a few cans to turn in. The rest of the night we collected them and crushed them so we could fit them in Randy's backpack.

As the night grew older we decided to find a good spot to rest. The air was still warm so we went down by the water where the damp earth will keep us cool. In the night we might wake up from the cold, but it will be comfortable right now. The moon started rising and I can tell because the sky is getting lighter. An excitement that makes me fully sober takes me. This feeling touches Randy as well.

"What do you think happens, you know, when you die?"

"I don't know," is all I say.

"Don't you think about it?"

"Not really. I worry more about how to get through to the next day. Right now I am thinking about going to the park tomorrow and fighting that old guy Al for the cans in the trash."

"I think about it all the time. Sometimes when I get high I think I can see heaven. It reminds me of LSD, nothing makes sense and it is really beautiful. When I die I want to go someplace where I am loved and understood. I think God loves me. You know, like the people at that church on mission."

There is a church on Mission Street about halfway down. It kind of creeps me out, they all speak in tongues. Some Sundays Randy will go and sometimes I go with him and listen to the wild singing and nonsense talk. They mean well and Randy feels at home. Still, I think Randy loves them as much as he hates them. They have a vandalism problem that I think is Randy. I don't like to think about that place so I try and change the subject.

"You know we need to get some rest if we are going to beat Al to the best spots," I say.

"What do you think will happen? I think that after we die God shows us everything, our lives, what is really going on, the truth. I think it will be beautiful. I am sure I saw her, the White Lady."

"That was the beer. Shut up and go to sleep."

With that I ignore Randy's ramblings about heaven. Talking like that makes me feel far away from anything good. The clouds have moved on. The moon is climbing in the sky and the river sparkles along the top and on the pebbles at the bottom. A frog is croaking and the unseen make noises every now and again. Drifting off to sleep I wonder what Candice's bedroom looks like and if she wakes up stiff in the morning.

The morning came bringing pain and the urge to drink. It was going to be a long day. The money was gone and all we had were a few cans. Rummaging around the river we found some stray bags and a couple of discards. We set off to beat Al to the parks. First stop was Harvey West because it was the closest. Then we headed for De La Vega. On the way the little old man zipped by us on his ten speed. We saw Al's ass get farther and farther ahead of us and decided to just take what we had in. Once Al was out we would be chasing his dust all the rest of the day. The cans netted us a little over seven dollars.

The rest of the day we spent panhandling. It was a slow day even though the weather was great. We ended up with just over ten dollars by the time we could no longer stand being hungry. The smells from the local eateries was getting to both of us. We wanted to get booze so we took a walk behind the mall to look through some dumpsters. Some buzz cut lesbians spotted us. Their boobs could be seen under the thin tank tops that they wore. Not a one of them had a good body but the wild and free way they carried their breasts was really hot.

"Hey ladies," I called out, and one threw a rock at the dumpster.

Whatever they said was too faint to hear as they left. Randy looked tired. I threw him some stuff that might have been bread and a box of half eaten raisins. Slowly he ate. We really needed to rip off some booze because we didn't have enough money to buy what we wanted. I hated doing that, it was risky.

Some tourists saw me climbing out of the dumpster, "the poor man," I heard a woman say as she handed Randy twenty bucks.

Bingo, enough cash for what we needed. The rush and whirlwind that came over me took my senses and the next thing I knew I was holding a half a bottle of gin. This day was disappearing fast. Feeling pretty good I found a pay phone and called Candice. Feeling better I called Candi. If she was home she didn't pick up, and thankfully I just said hi. The night sky was taking over so we decided to go watch the lights on the bay.

Off we headed to West Cliff my feet feeling like swollen meat encased in leather that was in the process of shrinking. All the way Randy coughed. Getting to the statue of the surfer was a relief.

After we sat I realized how tired I was. The lights from Monterey were easy to spot tonight and the air was cold.

"Let's sleep under the old trellis tonight, I don't want to walk far," I say to Randy.

"That sounds good. My feet hurt."

As we watch the water we finish off the gin. Boats glisten in the water and dark silhouettes of sea birds dive in and out of the water. Loud crashes and movements from the water wash over us. I know if we don't get up now we will fall asleep and wake up in jail. It takes all my power to move Randy into a safe spot for the night. This is the lightest grown person I have ever had to move. The thought strikes me; Randy must get more food.

Next morning we went to the clock tower. I wasn't sure how we were going to get any booze today. A bunch of guys got up slowly; all of them were looking in the same direction, but heading in different ones. "What's up?" Randy asks.

A thin tall man with leathery skin and a tight cap says, "That guy, that guy is a cop," as he talks I look over, "he comes here and tries to buy drugs and shit."

Randy gets up, "Hey, Randy, I'll find you later; I think I'd like to talk to the cop."

Randy nods and slowly makes his way out. They are all gone before the guy can get here. The clock tower only has me and him haunting it right now. When he sits next to me he offers a cigarette. Smiling, I think this is my lucky day.

"Hey, you want to get some beer?" I ask the cop.

"Sure, what kind?"

"Let's get cheap and strong. You buying?"

"Sure pal, my name is Live Wire, and you are?"

"Frank," I say.

This guy really stood out like a sore on your lip. Hard to miss or mistake it for what it was. Obviously he was too clean, and no one knew him. The clothing was ridiculous like a heavy metal wannabe with spiked, and clean, hair. The biggest difference of all was the smell, or I should say the lack of stench. This stench that was generated by layers of filth, no toilet paper, and sweat that builds up over time on the leather-like skin of those who spend too much time outside.

Live Wire did look thin, but he didn't have the look about his skin and eyes that comes from malnutrition or addiction. There were no signs that he was drunk or high, and he was buying me a beer. I made sure to only take one because if I was going to get anything from this guy I would need to stay sober.

After I took a long drink of beer I came up for air and said, "I haven't seen you around before."

"No I'm new to the area. I was living on the streets in 'frisco but I thought I'd move here. I needed a change."

The reason that people come here from SF is because of the cold. If he had spent the night out of doors there he should know this. We all did.

"Yah? Bored? Where are you originally from?"

"Denver," it was like he was reading a script, "I came out here a few months ago, lived in LA, then 'frisco. Love the beach. I don't know if this is exactly what I am looking for though. I am real hardcore. This place seems a little sleepy, just potheads, no real action."

The light across the street turned green as I listened to more of his shit. It was more of the same, and I asked him how he got his name. This was something he must have been rehearsing for days.

"Some of my peeps gave me mah name. When I am tripping I am like a real Live Wire loose on the ground. A natural disaster, a potentially deadly snake spitting out lightning."

As he said this he moved like the scene was choreographed. It looked stupid and his cop buddies probably thought this guy was a joke. "So Frank, you know where some action is for a guy like me?"

"Like what?"

"You know, hardcore crazy shit that most people can't handle."

"Be careful man, there is some pretty bad shit that goes down around here, shit you don't want to know about."

The stupid cops eyes lit up with desire. I knew that feeling and that look. That was the way I felt when I pick up a bottle of my favorite, Jack Daniels, as I am either about to lift it or buy it.

"Like what?" He asked. The air was still between us and he drank in the words I said.

"Dude, you should stay away from the shit that goes on behind closed doors. The stuff that happens at the clock tower is all out in the open. Stick with that and keep away from the darker corners," I knew he was mine.

"I can take anything. Deal me in."

"It's not my deal. There is this whore who sells her little girl. Kid can't be more than seven. For a price she will get the kid high and have her do shit. It is really sick. I have a friend who paid for it. Pure nasty. Stay away from that."

"That is the kind of action I am looking for. I am always looking for pussy, it is never too young. How do I find her?" Live Wire asked.

"I can show you to her door, but I am not going near it," and with that I showed him to Candi's.

Once we got there he gave me two twenties and left. If there was even a small doubt about him being a cop, it was over now. In a few minutes he would be back with others. If she had gone to the cops already I might be in trouble, but I doubt she had. Once she got busted for trying to sell her kid's ass her odds of pinning anything on me were gone. No more poor Candi. And I had some money to put toward my storage locker. What a great afternoon.

Now would be a good time to leave town for a while. Once Candi got out of jail she would want blood from anyone who she knew. She liked to ruin nice things and then compare the shit to that. It made her feel normal. Right now she was still bruised and I am sure that causing me pain would help her ease any of hers.

I needed to find Sean. The way to get to SF was either by car or train. It was very difficult to get there on the bus. Besides, Sean would take me for free. The money that Live Wire just gave me would go towards the storage locker.

There were several places Sean liked to park. Most of the time he worked at night so he could park and sleep during the day. Cops would bug him if he was parked too long at night, but not during the day. Setting off for Harvey West I hoped he would be there. No luck. None of the usual places paid off. This could be one of the times when he would be hard to find because he was working overtime.

My feet were swelling again in my shoes. If I took them out I might not get them back in. As bad as my shoes were having nothing on my feet was worse.

After a while I made the storage payment and headed for Pacific. The Pacific Garden Mall was empty. A group of women were discussing a book and I sat behind them and listened in. Looking interested but not being intrusive, I listened in on their conversation. I sat in the sun and relaxed for a while hoping my feet would stop pounding.

They are talking about Oprah. That has got to be one of the most powerful people who has ever lived. Not only is she a king maker, she goes about her business unnoticed. Few people understand how far reaching her influence is. These women are talking here about the latest book pick. By suggesting books she controls what people think. By promising a refrigerator she can make the masses turn out in hopes of receiving one. Then a new king is crowned based on the promise of a new appliance.

Before I Oprah I had never even wanted to taste sweet potato pie. Only Jesus has had more influence over people.

It is fun for a while but then the women get boring so I move on. Making the rounds of the parks but still no Sean. Sounds came from my stomach. Walking around I find some fresh discards in the trash. Half eaten pizza and sandwiches. Much better than dumpster diving I feel full after a few trash can dives.

I am painfully sober right now. The sounds of the city are clear and the imperfections are obvious to me. After a few beers this place looks like paradise. Right now it looks, sounds and smells, like a dull ordinary kind of street. Sort of like a Hollywood set, nice in the front and full of unfinished business, parking lots and trash dumpsters in the back. If I could just get to Candice I know I would be alright. There was food, TV, toilets that worked, and a nice safe bed.

It took a while but I managed to scrounge up enough money for some beer. Between handouts and a couple of cans I got five bucks together for a super can.

It is getting dark and I am getting tired. Making the park rounds one last time trying to find Sean I came up empty again. Tonight I am not sure where I want to sleep. On the way to the levee I walk by Candi's. She lives in a small complex and her door is easy to see from the street. No lights are on. My curiosity is killing me. I stand on the other side of the street and wait for a while but I am not sure why. One of her neighbors walks by the front of the place. Quickly I cross the street. "Hey man, you got a smoke, can I bum a smoke off of you?"

When I lived with Candi I often got a cigarette off this guy. Overall he was pretty decent. Hopefully he might say something about Candi.

"Oh hey man, I haven't seen you around," he says as he hands me a cigarette, "Is something wrong with that chick you were with?"

"I don't know, why?"

"Cops were here a little while ago, they took her away in the backseat. The kid got taken too, but in a different car. It was a mess. Kid was crying, the chick was trying to fight the cops, she was spitting, screaming about the kid. I don't know what happened but she was mad as hell."

A laugh and a chuckle sneak out of me. It is impossible to hold them in. The guy gives a funny look as I light my smoke up. After a few puffs I wish him a good night and stroll off toward my bridge. The night air is just getting damp from some fresh sea fog. Still I can see the stars. Instead of going to sleep I look up at the sky for a while and count airplanes. That bitch can't hurt me now. It is too bad about the kid. Hopefully she will be in a better place, but it won't take long for Candi to get her back. Candi knows how to work the system.

Morning comes late for me. It is hard to say how long I slept for but it feels like noon. Either I have to find Sean or figure out a way to get some money. White Lady's had a lot of bottles and cans. I suppose I can make a few bucks there. That is not something I want to do though. It is a nice warm day so I head out to the beach spots Sean goes to first. Maybe he will be enjoying the ocean view. Sometimes he does this. Sean is an odd ball. While he lives like a troll with a truck he doesn't drink or do drugs. He manages to blend in with everyone. Most people really like him. If only that wart Sam could get removed from his ass.

Getting to the beach I realize from the looks that I am getting that my clothes have been my bathroom for a while. That means I must smell. Not that Sean would care, but Candice would. Once I get to the Ocean I wade in the water fully clothed. Out in the waves a ways I stay until I feel a bit cleaner. From how fast my clothing dries I know it is after midday. I walk up West Cliff and see Sean's truck parked by the surfer statue.

My gait increased and as I came closer I could tell he was sleeping. Not wanting to wake him, I sat by the overlook and waited for him to wake up. The day was warm and the water was full of surfers even through the waves were small. Looking out to the wharf I could see the power plant and the Monterey hills outlining the distance. There were no clouds in sight. Summer was coming and that would end the clear weather. Fog would last until well until the afternoon starting mid-June. There would be few hot days in September. Then would be a temperate time, the beautiful weather. Late December would bring cold. How I dreaded that, but it would be over sometime in February. Hopefully I would find a woman to live with during those months. Some guys go farther south, but this town is one of the friendliest to our kind. Sean started moving around in his cab and I walked over. "Hey man," I said as I tapped on the window, "Sean?"

"DJ! Hey, I've missed you. What's up?" Sean said as he rolled his window down.

"I really need a ride to SF again. Same place. I was wondering if you could get me there?"

"When?" He blinked from the sun as I moved my shadow.

"Anytime you can go."

"I can drive you tomorrow, we would need to leave after I get off at eight. I'm working again pulling a four to midnight shift. Would that work?"

"Eight am or pm?"

"Am."

"Yeah, sure, I just need a ride up this time. We could leave around nine? Where do you want to meet?"

Sean thought for a second, "Could we meet here?"

"Sure."

We said our goodbyes and I set out for the levee. If I slept early I usually work up around six. I could wait at the clock tower until around eight and then head up to the surfer. That would give me plenty of time. Sometimes I thought that the clock tower was such a popular hang out because it was a way to tell time. So much of my day was a blur that without it I would have no concept of minutes passing me by without it.

The levee was full of people walking about. The river attracted a hodgepodge of humanity. Flowers were blooming; wild purple, lilacs of different shades, and yellow mustard encased the banks of the San Lorenzo. It had been a while since I had a drink and I wondered if I could go longer without one. Right now I was reasonably clean and I would like to stay that way for a while. Rubbing my chin I realize I have more than a few days' worth of growth. Down by the edge of the river I pull a little roll with a toothbrush and a shaver. It has been a long time since I have used them. Shaving without soap or a mirror is difficult but doable. By tomorrow I will have some stubble coming through but I won't look stupid.

There are some rocks along the clear water's edge. I decide to toss in a few, but they don't skip as I planned. Some kids are flying a kite on the other side and some guys are trying to catch fish. A couple of women are splashing in the water without their tops on squealing and yelling. They might be high and they are definitely from the university. Watching the people makes me forget the war that I have been struggling with inside against the liquid Satan that lives in cans of Miller and Bud.

At Sunset a person with a very familiar stride comes toward me. It takes me a minute to realize it is Randy. As he sits he hands me a cigarette. "Hey man, did you hear about Candi?"

Randy was a bad shade of pale. There is an upset quiver to his voice, "No," I lie, "What about that bitch?"

"Cops came and took her. She is flaming mad. Gonna sue the city for taking her kid and making her lie."

"Really? Did you hear this from Candi?" It sounded like a story she would make up to cover up the truth. It was stupid to ask for more details, the less I knew the better, but I was so curious.

"Yah. She was in jail I guess. Got out this morning. I just saw her and asked where the kid was, you know, she always has the kid, and she went off. Said that the cops were targeting Latinas."

A small laugh came out and I coughed trying to hold it back. Of course, why not pull the race card too? I wondered how bad she got nailed. Getting up I flicked some ash from my cigarette to the ground. Randy got up too. Down the river we started to walk. Soon after we started Randy needed to rest. So again we sat and let the sky get dark before we moved again.

The air was fresh and the buzz of summer's bounty of bugs made music for us. Big dragonflies and other large strange creatures were making it hard to sleep. We flattened out some of the wild flowers and made a little nest for ourselves. Night visitors buzzed and bit us all throughout our dreaming. Tomorrow I needed to meet Sean. I had to get up with the sun or I would sleep too long. Rest was interrupted by the bugs all through the darkest part of the night.

When I woke up I was not sure what time it was but it felt early. Waking Randy I dragged him along to the shelter. The shelter was not officially open but one of the workers gave us some bread and told us the time. It was just after six thirty. Good, I had lots of daylight.

The guy was really nice and really concerned about Randy. He asked us in and showed us a place to sit. A few minutes and another person came with some more food. Randy didn't eat well.

"Hey," the guy said to Randy, "You really don't look that well. We have a nurse who is cool. Today is the day she comes by. Why don't you stay? She could help you. She even carries pot for those who need it."

"Oh, I'm ok," Randy said.

I didn't think Randy was that ok, and I was leaving, possibly for a while, "Hey man," I said, "why don't you let her check you out? You could score some free pot."

That awakened something inside Randy. Today he had no money and all his drugs were gone. Perhaps this would be an easy way to score something for free and with little effort.

"I guess," he said.

This made the guy from the shelter really happy. Do-gooders like to feel they have made a difference in the world each day. He even gave me a sandwich for later. After we ate I hung around with Randy until it was just before eight. Then I set out toward the surfer. Walking on a full stomach made the walk easier. Every smell of food that drifted my way didn't slow me down and my legs worked much better.

Still the nagging urge to drink was in the back of my mind. It would grow and grow until I had a taste. Then I would not be able to stop. My body was a little shaky but the food helped me feel stronger. Sean was waiting for me when I reached the statue.

"Hey buddy, you ready to go?" I call to Sean.

"Yes. Same place right?"

"Right."

The drive is much more enjoyable without Sam. Sean loves to talk so I just agree with what he says as I listen. Work and Sam are the things he enjoys talking about the most. Unfortunately he enjoys talking about Sam more than work. There really is no reason why I should despise Sam so much. Comparatively he is more like me than most people. He is a liar, I am a liar. He uses Sean for money, I use women for money. He is a bad person, I am a bad person. His family hates him, my family hates me. Like looking in a mirror. The thing staring back at me looks like the beast and I can't take it for long.

When we get to Candice's house she is not home. Sean drops me off and gives me some money for a light rail pass. Candice works so she may not be home until late. Off to explore the city I go.

Riding around SF is fun at first but it gets old. The up and down of the buildings starts to close in. After a while I decide to get off on a crowded street corner. The Museum of Modern Art was across the street, or MOMA as the lesbians called it.

This group of very snotty dyke bitches used to talk about going there all the time. Most of them had hot tits and big lips. I had about thirty dollars from Sean and I wasn't sure if I wanted to spend it on some dumb art that lesbians love, but I went to the entrance to check it out.

Walking across the street in SF is not like it is in Santa Cruz. Cars don't stop for you and there are so many people you move in a mass that becomes a unit unto itself. Once safely across the people break away and part. The Museum has this MOMA banner hanging outside it, declaring that they are showing the works of Lee Miller. Never heard of the guy, but it would be nice to talk to the girls about him and watch their eyes bob up and down.

There is a round desk where you buy tickets, and today is the first Tuesday of the month which is the free day. For free sounds good. I get a pass and go up the elevator.

The vestibule is full of crap and stupid people looking at crap. Trying to get around them I step on a red line. This is forbidden I am told by a security guard. I must stand a full foot taller than this sweet little old lady. What would she do if someone was trying to steal or damage something? Make cookies for them? What a joke.

Lee Miller turns out to be a woman. Her work is photography and she was Man Ray's girlfriend. Many pretty fashion pictures line the walls. It is like being in the middle of a very ancient issue of Vogue. Going back in time to black and white images. There really doesn't seem to be anything special. Many of the pictures remind me of Life magazine. People stare at the photos. It takes me only a few minutes to take in each one. I doubt I will spend all day here.

There is another section of her work. A wall completely blocks those photos from view. I follow the walkway until it ends in a dark opening and turn a corner into a very surprising array of pictures.

On a wall there is what appears to be the same giant poster sized photo over and over again. There are ten, maybe more. All the same horrific size and black and white. A row of ovens filled with ashes, skulls, and other human bones. Shocked I notice that the pictures are not the same. Some have two skulls in the corner, others have them broken. Each oven has about the same amount of debris in it. The posters are hung at a level that makes me feel like I am a child looking in at them. The ovens look like big brick beehives that you would bake bread in.

The power of the pictures takes me over. Like the other people I just stare at them until I find myself crying. Lee Miller is now my favorite artist.

The rest of the exhibit is World War II as well. The photos are amazingly painful and beautiful at the same time. Nothing sticks with me like the ovens though. When I close my eyes I can still see them. That is probably why they were hung on that wall. Portals to hell. Yet the delicate curve of the bones speaks of something else that rises above the torture. Something I want. When I look at those ovens all in a row again I see beyond the waste and see love. So much of life contained in a row of photographs. Those bones danced, cried, played, and looked for shells on the beach once. They were no different from any other person. Dignity really is just an illusion.

This is a time when I am glad that I am not high or drunk. I think I can understand what the lesbians are talking about. This is a strange and magical place; beautiful and terrible.

As time wears on I feel my legs get tired and I decide to get back on MUNI. Riding around I see all the plywood lined sidewalks. Posters try and cover it up. This is a crowded place. Like the museum it is beautiful and ugly at the same time. No one relaxes here.

The sun is getting low in the sky and I head to Candice's house. As I get off a trolley I see light coming from a window in her house. I become part of another great mass and walk across the street. Knocking on the door I listen to see if I can hear anything from inside. Sounds of footsteps coming closer hit me ears and her door opens. The unmistakable perfect teeth glow at me from her smile. I was in.

This should be a happy moment for me. Today had been a good day. But all I could think about was booze. When Candice offered me a glass of wine I tried to not look too eager to drink it. But I couldn't help it. After a short time the bottle was empty and she had drank only two glasses. I was feeling pretty good and Candice was looking a lot better.

What we talked about I couldn't remember. Laughter and those bright white teeth danced around the room. This was good. Tonight we went upstairs to her bedroom. From now on I would be sleeping there. Feeling pretty good I made my move.

"Shh, my program is going to start," she moved my arm off of her and turned on the TV. Confused I did as she asked.

It took me a minute to realize what was going on. From a very tasteful nightstand she pulled out a bag of tootsie rolls and a bag of chips. Then she got up and from a mini fridge that was disguised as part of the wall she pulled out two cans of grape soda, one for me and one for her. Easing down on the bed she put the food between us and handed me a soda. The next thing I knew it was morning.

The last time I had slept in a bed had been a while ago, and that was at Candi's in an old piece of crap with the springs poking into my back. This bed was like sleeping on a cloud of fluffy sweet warmth. The sheets were smooth and smelled like spring flowers should smell. All night I stayed warm and safe. The bed softly bounced under me as I moved. I didn't want to get up.

After I woke up I just stayed in bed for an hour. The last time had woken up I had been stiff and dirty. If I died right now it would be fine. The weight of the blankets was pleasant and the bed was not too soft and not too hard. The house smelled warm like fresh biscuits. Always something interrupts peacefulness and I had to get up and go to the bathroom or stay there and wet the bed. Either way the moment had ended, so I got up instead of fouling the sheets.

After I took a leak I had a shower. This felt so much better than washing off in the river or the ocean. My clothes were nasty and I didn't want to put them back on so I stayed in a towel and washed my clothes hoping they wouldn't fall apart. This was a wonderful way to live, but I doubted I could last. A place like this is too good for me. In a small time period I would ruin a home like this. Dwellings reflect the soul of the denizens.

On the living room table was a note and one hundred dollars. The note said to help myself to the money, make myself at home, and she would be back around six or seven that night. Even in a place like this I found myself wondering how to make time pass faster. There were other things I could do, but I really wanted to drink. This morning was the first that I can remember when my waking thought wasn't to get a drink. Maybe I could beat the booze.

In the kitchen I found a feast. There were fresh baked biscuits, and in the fridge I found some gravy from KFC. This was delicious. Scanning the fridge I spotted a bottle of wine. I thought I would see how long I could go without drinking it.

I lasted five minutes. Going back to the fridge over and over to check and see what kind of wine it was. Is the bottle open? Yes. Is it full? No. Red or white? A blush. Then I popped off the cork. I was just going to smell it but ended up drinking half of it before I put the bottle back. It was very good wine. The feeling of ease that I get when I am drinking lasted a little while after I stopped this time. Maybe I was gaining control over this problem. If I could just leave the rest of the bottle alone I would beat this.

The buzzer came from the laundry room signaling that my clothes were done. Dressing in them was hard. What I had to wear didn't match the beauty of my surroundings. With the hundred dollars I had could get a nice outfit, but I didn't want to waste it on clothes. It had been a long time since I had so much to eat and chased it down with some good wine. Fresh and clean food made my stomach feel different than my usual dumpster fare. The next thing I did was go back upstairs and take a nap in that wonderful bed.

When Candice got home she had a bucket of KFC and three bags of other fast foods with her. The table was set beautifully and in the midst of it she placed a mountain of garbage food soaked in grease. I could learn to live this way. Things were going just a bit too easy for me and I felt a little like Hansel living in the gingerbread house. Maybe a trap. Still, it was better than anything else I had going on.

Dinner, then TV, and then we had sex. Hoping that the rolls would stay together I laid her on her stomach. The mounds from her butt spread wide and looked like lopsided little hills. The rolls on her legs seemed more secure this time, but finding her vagina was like digging for gold. More like looking for change under two enormous fleshy cushions. Finally I found my place and trying to go in as far as I could I pushed her legs apart.

It must have looked like I was being eaten by her butt. Smells came from her cracks and that endangered my erection. I kept creeping further and further into her backside areas trying to get my penis in further. Her butt cheeks were up past my shoulders and I thought I might have lost her vagina. Thankfully I blew my load.

As I climbed out of the flesh straight jacket that was her ass and got up I noticed there was shit on my stomach. This turned my insides very queasy so I went to the bathroom. Walking away I looked back at her. She seemed very pleased. Tonight I would hold her.

Having my own shit on me was one thing but I hated having another person's on my body. It reminded me of Hank. That was a bad thought. Once I was in the shower I rushed to scrub myself as clean and possible. Pretending the bubbles were memories I watched Hank slip down the drain. The rest of the night I held my giant benefactor as we lay in her comfortable warm bed.

The next day Candice was off of work. Working for the city she got a floater day or something off once a month. I hadn't been through all of Candice's house and was very surprised when we went to the garage. Inside was a very small little hybrid car. The backseat had her lark scooter that she used to get around.

"Today Ima gonna get you some new clothes. You a good looking guy, but you clothes is stank, we need some swaggah," Candice said.

The way she talked was an interesting blend of Standard English and Oakland slang. It sounded very odd, intelligent and degenerate at the same time. The way I was being treated felt like I was being used, but I couldn't imagine for what other than sex. Sex is a powerful motivator that was probably enough. Maybe I was a project. I hate that.

The better part of the day we spent shopping for me. As we picked out the clothes I noticed what good taste she had. The way she combined pieces of clothing made me look cool but not sleazy. She even added some jewelry that I liked. Normally I will not wear any and not just because I sold most of it for beer money.

After we had loaded up the car with bags and boxes we went to make the last purchase. Insisting that I must have one she added me on to her cell phone plan. Very reluctantly I accepted. It was really cool but it felt like she was tightening a lease around my neck. Not only was she buying me, I started to enjoy spending time with her. The ugly of her outside was starting to wear off a little. I still dreaded having to fuck her though. While she really couldn't help how gross she was her stench and bodily secretions were hard to deal with. Gagging a little I pushed the thought of this from my mind.

We decided to have dinner out. Grabbing some clothes I changed in the bathroom before we ordered. Candice beamed, "You're like playing dress up with a Ken doll," she said.

"Thanks," it didn't feel like the right word, but I couldn't think of much else. "What do you do for the City?" I asked.

"Oh I am tries to get a bill going that is at the federal level. There is this big bank bailout going on and I have an idea to help distributes the money so the country don't end up messing up the middle class. We is shrinking the middle class too much."

"Yah? How does that work."

"Well, instead of just giving the money to the bank, we give the money in the form of a loan to homeowners. The homeowners don't actually ever have access to the money, cause it is added on to the original loan. Then technically the bank has the money and the homeowner pays back the government when they sell their property. But before then, the folks don't have to worry about paying a dime. Sort of like a bond, only no interest.

It will let the homeowner keep their homes, the bank will get their money, and someday the government will be paid back. Otherwise the bank can just use the money and default on the loan. Then the middle class will have to pay back the money, people will lose their homes, and the banks might fail anyway."

Nodding I just stared at her. Really, I didn't understand or care too much about what she was talking about, "So the federal government is using your plan?"

"Aw no, I doubt it. Mine is just one idea, there are many more, just as good, some are better. But socialism and social engineering are not popular right now. People are tired of the government. And them banks don't want this at all. They powerful. Most of the bad loans went to corporations. They should fail. That would lower the costs of rent and lower the costs of doing business. It would get rid of one of the barriers to entering a new business. Rent costs for the poorest would go down and that would free up their money so they could spend it on other things. If a corporation goes under or rich folks lose most of their wealth it really doesn't matter that much over all. Right now everything is backwards. Folks worrying about being too big to fail. That is like cancer getting too big to kill you."

"That makes good sense, why don't you think your ideas won't get used?" I really didn't get what she was talking about, but it sounded like she knew her shit.

With a hearty laugh she replied, "Because I is a black woman! No one on this earth wants is to listen to a big old ugly black woman like me."

For a while I was silent, then crying a little, I said, "Oprah's black."

She thought about this for a while as she chewed on her spaghetti. Finally, she said, "No. Oprah is not black. She's mocha."

That made me laugh, and then she laughed too. It had been a long time since I had so much fun. While I didn't always understand everything she said I knew that Candice was smart and had a big heart. There was no way I would ever love her no matter how lovely she was. My heart was still with Candi. This is why I am such a loser. I love ugly rotten garbage.

Dinner ended and we squeezed into her tiny car. The ride home was short and once there I kept looking through all the great stuff she bought me. The phone burned in my pocket. I had no one to call, and at the same time there was an endless list of those I should call. People from my past that were more shadow than memory. It was not easy to have the phone. I sighed.

"What's wrong?" Candice asked.

"Just too full from dinner," I answered.

We watched her shows and then had sex. It seemed very important to her that we have sex this night. Nothing mattered to her other than that. It was a little strange but I did my best. Doing the splits practically she opened her legs wide and it looked kind of painful.

Never before had she spread herself out like this. The little pink slit came into view and in I went. One thing that was nice was how tight she was, but it made it hard to hold back. At dinner I had a few glasses of wine, and we had some more at home. I really wanted to finish off the bottle, she looked much better after a few drinks, the tightness on my dick, and well, I came in record time. Normally I would have thought she would be upset, but she was happy. It really didn't take much to please her.

This morning when I woke up I hardly noticed how soft the bed was; I was getting spoiled. Money was on the front table again, and a nice omelet was in the kitchen. The phone rang, and it was Candice of course, "Hey baby, I left you some money, help yourself to anything you want. I got to get back to work. I may have to fly out to Washington this week. Take care, Love you."

I didn't even get a chance to say hello. It was suspicious that someone like Candice would write letters to losers in jail. Where would she find the time? Why would she bother? Other than looking like Grape Ape's darker sister she was a great person. After just a short time I actually cared about her. This was someone who should have a good man. But for now I would get what I could and enjoy her company.

Putting on my new clothes I felt good and I looked good. It had been awhile since I had nice things to wear and my hygiene was this kept up. The idea of going back to see the Lee Miller photos was having a war with the thought of getting drunk. We came to a truce. Today I would go to the exhibit after I had two glasses of wine. Quickly I drank and left before I could think about. Too many times in the past I had ended up drinking a whole bottle of something and not realizing it. By the time I was at the trolley stop I was feeling good but not drunk.

The exhibit didn't have as much power now that I knew what to expect. This time I just went straight to the meat. Once I had seen all of the best I went back to see her other work. Looking with fresh eyes at her fashion photos they had more to them than what I saw the first time. As I was staring at one a fellow said to me, "Such power. The female power, it is such an amazing and elusive thing. Most of them are just cunts."

"Yah. And usually the interesting ones are dog-ass ugly'" I said.

"That is true. My name is Herve, and you are?"

"DJ."

"Well, I haven't seen you around much. I know most of the people who come on the off hours, and no one else comes here other than tourists. Who are you?"

"I'm a homeless guy leaching off of a gorilla."

The look he gave was a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"Well, if you care, I'm a jaded teacher. I thought I'd be rich and famous by now. Instead I find myself mediocre on a good day."

"Of course, everyone knows that teachers are stuck in the rules. How can you be an artist if you are chained to a school of thought? All the best artist get thrown out of the academy," a memory of a conversation echoed from me.

He looked a little taken back by this. Honestly, it was something I heard one of the fat lesbians saying to one of the others about some artist that one liked. I have a way of remembering phrases that I hear.

Herve and I spent the rest of the afternoon together. From that stupid comment I made he decided that I was brilliant. There were many little galleries all over the city. Most of them were boring, and I really wanted something to drink. Surprisingly many of the art places had wine. It was cool to get drunk off of free wine.

The day was a blur of wine, cheese, and colors. We exchanged phone numbers and I promised to keep in touch. On the ride home it struck me how different my drinking buddies were in SF compared to Santa Cruz.

A few more days passed where Candice demanded sex, and then she seemed to not care as much. It felt like she was back to normal. Something was still odd about her though. There was no work involved with getting shit from her. She just gave and I took. In fact she gave me more than I would have asked for. Herve was starting to become like my new Randy. The way I lived my life was similar to how it had been before but I had more wine than beer, didn't binge as much, and had a better educated circle of friends. I spent a few weeks like this.

There was one room on the second floor that I had not been in. It had never occurred to me to check it out. Most of my time was spent on the main floor of the house and I would usually only go upstairs when Candice was there. That room seemed unimportant. Candice had never gone in it that I saw. Perhaps it was a storage closet or a spare bedroom?

I had been watching TV when Candice called to tell me where she had left me some money. It was a lot this time because she was going to DC for a week. In a little envelope she had left me seven hundred in twenties. She had also left me a note about my storage locker. According to the message she had paid it for six months. This was just too easy. Why? I decided to snoop through her house.

The first place I looked was through her desk in the hallway. Nothing surprising there. Mostly work stuff, letters, and article she had written for some magazine called UTNE had been picked up. This wasn't new, all too typical for her. I slowly made my way through all of her drawers and checked her computers. Everything was as it should be. It seemed like she had nothing to hide. And then I decided to look in that room.

The minute I opened the door it all became clear. I knew why I was there and what she wanted. There was no evil plot to eat me or harm me. It was very Candice and sort of sad. The room was a nursery. Candice wanted a baby.

In truth Candice would be a great mother. If I had to pick a person to raise a child of mine she would be a good candidate. But I did not want to father a child. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had never used a condom with Candice. Usually I relied on the woman to give me one. There was never a memory of me having sex with a woman who didn't insist on one. The only times that I had sex without one was with Candice and Randy. The pressure was killing me and I knew I had to leave.

I packed up my things and left. This was a great place, but I couldn't do it. Family and me didn't mix. The thought of Hank flashed through my mind as I locked up her house for the last time.

There was no way that I could talk to Candice so I sent her a text. She answered back "I understand."

Catching Caltrain I left for San Jose. San Jose was not like SF or Santa Cruz. If California was a beautiful woman San Jose would be one of her stinky armpits. I took a seat on the top floor of the train and wondered where I should stop to get some vodka. It had been a while since I got really drunk and I needed to feel nothing. The whole ride to San Jose I cried. What had I done?

Once I arrived in San Jose I picked up the 17 express to get back to the other side of the hill. As we reached the summit the air changed and smelled healthy again. The trees welcomed me home. "Stay sober, come to God," they called out.

But I was nowhere near God. I left behind my best chance for that. Home was a filthy mess. That was the best I could do.

I got off the bus and made my way to the storage place. Ted's padlock had been removed so I could get in it again. Candice said she had paid for six months that would give me time. Carefully I raised the door and put in the stuff that Candice gave me. In the back and under other ancient items I put my treasure. I didn't want Randy to find it and sell my things. They were important to me.

Some time had passed and I decided to take a bus to Mission Street. Once there I walked down Berkshire. It was a very nicely kept up area and I walked by the house where my mother grew up slowly. The people that lived there now didn't know me and doubted they even knew my mother. It had been many years since one of us lived there. The garden my grandmother tended had been replaced long ago with easy to keep up lawn. Still, it looked nice. This was my mother's heaven.

My clothes fit in well in SF, but not here. People stared at me, but I didn't care. I walked down to West Cliff and went to see the surfer. All I could think about was the nursery. What if she was pregnant? My gorilla baby would have the finest things and a good mother. In fact it would have everything except a father. It made my heart sorrowful and my chest really hurt.

A truck pulled into a space by me. It was Sean, and Sam was seated behind him. Hiding from the Yakuza no doubt. "Hey DJ! It's good to see you."

It felt great to see Sean. Like an old worn out shoe that had been thrown out and rediscovered. This felt right and familiar. I just wished Sam wasn't there.

"You look good DJ. I haven't seen you around for a while. How have you been?"

I Smiled at Sean, "Yah, I stayed in SF for a while, but I missed the life. Santa Cruz is my home."

"Yah, I love this place too. I could never leave for long," Sean said.

"There is a lot to see out in the world, but this will always be my home," added the moronic munchkin.

"Yeah, right, Sam. So anything fantastic happen to you lately?" I asked very sarcastically.

"Well, I'm getting pressure from this newly formed drug cartel to do a run into Oakland Airport. I was checking out the guys yesterday, they look legit and all, but I don't know. I am really working to pull my dojo together. It would be a lot of money, but I might lose backing for the school. Hard choice."

"Where is the drug cartel from?" I really don't care but I am hoping that Sean will start to see Sam for what he really is.

"It's this new gang, El Escularo out of Paraguay. They are a deadly group. It promises to be a big payoff - or death," Sam was using a very dramatic tone.

"Yah? Paraguay. What kind of drugs they got there?" I ask because I have never heard of a drug ring Paraguay.

"They grow a special crop called "Vegaron" it only grows in certain locations in Paraguay and is highly addictive. They say it's more intense than heroine and cheap to make. None of the drug screeners can detect it yet. I would be getting in on the ground floor. But it is run by the fierce Maca tribe. They are not easy to deal with, and they will cut your throat if you look at them the wrong way."

"Well, that sounds like a sweet deal. If you have other business to take care of, why not let me do the job for you? I got nothing going on."

Sam thinks about it for a second. It would be hard for him to say anything right now and not look bad. "If you are really in then meet me at the back of the bowling alley tomorrow just before midnight. But you better be serious."

"Oh, I will be there," I say as I wonder how he will explain away this not panning out.

Sean looks uncomfortable so I bid good bye and leave. It doesn't take me long to get to the Pacific Garden Mall. Right now I am healthier than I have been in a long time. Fast food and wine beats dumpster fare and hard liquor. From behind I hear my name and turn to see Randy.

It has been a long time since we have been together and even though I didn't miss him I find myself full of joy at the sight of him. We belong to each other. "DJ, where you been? I thought maybe you died."

"No, I went to see that Candice chick. Spent some time in SF."

"Wow, you look great. Your clothes, hair, man, why did you come back?" He looked completely puzzled.

"You know she was great, I mean that. Not like the trashy bitches we use here. But she wanted a different kind of guy. I belong here."

Randy got a strange look on his face and pulled me along, "Hey man, I need to tell you something."

"What?" I am concerned by his tone.

"Candi is looking for you. She is telling everyone you got her pregnant. She looks really far along though; I don't think it would be possible for it to be yours. She keeps asking where we have our storage locker at. I think that crazy bitch is trying to get our stuff."

"Why? Doesn't she get enough free shit from the county? Besides she didn't look pregnant last month, she must be pulling something."

"I don't know, she acts like we have something valuable. It makes the other guys restless. They think we might be holding good stuff. I told them what's in there and they think I'm lying."

"Well, let's go and rent another storage locker and give it to Candi. That should shut her up. We'll fill it up with trash out of the dumpster. She won't know there is another one unless we mess up."

"Where will we get the money?"

"The first month is free. We won't pay; Ted will try and get the money from her. He knows we don't have anything extra."

Ted is easy to deal with. He hates women and hates snitches even more. He helps us and won't talk. We spend the better part of the day collecting trash and dropping it in the locker. Cans, old clothes, used newspapers, bags full of smelly stuff all go into the new space. Then I walk over to Candi's. Randy decides to wait for me at the levee.

I knock on the door and it surprises me how big her bump is. She looks at least seven months along, maybe more. Come to think of it she was always holding in her gut. Strange to see her this big after such a short time.

I doubt that could be mine. "I heard you were looking for me," I say without emotion.

"Yes. Look how you left me you pig. What are you going to do for me? Well? What?"

"Nothing I can do. What do you want?"

"I want everything you have. I want this kid to know its father, and want what is in that damn locker of yours that is so precious."

"Ok. Here is the storage info. Now stay the fuck out of my life whore."

"What?"

"I was going to let that shit go to auction anyway. I don't need it. And I am not going to pretend to be your baby daddy. Slut, there are so many guys who could be the kid's father, I can't count that high. Fuck you. Take my stuff."

Then I left. The sound of her crying filled the night. It was fake and loud. What a mess that bitch was. What a mess the baby would be. I looked back to flip her off and saw the child looking down the street after me. What a mess that kid would be.

On the way to meeting Randy I stopped and bought two bottles of Jack. It was rare that I spent that much on alcohol, but it had been a while since I had anything hard. Once I saw Randy sitting on the edge of the gravel I motioned to him and we walked down to the water's edge. Hopefully no one would bother us behind all the tall flowers and brush.

The liquid was so beautiful I watched it sparkling in the bottle. How I loved to drink. There was nothing as sweet as the taste. Once it hit my mouth I swished it around for a while. Sweet oblivion was soon to come. Randy picked up his bottle and took a drink then just stared at the ground for a while. After a few more mouthfuls I was feeling pretty good.

"What, I mean do you, you know, ever think about what's next?" Randy asked.

"What the hell are you talking about," I answered.

Actually, I did think about this. But Randy had a way of putting me off. His ideas of Heaven sounded like he'd almost seen it. Maybe he did and got kicked out or something.

"You know, what happens after we depart."

"Depart what?"

"Earth, this life, you know, what is waiting on the other side."

"I have enough to worry about keeping bitches from my stuff. I don't sit around and worry about things I can't control."

"DJ," Randy went on, "Do you think there is heaven?"

"Why?"

"It just really matters to me. I think about it all the time. I think about White Lady. Do you think that I will be ok when I die?"

"No one will be ok when they die, they will be dead. Now shut up and get drunk."

Whatever was getting to Randy made him cry. That night we drank and drank until there was nothing. When the morning came Randy was breathing hard. It took me a while to wake him up and he had more weird brown patches on his skin.

Today I had to remember to go to the bowling alley to meet that full of shit midget Sam. The clothes I wore were still nice enough to go places in so after I made sure Randy was up I left him with some money. Normally I leave him to make his own way, but lately he seemed ill. I headed off to spend time in places I would normally be asked to leave. There was this little coffee hang out just off Pacific that I decided to get a scone at. Once I got my food I found a little table that had a newspaper and relaxed.

The phone rang, and it took me a minute to realize it was mine. For a while I had forgotten it. Candice wanted me to know that if I needed anything to call her, and that no one in DC listened to her. She was sure it was because her skin was so dark. It shocked me when she talked about bleaching it. I really didn't think that was her problem. The phone would remain on indefinitely she told me. I wondered why.

Today I spent time in cafés and walking in Capitola. Normally I stayed far away from there because the cops aspired to be Nazis someday. Not that they had much further to go. Once they got a death camp for the homeless it would be a perfect replica of the Third Reich. They had rented camping spaces by the beach for us once, but I thought of Auschwitz and never went.

I wasted away the day and had only a few beers. The Maca drug ring would call for me having a semi clear head. Sam was a joke, and I hoped that Sean would start to see him for what he was; another Hank.

It must have been around eleven when I started to wait behind the lanes, and after about forty-five minutes a limo pulled up. Out came Sam and another little guy. This couldn't be real I thought.

"Ok, here's your guy. It's all good, you can trust him. Get in," Sam motioned for me to get in the limo. Shit.

It seemed wrong that Sam would know these people. Inside the limo was set up like a high tech office. Someone pulled down a screen behind my head and they took my picture. Then they started calling on their phones.

The guy sitting behind this computer slide over to a printer like device and handed me a passport with picture, and in a few seconds he handed me a driver's license. Next came a couple of credit cards. Noise came from the printer and airline tickets were handed to me along with a drink. This seemed like a sweet deal.

Sam was talking to one of the guys. They were all really short and wearing black suits. The limo was lurching left and right so I knew we were on a twisty road. There were no windows. The seats were a round bench in the very back where I was, and a few bolted down swivels at work stations. A giant TV screen was on the ceiling and Gillian's Island was playing. The language they were speaking was peculiar and Sam understood it.

Uphill we headed and then the car twisted and turned down. I wondered where we were going as I was handed another drink. They were mixed so it would take a few more of them to get hammered. It seemed like we were at Los Gatos when the limo stopped. One guy got out and came back with a suitcase that was handed to me. The limo started back down the road going someplace but I didn't really know where. Although I was pretty sure we were somewhere on highway seventeen.

A few more drinks and we stopped. One of the guys made sure I had all my stuff he had made for me, and I was given money and a prepaid cell phone. Once I got out of the limo I could tell I was at an airport but I was not sure which one.

"You are taking TACA. When you land look for a guy with a sign that says Nimrod. That is you."

I looked at my passport, Charles P. Nimrod. What a name. I checked the tickets. I was flying out of SFO and landing in ASU. That would mean that I was in San Francisco right now. I thought it must be around one in the morning. My flight would leave at six am. That would give me enough time to get through security and shit if I wanted to.

They walked with me to the international terminal and left me at the check in line with two more suitcases. I checked in and got my boarding passes. On to security I went so that I could wait around and leave with the sunrise.

To pass the time I counted my money. The wallet had two credit cards, both gold cards, and five thousand dollars in cash. This made me nervous. What was I going to do? I wanted to leave but I was worried about crossing people like this. Hard to believe that Sam was not completely full of shit. The phone I had from Candice was dead. I thought I should try and find a place where I could buy a charger for it before I left so I got up and searched through the stores looking for one. No luck, everything was closed. I would only have the prepaid phone and I was scared to use it. I hoped I would get out of this alive.

It took a while to get the plane ready and we got on around five thirty. The seat I was assigned to was a window seat in the cramped row towards the middle. Quickly I fixed my seat buckle and fell asleep. Still buzzed from the drinks in the limo I didn't even notice the plane lift off. The stewardess woke me when it was time to catch a connection and I quickly fell asleep on that flight as well. When I woke up next I was at ASU, in Paraguay. What the ASU stood for I wasn't sure of. It probably was a big city.

The place reminded me of the old San Jose terminal and it even smelled like it, only dirtier. The place was open and old. Very Spanish. Many ramps and moving stairways were at the airport like most. There were multiple levels and as I walked out of the gate there was a little man in a very familiar suit holding a sign that said, "Nimrod."

Walking over to where he stood I introduced myself and he showed me to a car. We went down some little streets in an old VW Bus. It hopped and skipped over potholes and scattered people and cats everywhere. No one seemed to care much though. Finally we stopped in front of an old white building that looked very Spanish. "This is your hotel. Keep your phone near. We call soon."

With that I got out of the car and walked toward what was once probably a very special place. Now it had that kept up but a little run down look. There was a courtyard with a fountain. Tiles were missing and yet the water still sparkled clean in some artificial light. There was a bell at the desk and it occurred to me that I had no idea what time it was.

A sleepy man with messy hair greeted me in broken English and checked me in. There was an open courtyard in the hotel and a set of open decks around each floor. Taking me up a set of stairs that lead in a spiral he took me to the third floor and opened number three oh four. As I handed him a tip I realized that it was a hundred. The man looked very surprised. "Anything, you call, si?"

"Si," I said.

The room was very nice and had a little balcony off of it that faced the city. The air was stale and hot so I opened the door to the balcony and the window. The relief came slow. The night air was still warm and the air smelled like damp rotting plants. Looking out my window I could tell that I was on the edge of the city. The lights stretched farther than I had expected. My room had a TV on a table and I turned it on. Both of the channels were in Spanish. As I watched a lady talking to a man on the TV I went to get some water. Thirst had dried up my throat. After about three glasses I started craving booze. Not here though, not until I felt safer. Being drunk in a dangerous situation was never a good idea.

This was going to be a boring night. Wide awake I lay in bed and watched people on TV. I turned it off trying to get some rest but it was no use. All the sleep on the plane had messed me up. I would need to stay awake and get some sleep tomorrow.

Looking up I noticed many cracks on the ceiling. The paint was old and shabby. While everything in the room was clean it was obvious that this was not a five star hotel. Maybe it had been at one time. My stomach ached, and I really couldn't wait to get this over with. Whatever this was. My mind raced and I had a hard time believing this was real. How did I end up in Paraguay? This was because of Sam. I had never been out of California before. Now I had left without any real ID. Wasn't I supposed to get some shots? That was an odd thought. Like not getting shots before I left the country would get me in more trouble than a fake passport and credit cards.

My thoughts turned to Randy and our storage locker. I really missed him and I hoped he would not rip me off if I was gone too long. Randy had a way of knowing when I put new things in it and selling them. The thought of him made me sad. Randy was all that I had in this world that made sense. Of all the friends I had he was the only one that I shared my secrets with. He was also the reason I was so grounded in my way of life. It was almost like he was a part of me. Though I loved him I knew I could not trust him. Still, I knew he would never leave me. I knew the truth, I knew who he was. And I still loved him, even though I knew he did not love anything. The only thing Randy really understood was fear and hatred.

As I thought about this the sun crested some hill and I could see bright light streaming in my window. This hotel was one of the tallest buildings in this section of town. In the light I could make out palm trees and garbage in the streets. This was not the best part of town. The phone rang.

"Charles? Charles Nimrod?"

"Yah, that's me."

"Good," came a strangely dark voice from the other end of the phone, "Welcome to Asuncion. Hope you are rested, and that you like your room."

"Nice room, and I am doing fine."

"Good. This week you are a tourist, so act like one. Go to the river and fish, see the sights, and spend money. If you need more there is a safe deposit box in the hotel for you. Be available and expect a call in about seven days. Keep the phone charged, understand?"

"Sure. Have fun for a week, then phone call."

"Good. We will be in touch."

I did not like this at all. Livestock is always fattened up before a slaughter. Why anyone would go to so much trouble to slaughter me I did not know, but I felt a trap. After I showered I dressed in horribly touristy clothing and set off for the day. Today seemed like a good day to get a little drunk.

Outside in the city people carried baskets of fruit and flat bread on their heads. It was amazing to see food everywhere. It was hard to fathom that these people were poor when they had so much food around.

The prices were right and I had my fill. The buildings looked very old in the daylight but maintained well. Down on the corner of a street I spotted a group of guys that reminded me of the guys hanging around the clock tower. There was even a real skinny guy that reminded me of Randy. Times like these I wish I could speak Spanish. They all had beer and tattered clothes. Some wore no shoes. That was where I belonged, not walking on this side of the street with a wallet full of money. A small building with a cantina sign caught my eye and I went in.

No one spoke English so it took a while to get what I wanted. Once I showed a twenty the beer kept coming. Being around all these people who I couldn't talk to was very isolating and started turning my fear into paranoia. What if this was some weird plan to kill me? Maybe I knew something, or had seen something? Sam couldn't be real, could he? Maybe Sam was plotting to get rid of me because I was warning Sean about him? Or maybe Sam told me something I shouldn't know.

Delusions filled my thoughts as the day went on. I lost count of the beers. The time wore on and the cantina started to fill up. Still no one who spoke English, although they were very friendly.

When I left the bar I was pretty drunk and had a difficult time walking back to the hotel. The streets reminded me of the old part of San Diego and the missions of California. It was very Spanish and the smell of cheese was strong.

Once I returned to my room I feel asleep right away. The fear of this being my last few days on earth set in. For the first time in a long time I prayed for God to keep me safe. This gave me a feeling of peace in the midst of the storm. Then I thought about Randy and the feeling left as my thoughts turned to other things. For the sake of myself and the unborn child, I hope that Candi has an abortion. That night I dreamt about babies floating in an abyss and never waking up.

Quickly my eyes flashed open and I was sweating. It was morning and the phone is silent. What am I supposed to do for the next few days? Paraguay is not some place I have ever longed to visit and I know nothing about this country. It occurs to me to ask the front desk for ideas.

The man at the front desk looks at me with amazement, "Are you ok senior? You looked pretty drunk last night; can I get you something for your hangover or anything?"

Some drunks, like myself, do not suffer from hangovers. Instead after I get sober I just want another drink. The pain that I feel gets more intense with sobriety. One of the things I try and limit are my binges. They can go one for days and after I don't feel sick right away. Not that I feel fine either. If I go too long without a drink I get headaches and a little shaky. But hangovers have never happened to me.

"No, I'm fine," I say.

"Are you American? You act like you are Irish. We had some come through, they sang and got drunk all night in the lobby. No hangover the next day."

"I'm American. Too bad the Irish people are gone though, they sound like fun."

"They were. Good tippers too, at least when they were drinking."

"You know, I came here and I really don't know very much about this place. Can you tell what would be a good way to pass some time?"

"Oh sure, we have a lot of fun things to do. There is a tour bus that comes through and takes you on a guided trip of old town. Many tourists do this; you see the old buildings from the time of the conquistadors."

"Sounds good, sign me up," I say but I am lying.

The trip sounds boring but I have nothing better to do and I am worried that I might drink too much if I am alone. I really need to stay alert and focused. The man hands me a brochure and I pay for the trip. Looking at the pictures I sit on the fountain's edge and wait. A small blue tile chips off as the water hit's the edges of the basin.

The weather is hot and I am wearing a blue floral shirt and tan shorts. I feel silly. This is not something I would do, but I think it is something Charles would do. The life of Charles Nimrod is very different from mine. A little bus arrives and I get on it to see the city.

The bus was full of people dressed like me. They come from places and live in a world I do not belong in. It feels more isolating than being in a cantina with people who don't understand me. These people are very happy and excited. The big round pink dome excites the bus. Fifteenth century architecture lights the air in the bus on fire. Of course I pick a bus full of architecture students and retirees. All of the boring shit that comes from the guide's mouth is interesting to the other little people. After a while it just sounds the same. This is the Blah blah, it was founded blah blah, a really interesting fact is blah blah. Next we will see the blah blah. On your right is the blah blah blah.

We stop for lunch. Now I am interested in something. The vendors were out with the fresh fruit and other delicious smells hit my nose. The flatbread was really good. One of the retirees was discussing where she might get local spices. For the first time since we started the tour I was excited too. New food, fresh, smelly, and full of life, made me happy. The area we stopped in was full of little shops and street vendors. Very tourist and clean. If Randy was here he might pee in some clean little corner.

The rest of the bus ride the guide talked about the port being important to the Spanish and in general puffed up the importance of Paraguay. In truth this was a very sleepy and wild place. No one out there really cared that much about in here. It hardly got a mention on the map and was never in the news. It was an isolated place with palm trees and warm weather. The city was boring and pretty, not unlike a popular girl in high school.

Once the tour was done I bought some wine and headed up to my room. Being with Candice had taught me that wine was a good way to drink and not get as hammered as I usually did. This could be the end of my life. As hard as I tried to shake that thought it wouldn't leave me. I was damned. This was not where I belonged, I belonged with Randy. Damned in a familiar place, not a strange one.

It didn't take a full week for the phone to ring. The call came the next morning. They were liars. That was good to know, "Did you enjoy yourself so far?" The man asked.

"Yes. Nice place. What's the deal?"

"Tonight there is a party. You are invited. Please dress right, it is formal. Be in your room by eight," click, the phone went dead.

For some reason I decided to spend the rest of the day jacking off. Maybe it was my nerves, maybe it was because it had been a while since I had, I am not sure, but I must have beat off five times before I started to get ready for the party. Party, the thought made me cry. It had been years since I had been invited to a party. The last one was in high school. That was over ten years ago. Back when I was heading for a different life.

Eight o'clock came fast. The guy knocked on my door and took me to a big house that was all lit up. People were crowded everywhere and women were placed like decorations. Never had I been to a party like this.

Booze, drugs, woman and mariachi bands were plentiful. It was a very Latin kind of place. Again, the building was very old and kept up, but not too well. After five hundred years or so there was only so much that could be done to keep a building nice.

The people were talking in Spanish and everyone was smiling. Dancing would spontaneously happen. There was food on every empty space. Good food. This was a place where I could get fat.

The building had a huge courtyard in the middle with palm trees, flowers, and fountains. Birds had made nests in little hiding spots under the eaves. The night went on and clothes started coming off. Men were snorting lines off naked woman's stomachs. People were touching other people, food and drinks were being passed around, and I still had no idea why I was even there. Normally I would be enjoying myself at a place like this even if I didn't understand the language.

"Nimrod," came a voice from behind me, "So glad you could come."

Turning around I saw a man who was oily and reminded me of Randy in a way. The smile on his face was not happy at all. Soon his arm was around my shoulders and he led me off toward the interior of the house, "This is my father's house," the man said.

We walked through many beautiful rooms full of degenerative people. Clothes were optional at this point, but both the man and I were fully dressed. Two giant black wrought iron doors blocked our path and he knocked on them. It sounded like a gong. Slowly they opened.

Inside was a very modern looking room with no windows. The furniture looked like it came from an episode of Perry Mason. Computer screens and electronics were in the room in tasteful displays. Wires were well hidden and it reminded me of the military. No artwork, only maps on the walls. A man was sitting at a desk right in front of us and I assumed that he was the Big Cheese.

Some guys brought in two chairs and the Big Cheese motioned for us to sit down. All the guys in the room were wearing the familiar black suit. I felt naked, and I knew nothing. This was not some place I belonged and I did not know what to do. What kind of person was Sam, I wondered.

"Hello Nimrod," the Big Cheese started, "Tomorrow you are going to leave your hotel at four in the afternoon and get on a plane for San Francisco. You are flying TAM this time. It will be a faster flight home. You are going to take with you two bags tonight. Those are what you are flying home with. Once you get home you will take a limo home. Leave the bags in the limo. Understand?"

"Yes, that sounds easy enough."

"You can take all the cash out of your safe deposit box in your hotel. What do you think of Paraguay?"

"Nice, lots of fifteenth century Spanish architecture. Great fishing, and was once a Spanish base. The big pink round roof is very nice."

This seemed to spark interest in him, the same spark I felt on the tour bus. "Yes, we do have a lot of history in our country. There is a lot to be proud of. Our fishing is fantastico, did you catch anything?" He asked.

"No, I didn't get a chance to go," I said.

"Too bad," Big Cheese went on, "sorry you have to go so soon, but there has been a change in plans. Flexibility is the key to survival. Paraguay is like a piece of paradise. You have any questions?"

Of course I shook my head no even though my mind was seething with them. This seemed odd, and very dangerous. Nothing good would come from this. As he got up so did I, and my escort led me back out into the party. Maybe I could learn something if I stayed and didn't get too drunk.

Surprisingly I heard some people speaking in English in a corner. I drifted slowly over until I could make out what they were saying instead of listening to a few words. One thing that I was very good at was blending into the back ground. Homelessness does that. Either you blend in and don't offend too much or the police get you. They didn't notice me after a few minutes as I sunk behind a piece of furniture.

"Well," came a lady's voice, "I don't know. The dress I came in is ruined, and so is my ass," she said and her friends started laughing.

They smelled like sweat and tequila. Even from where I was I could tell they were sloppy and stinky. The laughter died down and the next one spoke, "These parties are always so crazy. I heard the authorities were cracking down on Martinez."

"Authorities? Martinez is the authorities."

"He wants so much more. I heard that he is going to help the Americans catch some drug runner. He found out some information about the guy taking all this coke into the US on a plane."

"That should make him look really good."

"Yes. And give him some freedom and trust."

The feeling that this was a trap became more solid. After a while I located the guy who took me to the Big Cheese and he got me a ride home. It took all I had to not look worried. Without a plan I went back to the hotel. I was not going to get on the plane tomorrow, but I had no idea what to do.

The day went by slow. After noon I got the money from the box in the lobby. The stack of hundreds was really thick. Great, I would get on a plane with money and cocaine so some asshole could make a name for himself. Framed by a dick cop, that was great.

There was a small bank on the corner and I went there to get some of my bills changed. After that I bought some real clothes, I really wanted a drink but I needed to stay sober. There was no way I was getting on that plane.

At the store I got a small bag that I put my new clothes and my money in. I left everything behind except for the phone that Candice gave me. The phone could lead these jerks to her. Four o'clock a car came for me and off we went to the airport. The driver helped me check in my bags and then I went to the bathroom. Quickly I changed my obnoxious flower tourist clothes for brown quiet clothes. Waiting for a group I left the bathroom in a pack and walked out of the airport. There were a few familiar looking suits that I avoided and with my little bag full of money I walked down the street.

The airport area was crowded with people and I blended right in. After a few miles of walking I decided to stop in a restaurant hoping to find someone who spoke English. One of the waiters did and explained where the nearest bus stop was. The last thing I wanted was to look like I was in a rush. Slowly I ate a meal and then left for the bus stop. I caught the last one heading out of the city that night.

The bus was very old and had no glass on the side windows. The seat was a bench and no one sat by me. Slowly we went down the road and it felt like there were no shocks or springs on the vehicle. The last stop was still near the city but it was a less modern area. Just like home I found a bridge and spent the night thinking about what a mess I was in. Getting out of this would be hard. Luckily I had some money, but no alcohol. Fear told me not to drink and that made it easy to stay sober. The bugs and night creatures were comforting. Nothing found its way into my clothes that night. The area reminded me of pictures of New England. Strange place I was in.

Morning came and as I got up it felt like I was in paradise. The road I was near was small, the fields were green and palm trees dotted the landscape along with deciduous kinds. The bridge I had slept under was made of river rock and cement. Only one small building was in sight and I headed down the road toward it.

It turned out to be a store and they didn't speak English. After a few tries I think I got the message that the bus would come in a while. It came; I paid the fare and traveled down the road not knowing where I was going.

The bus stopped at a little place that looked like Amish people ran it. They were speaking German and Spanish and dressed like pilgrims. Once they found out I spoke English they called for a guy named Federico. I assumed he spoke English. The bus left without me. Trying to stay cool looking I just sat on a bench and waited for Federico. It was not a long wait.

A tall European guy with blond hair and huge hands came to me and said, "Hola, I am Federico. What brings you here?"

"I'm a tourist. I'm looking to see the backcountry of South America. Sort of lost my bearings. I was wondering if you could help me figure out how to get to the coast?"

A very serious look came over his face. Behind the back counter he took out some maps and he helped me plan out my route. Then a woman came in and looked over at our papers.

"What are you doing?" The tall thin woman asked. Her voice was very American.

"Federico answered her, "This man is lost. He needs to find his way, to the coast? Right?"

I felt really stupid. They both looked at me like I was an idiot. "I got separated from my tour group," I said.

The woman looked very serious, "Do you have a number for them?"

It was going to be hard to fool these people. They would make lots of logical and helpful suggestions that wouldn't work for a guy on the run from the Big Cheese.

"Actually, I left on purpose. I wanted to see the country on foot, be on my own."

"What did you want to see?' She asked.

If the conversation kept focusing on me I was in trouble. So I tried to change it, "I heard there were some Amish people and I wanted to check it out. This farm looks like something from Pennsylvania. I thought there might be more cool farms. What are you doing here?"

That lit her up, "Oh, these people aren't Amish, but they are Mennonites. And there are many Mennonite settlements in South America. My name is Claire, I am working on my PhD in folklore and I am traveling with a group from a University gathering local folktales."

How boring, but at least she is not trying to be so helpful anymore.

"Hey," said Federico, "maybe you could take him to Filadelfia. That has a huge Mennonite community. That might be interesting."

She thought about this, and then I said, "That would be great. I would love to see that."

"I'll check with the Professor."

Then a bus came and I was loaded onto a nerd mobile headed for some part of Paraguay called Filadelfia.

The ride was long and I slept through most of it. All these nerds were collecting stories, and they reminded me of the crowd from UCSC. "Where are you from?" A strange guy with a lisp asked me.

"Santa Cruz," I said without thinking.

"Really? We are from Santa Cruz, California. We are going to University there."

"UCSC?" I asked.

"Yes!" The guy was excited. So was the rest of the bus.

A strange looking Asian chick asked, "We are traveling all over for stories. Do you know any tales from your family? It would be great if you could tell us one."

My mother liked to tell this horrible story before bedtime. It was one of the reasons I had trouble sleeping at night. "I guess so. My mother used to tell this story called little dog terpie."

"Oh please, tell it to us," came a voice from behind me.

"OK, there one was a little old man and a little old woman who lived with their little old dog named little dog terpie. They lived in a little house on the edge of the forest. One night a bunch of goblins came by the house, but the dog barked and scared the goblins away.

The barking made the little old man mad so he told little dog terpie that if he heard noise at night again he would cut off the dog's tail. That night the goblins came, the dog backed, so the old man cut off the dog's tail and tacked it up on the porch. Tic tac tic. Then the old man told the dog if he barked again, he would cut off his ears. The goblins came, the dog barked, so the old man cut off little dog terpie's ears and tacked them to the porch. Tic tac tic. Then the old man told the dog he would cut the dog into pieces if he barked at night.

The next night the goblins came and were scared by the dog's barking. Morning came and the old man was furious. This time the old man cut the dog into so many pieces that the dog couldn't bark. He tacked all the pieces to the porch. Tic tac tic.

When the little old man and the little old woman went to bed the dog was silent so the goblins were not scared. They broke into the house and stole the old man. They stuffed him in a bag and carried him off into the forest where they hung him in a tree.

They goblins poked the bag, and punched the bag. They called the old man names and they started up a fire and danced around it. They sang about how they were going to cook and eat the old man, the whole time poking him in the bag.

The little old woman was very frightened and went to the porch and took all the pieces of little dog terpie down. Quickly she sewed the dog together again and told him to go find the little old man.

The dog ran off into the forest and came to the place where the goblins made their fire and heard the old man screaming from the bag. The dog rushed in and tore apart the first goblin. The next goblin he bites so hard that it crushed his skull bone and blood gushed out of his ears. Little dog terpie ate at least ten more goblins as the rest ran away. Then the old lady came and cut down the bag. The little old man was black and blue from all the pokes.

They went home and let the dog bark as much as he wanted from then on."

The entire time I was talking they were taking notes. The snap of a tape recorder button told me at least one of them had recorded it. They looked over at Claire who was thinking deeply about the story.

"Your mother, was she from Wales?" Claire asked. My mother was not from Wales, but I thought that if I said yes that Claire might feel smart. One thing I knew about UCSC people was that they thrived on feeling smart especially when they weren't. They would do the dumbest things trying to prove how intelligent they were.

"Yes, she was from Wales," I lied.

"Do you know what part? What was her maiden name?"

There were some things that I didn't want people to know, such as my mother's maiden name. More lies, "Smith."

"Oh, well, that doesn't tell us much. Do you know what part of Wales she came from? The story you told us is from Wales I believe, and it would be interesting to be able to trace its journey from Wales to South America," Claire explained.

That horrible story had a journey because a horrible man carried it with him during a drug run gone bad. I regretted telling it. The whole bus was interested in this story and the idea of some Welsh lady telling it to her kid. Apparently the villains were not called goblins back in Wales and so my story was a variation. Whatever, how could anyone care so much about such a stupid detail?

The place called Filadelfia was very odd looking. It really seemed like I had gone back in time. These Amish types were doing very turn of the century things and the place looked like any farm land you might see in the central valley. I had expected jungle. No one was smiling.

The bus ride had been a bonding experience and I seemed to be part of the group. They were going to collect a few stories from some local tribes and these farmers then fly out. I decided to stay with them for a while and blend in. While I was doing that I was going to plan my way home. There was no way I was flying home with my Nimrod passport.

The weirdo Asian chick thought I was hot. She kept looking at me and blushing. While the others were talking to the farmers I felt her up under her shirt. There were no complaints, so I walked away from the group and she followed. Behind a barn we made out for a while. My tongue went in all her girl places and I got her clothes open enough to take in the sights.

After I pulled my face off her private areas I lifted up my body. My penis went right in and I was moving, rocking back and forth. She wasn't really into it, and I knew she wanted to stop. If she said stop, I would have, but she didn't. So I kept on. The way she squirmed made me more excited. The rhythm of my penis and balls bumping her didn't match her jerking. The weight of my body was too hard to push off, and she was having trouble breathing. It was so much fun, but I didn't take too long. I knew that faster would be better for her.

After I let it go I stayed on her for a few seconds. It felt good to be in charge and I was letting her know who was boss. There were some tears running down her face. "Was it good for you?" I asked, even though I knew it wasn't.

"Yes, but we should get back," I knew she lied.

We didn't speak the rest of the day. There was this strange unspoken crime that only we knew about. Of course I would deny it, and since she never said stop she thought it was her fault. This little private joke was delicious. Randy would have loved it.

Then it occurred to me that I hadn't used a condom. Hope there is no kid. That would be all I need. Candi saying she's having my baby, and what if Candice and the Asian have my kids? Be a fucking rainbow coalition family. Headed up by the biggest fuckup deadbeat dad of all times.

The nice people gave us a tour. Of course there was no alcohol allowed. The farm that we were on looked very beautiful. Horses were everywhere and not a car in sight. It really felt like being in a play it was just so far from reality.

The students were collecting stories and making notes about the way the people lived. Native people lived and worked on the farm but were not treated the same as those of us who looked European. Since I looked European I didn't really care much. It was noteworthy, because they were so nice and still they could be dicks to others because of the way they looked.

The day passed and we were offered homes to visit for the night. I was assigned to stay in a house with a couple of other guys. No electric lights just fire and candles. The people told Bible stories and talked about sins, the weight of sins, the devil is going to get you, and stuff like that. A few native people lived in the house and they told some more interesting tales. Mostly G rated though. It was boring and I was ready for bed.

Morning came so early I thought my head would split. Getting up we had some chores to do after breakfast. It had been a long time since I had done any real work, but I was still better at it then the UCSC nerds. After we had helped clean and plow I found a little store and got some clothes and information. A bus would come by at noon and take me to a place called San Estanislao. It would take about eight hours to get there. The other choice was a bus that went back to the place I came from. I bought a ticket and went back to shucking corn while I waited for it.

An older man named Tomas was sitting by me. For a while we shucked in silence and he glanced at me every now and then. "Where are you going?" His English surprised me.

"Home," I said.

A few more minutes passed in silence then Tomas said, "God sent you here. The others just came, but not you. I can tell. Why don't you stay for a while? Maybe this is your home."

The guy was nuts. If anyone did not belong here it was me. "I'm a sinner, you know. The kind of person you guys stay away from."

The old man smiled, "We are all sinners. Some are worse than others, I suppose. But you could stay and live here. This is where you could belong."

I finished out this little chore and went to the bus stop to finish out my wait. Tomas didn't have much more to say but I hated the way he looked at me. It was like he knew something that I was sure he didn't.

This bus was much nicer than the other one I had left the city on. This worried me, it didn't seem as invisible. The ride was long, hot, and smelly. Booze was all I could think about. A few of the women had hot bodies and I passed the time thinking about how I could fuck them.

It had been a long time since I had a drink. Going twenty four hours without one seemed like an eternity. Thinking about sex helped, but my mind kept coming back to how long I had been dry. Not that I had never done it before, but it was hard. Fear kept me sober. Even the craving that came up from my bones and shook my flesh and rocked my soul could not overcome the fear. I was afraid and I wasn't sure who I was dealing with. It was still light out when I arrived at San Estanislao.

The city was a jumble of old stucco facades painted white and bright colors. Many cafes and street vendors dotted the roads as well as palm trees. It seemed a younger and a little more run down version of ASU. A motorcyclist passed me and threw a beer bottle on the ground. The glass made a scattered noise and the pieces flew through the air. A guy was peeing on himself in a dim corner. It felt more like home. The thought of spending all night outside even crossed my mind. Instead I found a small Inn and got a room.

This turned out to be a college town. San Estanislao comes alive after nine at night. That is when the students are done for the day and start to play. The noise from the street called my name. I knew there would be lots of liquor and I had lots of money. But the fear made a lump in the back of my throat. This was not a time to be drunk or have fun. There might not be a cage to keep me in but I was not free or safe. This place might be fine for a few days but I needed to leave. Soon.

There was no TV in this place and I shared a bathroom. It was old and a little dirty. The sheets looked like they needed changing, but it was much better than sleeping under a bridge. If I didn't have a bag full of money I think I would not have picked a room. Instead I would be outdoors finding new friends. My choice didn't sit well with me.

The noise really picked up around ten and I spent the night listening to loud music that played from worn out speakers. It was unpleasant and I wondered what I should do next. The city felt strange and like an old friend at the same time.

I am not sure what time I feel asleep but I woke up late. I had paid for three nights, but I only planned to stay for two. There were many buses coming and going in the city.

I supposed that the Big Cheese in that other hotel was because it was far from the local travel centers. They were trying to keep me isolated. I needed to blend in and belong. That way I would be harder to spot.

The front desk had a man who spoke English but I was careful what I asked him. The tourist who I shared a bathroom with was very helpful.

My next door neighbor in the inn was named Janice. She had planned this trip out for a few years and was eager to share her knowledge of the area with me. The place we were in was heavily populated and not the jungle and rainforest mess that I had envisioned most of South America to be. Janice had maps and travel guides. I needed to hit the Atlantic and head north. Preferably in a boat.

Janice was an older woman and was really lonely. This was her only big trip that she would take in her life and she wanted it to be special. She was lost in a world where archeology was exciting instead of the work of nerds and day laborers. Instead of reality she hoped to live in a movie. Don't we all.

There were some places she wanted to see and some cities she wanted to experience. This one was a place for her to pause before moving on towards the Andes. They called her, she said. Where she had been, I wanted to go so I could get the hell out of here. We looked over her papers in my bedroom. This was not a woman I wanted to fuck. Every time I thought about having sex with her I got a little nauseous.

"Where are you from?" She asked.

Usually that was a question people asked first. Janice was so excited to share her trip she had forgotten to care about mine. Her questions were more polite than actual interest.

"California. Where did you say you were from again?" It should be easy to redirect her and keep my secrets for myself.

"New York. I lived all my life there. Other than going to the park I rarely saw any vegetation. No farms other than on TV. This is so glorious," she said lying back on my bed.

Janice might be fun but I wasn't going to have sex with her. This was the kind of harpy who dug in her claws and held on for dear life. Being far from restraining orders and the like I decided not to mess with her. Funny thing she probably wondered what was wrong with her. It was like asking why someone didn't want to put on a noose. After I had planned out my trip I went to bed. Janice wasn't sure what to do, so I thought I would soften the blow.

"I am really beat. I really shouldn't have gone on this trip. It was just this crazy thing. I had a fight with my boyfriend and left on the first flight as far from San Francisco as I could go," I said.

"Oh," she looked a little relieved, "you have a boyfriend?"

"Yah. We've been on and off for so long. But I think this might be it," I said as I sank into the mattress and started to doze off.

"Well, that is sad. This is such a wonderful place. You should take the time to enjoy it here."

"I try and do my best to enjoy what I can," I answered honestly.

Then I fell asleep thinking about beer. Beer was in truth my favorite drink. Chilled just right it felt so good going down. Nothing quenched thirst like a just right beer. Not American beer though. I preferred the higher alcohol kinds. It had been so long since I had one, and it would feel so good on a hot night. The thoughts turned to blackness quickly. It was almost like getting drunk.

The next day I awoke to find Janice asleep next to me. That woman really needed a friend. Too bad she found me. The town looked asleep and only a few vehicles passed by the window and I opened the curtain. There were a few vendors out with food trays and a couple of children. Nothing more and the day had fewer noises. Muted music came from an open window across the street. It seemed like the city had a hangover. The breeze blew the palms gently and the city smelled oily. My senses were so overloaded that it took a minute for me to realize I was hungry.

After I opened the window I leaned out and bought some flat bread. It was like room service. Janice was stirring and I handed her a piece of the bread. "Chipa," she said, "I love this."

"Is that what it is called?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered, "they sell it all over Paraguay. Do you have any plans for today?"

"No." The gray sky started to move more. It looked like rain.

"You want to come shopping with me? I am going to see if I can find something interesting in the local shops."

"It looks like rain. You up for getting wet?" I asked.

"I have an umbrella. If you want we can go to the local mall and get you one. I have a rental car. What do you say?"

"Yes."

That sounded like a good plan. I wanted to get to the border town Ciudad del Este and find a way to get into Brazil. If I shopped with Janice I think she would give me a ride there. Last night I had planned it out and it would be a four hour drive. Janice was trying to go in the other direction but she really didn't have any place to be. We were opposites; I needed to get some place and had no plan, while her very organized self was just rambling around.

"Can you take me to Ciudad del Este? I am thinking about going to Brazil."

She sighed, "Well, it is a long drive, but why not? It would be fun to have some company for a change. This place is so isolating."

I knew just what she was talking about. There were many people but they didn't really pay attention to tourists unless you were buying something. Looking past you instead of at you.

This was how I spent most of my life. Walking amongst people who were trying not to notice me. It would be nice to be with someone who would look and see me.

The mall we went to was small but had a shop with cell phones. The cell phone from Candice was dead so I got a charger and a new battery. The plug looked weird and I would need an adaptor to use it in the US. Whatever, I thought, things are always complicated. When I got a hotel in Brazil I would charge it.

"You always carry that bag with you?" Janice asked.

"Only on vacation. I like to travel very light, that way I have everything I need with me," I answered.

"OK. Why don't we get some rain gear and shop for a while? If we have lunch and leave around two we should get to Ciudad del Este around six. We can have dinner and explore the place."

"I'll get a hotel, we can share the room," I add.

"That would be nice. I hope the rain doesn't mess up the roads too much."

So did I.

Her car was a little red Kia and the roads were a little rough. The area was not rich or very modern, but it was nice. It reminded me of my favorite aunt. Daisy was not the wealthiest person in the family, or the beautiful one. There was something endearing about her, something that made her the favorite. Paraguay was like that. If I could move my storage locker here I might stay. Work on a farm. That was such a weird thought.

The day was very wet and rainy. The shops were fun to explore and the time past quickly. Around noon we started looking for a place to eat. Janice picked out a fun one and ordered for both of us. The food tasted good and I was hungry. Too hungry to talk much. Janice looked a little offended. I think she wanted more entertainment than I was providing. When the check came I paid it which seemed to ease some of the tension off her face.

The little car was cramped to sit in but new. The radio was turned to a Latin music station that played few commercials. We started off toward route eight. A little song about a chicken clucking played on the radio. Lunch made me sleepy and I fought to stay awake as the rain hit the windshield. The motion of the little wipers lulled me into a trance. Then it occurred to me that I had been sober again, all day. Today was a good day. I had no pain. Maybe this was going to be my new sober life. Many times I had asked God to show me how to be part of the feeling I had when I went to that clearing up the river. How to be part of this life. Maybe He was showing me how through this crazy trip. Still I was running away from this place. It didn't feel safe.

"So, why do you want to go to Brazil?" Janice asked.

That broke the spell the windshield wipers had on me, "I don't know. Just feels right. I want to travel around, get some distance between me and my past." This was really not a lie.

"At least you have a past. That is better than waiting for your future to come, doing all the right things, being a good girl, and then waking up alone day after day," Janice looked off down the road like she was staring at something horrible.

"I don't know. Waiting for the future means you have hope. Running from the past means it's over. What's left? At least you might have something. I'm all out, all gone, and used up," I started to feel sorry for myself, and guilty about the Asian girl.

That weird girl really didn't want to have sex with me. Thoughts like these are what drive me into a bottle.

"Well, let's not dwell on sad things, we are in South America. How many times will we be here? Let's make it a good memory. Are you sure you want to stop in the city tonight? We could drive further into Brazil, my plans are flexible."

No, I could not do that. I needed to cross the border without someone checking my passport. To do that I would need to go in on foot, not by car. "No, four hours is long enough for me to drive. Then we can eat, get some rest. Maybe we will get a nicer hotel there."

She laughed. Then I started laughing. Paraguay was not a place for luxury. It was enough of what you needed and not too clean.

The drive was a little bit scary and we got to the city later than we expected. We found a room in a little casino. It was much nicer than any other place I had seen in the country so far and close to the river. Janice was impressed. A little gambling helped pass the time and we got a late dinner. One thing about Paraguay the food was always good. Then again, I had tried to eat out of a dumpster here.

After a few table games I was up a grand, and Janice had done well. A girl offered us some drinks and I turned her down.

"Is there a problem?" Janice asked.

"No, no, why?" I was nervous from turning away the alcohol. All my fiber of my being was screaming out to take the drink.

"I mean with, you know, drinking. It's ok, I know," she said sadly, "I dated a guy who had some alcohol issues."

Did I have a sign on my head? Well, at least I was sober. I would take this one day at a time. Feeling pressure from my bladder I left for the restroom, "I'll be right back," I said.

Walking away I didn't go to the restrooms. Instead I took a giant pee in some bushes outside. It was a little stormy and I liked the way the cool humid air felt on my cock. As I entered the building I saw a man talking to Janice. A couple of familiar suits were walking from her toward the bathroom. Janice was looking around with a puzzled expression.

Trying hard not to panic I just quietly left the building and headed out onto the streets. The only thing of mine in the hotel was some clothing items and the phone charger. Luckily I had forgotten to leave me phone on it.

I walked on the streets and felt naked. The buildings were not close together. This area reminded me of what America was like at the turn of the century blended with some Star Trek. Most of the vegetation looked like the plants in California. The Europeans had brought everything with them trying to make a giant new world that looked just like the old one.

I walked for a while and came to the border of Paraguay and Brazil. The maps I had seen really didn't prepare me for the Rio Parana that separated the two countries. It was huge and I wasn't a good enough swimmer to even think about trying to make it across. By now it must have been midnight I thought. The river's bank looked very much like any other river. It felt good to be at a place that was like home. Finding some cardboard I made a little shelter from the weather under some brush. Fear kept me from thinking about booze again.

Daylight woke me up and I heard some distant thunder. It was not raining where I was at, but the sky was mixed with blue and gray. There was no way I could look good. Mud caked my shoes and I knew I was stinky from humidity and sweat. Swampy water soaked my back side and my hair was a matted mess of sweat, tangles, and dirt.

It had been a while since I ate and I was hungry. I really didn't know what to do. So I sat there and watched the big river for a while. Then I got up and walked to it. I needed to get across it without a passport.

The area I was at was very isolated. It was a good place to clean up a little so at least my shoes were not so awful. When I had finished some children were walking by with a little boat. They would not speak any English and I could barely see the other side of the shore. It was a bad idea. A very bad idea, but the only one I had.

Pointing to the boat I showed them a hundred dollar bill. American money is taken everywhere. They were excited and gave me the boat, paddle, a net, and a pole. They ran off yelling excitedly. I shouldn't have, but I did.

The current hadn't looked that strong from the other side. I pushed and paddled until I realized that if I steered with the oar I would make better time with less effort. This would take steady effort. I saw a few fish and wondered if I put my hand in what would happen. They were swimming in a little school. The boat was holding up, but taking on water. Now was not a time to panic. I was not that far from the other bank.

The sun came out and beat on me. That was better than a storm, but my skin had blisters by the time I got to the other side. The river was mushy where I landed and I could see some signs of a city. I had lost my bearings. Water plants lined the edges of the shore and for a second I was afraid to get my feet in the water. What a mess I was.

Walking along the river I saw some kids. They looked like the other kids and I motioned to the boat. Then I collapsed.

Waking up in a soft bed with music playing off in the distance was pleasant. A little boy jumped up from nowhere and ran off. A man came in with another boy quickly, "Sir? Are tu alright? Tu A-ok?"

I answered as best as I could, "I got lost."

"From de park? Tu at park?"

"Yes, I got lost at the park, the Brazil park."

"Oh si, si! Brazil park, the falls, si?"

"Yes, I was at the falls," I had no idea what he was talking about, but as long as I was in Brazil I was happy.

The people helped me get cleaned up and fed me. They offered a place to stay, but I thanked them and left. As I left I gave them some money. They took me out in a truck that looked like Sean's and dropped me off at a bus that would take me to the falls. On it I got and waved them goodbye. It was not the direction I wanted to go, but it was a destination that was not suspicious.

The park was full of people. It was more of the dense foliage that I had expected. Very wild and smelly. Beautiful, I thought. There was a trail to the falls and I took it. The walk was thrilling and full of life. The trail was nothing compared to the power and beauty of the falls. They were in a horse shoe shape and thundered in white veils down sheer cliffs.

Off the beaten path I found a nice place to hide. It was in view of the water works but far enough away to be undiscovered. This time I made sure that I would not get to dirty. There was a bus I wanted to take tomorrow for a place called Ponta Grossa. It would take all day to get there. After that I would make my way to a port. I had heard that sometimes ships would let you tag along with no questions asked. Ports were lax when it came to checking people unless they were from a cruise ship.

Night came and sleep was difficult. The woods made all kinds of noses I was unfamiliar with. Calls and rustlings filled the darkness and I had no idea what kind of animals there were out there. It felt like tiny eyes were watching me. Back home it felt like I was a part of the landscape. Here I felt out of place even alone.

Waking up I felt something on my leg. My eyes stayed shut. This was not the first time I had woken up to this feeling on my leg and I knew a snake had crawled in my pant leg during the night. Snakes can be dangerous, but this felt small. Sometimes small snakes had the most powerful venom. I controlled my breathing and did my best not to panic. I decided to open my eyes.

As my eyelids parted a strange and very large lizard filled my field of vision. It freaked me out and I screamed jumping back. The snake curled around my leg as I moved and went upward toward my belly. I undid my pants and scooped up the snake and threw it on the ground. The snake tried to bite me and I danced around until It was gone. Exhausted I caught my breath and looked over to where the lizard had been. It stared at me with its head cocked sideways and stuck out its thin lizard tongue. After a few seconds it rocked its head to the other side like it was confused by me and slowly turned to leave. I did the same.

The bus stop was not too far away and I walked out of the park and toward it. Noises came from my stomach so I found some food in a dumpster. Like home.

The bus came and I got on it heading for a place called Ponta Grossa. Once there I would only be a day away from the ocean. The wrong one, but still I could get back to the states. Once I was back I had enough money to do what I wanted. Right now I wanted to be free of strange people in black suits.

The bus was not what I expected. It was full of Brazilians and few tourists. They were speaking in Spanish and I heard no English. There were children and for once I was one of the cleanest there. Paraguay had different people. These were a mixture of colors and looked like a lot of fun. The kids were screaming with joy and no one cared. Everyone was laughing and seemed to be in a really good mood. I wondered if they were drunk. That reminded me that I had been a good long time without a drink. Maybe I could last this way. A resounding no came to me mind. Life without another drink seemed impossible, but staying sober today might work.

The ride was long and the weather was getting hot. It occurred to me that I didn't know what month it was. I remembered moving in with Candi in February. That was a cold month and I told her I had a trust fund. For some reason she always believed that I was rich even though logic told her otherwise. Maybe because many people who have been in Santa Cruz a long time have money from land. Candi was from the Imperial Valley where no one has anything. Land is only dirt. The lowest on the Latino totem pole are those from California. Candi wasn't even a real Mexican.

It was getting warmer when I left, but time and seasons passed by without me noticing much. Now on the other side of the earth the seasons were backwards. This made it even more confusing.

The bus had many people reading and I saw a newspaper in a man's hand. It was dated Junio twenty two. Had it been that long? It would not be the first time I lost track of months. Days ran into each other when I was drunk. The bus made a stop.

The bus emptied for a quick break and to refuel. The bus driver pointed to his watch and I had about ten minutes to use the bathroom and get some snacks. There were plenty of other buses at the little petrol station. Inside a close by shop I bought some pretzels and a coke. There were some other nice things I thought about getting but I wasn't really feeling that good. My stomach hurt and I had the chills. Maybe I was catching a cold, or maybe the food choices I made in the park dumpster this morning were not agreeing with me. That was a bad idea, but the food looked so good still. Old habits can take over better ideas sometimes. Dumpster diving was a bit risky and like treasure hunting. I was paying the price for doing it.

The bus started up again and I got on again with the happy throng of humanity. The children didn't want to get back on. We were only half way through with today's journey and they were having fun outside. The driver shut the door and took off a little. The children came running to the door. Sullenly they got on as their parents laughed.

The bumps and twists of the road made me queasy. Pretzels calmed me down a little and I ate what I could force down. I thought about tonight. Getting a room would be risky and mentally uncomfortable. Sleeping in a strange environment didn't appeal to me either. I decided I would stay up all night, catch a bus, and sleep on the way to my next stop. How did I end up here? It didn't make any sense. Is this world full of strange deals that we usually stay away from? Sam, I wondered about him. Not for a minute did I believe his stories, but it seemed that there was more to him than I thought. Maybe his big lies attracted this kind of trouble. If I was looking for a fool he would be one of my first choices. I was the one who went to the bowling alley, who was the real fool now?

It started to rain and the water running down the window caught my attention. No one else seemed to notice much. The bus started going slower and the road disappeared behind a wall of water pouring down from the sky. The bus stopped. The fuzzy outline of cars stretched out in the distance. Looking back I saw a mirror image. We were stuck in a traffic jam. The bus driver turned off the bus. This might be a longer ride than I thought.

As time went on the happy mood in the bus subsided. Talking stopped and the children started to whine. Even though I couldn't understand what the kids were saying it was irritating. The rain started letting up. About an hour passed by and the bus started up again. A wave of relief raced through the bus. The children cheered as we gained speed.

The buildings alongside the road we took were a mixture of old and new, small and large. It felt like a long blur of oasis's strung together in a forest. When we finally got to Ponta Grossa the sky was very dark. Lights were coming on and the clouds were thinning out. Star-filled black patches peaked through the gray lumps. I hoped it didn't rain anymore. At least not tonight.

The bus let off in a little station that had some information. It would be closing soon so I checked the maps they had to try and find my next destination. Paranagua looked like a promising place to go. An old man sweeping up spoke enough English to understand port and he pointed to that town. It was only three hours away but there were no buses leaving for it tomorrow. The old man pointed and said "Trucks. Go trucks."

I walked in the direction he pointed and came to a truck stop. There were many trucks and sitting around them were some very tired looking men. "Paranagua?" I asked. One looked at me and spoke, "I go there. You need ride?"

"Yes, si. I need ride."

"Si. Help load."

"Si," I said. It would be worth it to help him load up. He might be driving into the port instead of just into town. That would be lucky.

The truck driver let me sleep in his truck with him. Why do people trust European looking guys? No wonder it took so long to catch Ted Bundy.

There was a little bed in the back of the cab, and I slept in the passenger's seat. It wasn't bad. In the morning we went into a little bathroom with showers and cleaned up. There were some street vendors selling tacos and other foods so I bought some for us while he fueled up. Then we were on our way. It felt good to be close to leaving South America. Like looking at a painting that was almost finished. A few more strokes and then you could start the next one.

The ride wasn't as long as I thought. We had left early and got to Paraguay before noon. The truck rolled up to a storage building by the docks. The trailer was empty and I helped him load it up with boxes. It took us a few hours to finish.

"Thank you," he said.

"Yah. Hey, you know where I can get on a boat to the US?"

"Like American or like a sneak?"

"Sneak."

"Eduardo would know. He takes trips. I think Eduardo is at the café today. I show."

With that we walked through some streets that were lined with old and brightly colored buildings. It looked like what I expected Europe to look like only with palm trees and ghoulishly bright paint. Even the white buildings made me squint.

The little café we stopped at was not too far and looked like a hot dog stand. Tables and chairs were arranged outside. People were all around drinking something in a can called Skol. I thought it looked like beer and I really wanted one. Instead I got a sandwich and a Coke. It was no use pretending that my Coke was beer. Just not the same at all.

My friend called to a person who came and sat with us. They spoke in Spanish and then the man introduced himself, "Hola, me Eduardo. I don't care you name. A boat leaving tomorrow for Panama tonight. It takes the bananas to Houston. You interested?"

"Yes, I mean si. I'm interested," I said.

"It cost you two thousand. No guarantees. Sometimes you never know."

"Ok, no problemo. Where do I meet you?" He probably wanted me to give him some money, but there was no way I was paying ahead for this.

"Tonight, eight thirty. They are leaving the port soon. You can share the passengers' cabin with some guys. The captain he don't care, but he no help you much. Take some food, they no give you much."

The truck driver bought us some bacon popcorn and the two talked for a while in Spanish. The weather was mild and the storm clouds were clearing out. It was a nice day and a very pleasant place. If not for the unknown black suits I might have stayed until my money ran out. Since I really didn't know much about the depth of my problem staying was not going to be a choice.

The cargo ship I was to ride on would take ten days to get to Houston. I was told this was lucky omen. Eduardo seemed like a decent guy and he explained how the money I gave him got split up. It was a little risky, but ships usually didn't smuggle in immigrants. People who looked like me usually flew. We met at the dock at the appointed time and I went on board while the ship was being unloaded. This was a busy port and ships came and went all night.

My room was cramped but clean. There were two bunks and the other guy had missed the boat. The ship started to move out of the docks and I felt a feeling of great relief. In ten days I would be away from the Big Cheese and his unknown power.

At first the ride was boring. While I had brought some food I had nothing else. Some guy had given me a few pictures from a Playboy or something but that gets old too. The only times I went out was for mess call and at night to get some air. The ship was a busy place and I tried to stay out of the worker's way. They had too much to do and I had nothing. That was very lonely. I was so tired of being in situations that separated me from the rest. It would be nice to be around those dumb students collecting stories again. Or anywhere that I was welcome.

Having time to think is never a good thing for me. The face of Candi and the Asian girl kept haunting me. They both had the same look. When I was pounding Candi's face and when I was pounding the Asian girl's ass they both had this look of fear. No, of hopelessness. Their eyes were on fire with it. At the time I felt very powerful and that fire transferred to me and kept me going. Now I felt so ashamed and low. The worst kind of person on Earth would enjoy that. That was me. I deserved to be isolated because I was a monster. Monsters deserved to be drunk all the time. Being drunk took away the bad thoughts and the pain from shame. If I had access to booze I would get drunk right now.

A hurricane was coming. The ship was going to stay in port an extra day. For obvious reasons I did not leave the ship. How the ship tossed and moved when the storm got near. For two days I threw up. It was a nightmare. The ship left in choppy waters that rocked it around and made me ill.

The bananas must get to America. That was what everyone was talking about. The bananas were not very green anymore and if we took too long they would go bad. This lent a sense of urgency to the crew. I scored some more magazine pictures and spent my time rubbing my cock and thinking about Candi.

Finally we pulled into the port of Houston.

The port of Houston was a huge contrast to the sleepy little port of Paranaguay. While at the time I thought Paranaguay was big it was a speck compared to Houston. This was a city within a city.

There were many fences and people bustling about. It was more alive than I was. Buildings were everywhere and it was easy to find a way out through a rip I created in the fence. I found myself free and holding a lot of money.

Being out of the cabin was a wonderful feeling and scary. For the first time I could just walk anywhere and the ground felt strange under my feet. The time at sea had been hard and I had decided that I was a worthless piece of shit. My own company really sucked and that was all that I had for over ten days straight.

I just started off down the road not knowing where I was headed. After a while I came to a bus stop. The bus came and I got on it. Some of my money was still Paraguayan, but I found a few bucks. The larger bills where hidden under a change of clothes. The bus driver gave me a look like there was something wrong with me. The last couple of weeks I had not been showering regularly and the foreign meals gave me an odor. A small motel was coming up on the right so I pulled for a stop. I needed to get clean, get some sleep, watch the news, and eat.

The place was older and didn't cost much. The room had a TV and there was an old pool. The weather was hot. The place felt safe, and I felt like I could breathe again and maybe get drunk. I had made it out without dying. After a shower I felt how my stomach felt like it was sucking in the rest of my body. I needed grub. Out I went and found a burger place. I sat with my cheeseburger and fries eating alone.

The family used to get burgers a lot. At lunch time we would go and get our food and watch the surfers at Pleasure Point. That was where the surfer statue was near. The trees there would give us shade and we would watch the waves fling the people on boards about. Every now and then a surfer would be able to ride for a short time. It was fun to watch. Back then I liked to play with roly-poly bugs and go swimming. Things were different now. I was all used up.

After I ate I went back to the motel and slept. My muscles were stiff from lack of use and the bed was hard. Waking up to pain was nothing new for me, but today's pain took all my energy away. Usually I eased it with a drink, but not today. Today I was going to stay sober.

The money in my bag was on my mind. It hadn't even been counted. The money I had been given was at least ten grand. That was a big load of money to drop on a set up. This was the first time that I had not been too afraid to think about it. The thought made me nervous. What if they were waiting for me at home? Sam knew some things about me. Sean knew more. Where else could I go though? I got on a bus and decided to ride around town. Just to think and see the city.

Houston was flat and there were few trees growing wild. Everything was manicured. Streets were paved unlike South America where most small roads were dirt. I liked seeing the different colors of mud and bright colors and missed Paraguay. Here everything was muted and power lines strung across the sky instead of palm trees. There were no Mennonites with their horses and carts, but there were many church buses on the road. I guessed it must be a Sunday.

The bus stopped at a church and most of the occupants piled off. Up I went with them. Randy was always trying to get me to go to churches with him. Not because he was looking for God but because he hated Him. Or feared Him, I am not sure. It was an antagonistic relationship, and Randy was always talking about God forgiving him and if he would see Heaven one day. Sometimes he talked about heaven like he had been there, other times he sounded like he had been at the gates but not inside. Randy would go off for hours on the topic vacillating between hatred and admiration of all things mystical.

The churches Randy picked would be the ones that left a bad taste in my mouth. Or the ones he was at war with. Many nights he would set fire to doors of Synagogues or leave a dumpster behind a church in flames. This was childish I thought.

As I got off the bus the first thing I noticed was the immense amount of everything here. The parking lot to this church was as big as a football stadium's. It was filling up with cars quickly. The building was huge and I thought if Disney made a church it would look like this. I decided to go in for the service.

The inside was a stadium. Sections and sections of seats held more humans than I could count. There was always a friendly soul to help you find a seat. The last time I was around so many happy people was on the bus in Brazil. Someone asked me to sit and I did. The others piled in and the lights dimmed. A tiny man walked out on stage and a giant image of him hit the screens. Cheering crushed me, and then he told a joke. Always like to start off with something funny he said. The mood was electrical.

The message that he gave was to hit the delete button when negative thoughts came in your mind. Interesting, if I did that I wouldn't have much to think about. I might not even have a mind left. There was nothing I needed to accomplish. Mine truly was a life wasted. There was no potential, no dreams, no big ideas. I liked to eat, shit, and have sex. I lived to drink, but I hated that most of the time. The time in between food, fucking, and poop was painful and slow to pass. That is where the alcohol came in. Maybe I should just smoke pot like Randy did. It seemed to give him ideas. It just made me feel sick and want to eat more.

People nodded their heads along with the guy talking. This was a funnier and more upbeat church than what I expected. It felt more like Disney with each passing second. Any minute Mickey, Pluto and the gang might walk out with collection plates. All it needed was rides. The message was given and it was suddenly over. No wonder this guy is so popular, he wasted no time.

Then he asked to repeat after him and I did. I started to cry.

The people around me where hugging me. They thought that I had been born again. But that was not why I was crying. The tears were for not being able to be. This world and the kingdom of God were not where I belonged. The kingdom I lived in would never let go of me. The reward for my life was a place at the clock tower and Randy. There really wasn't much left of me once the sins were removed. Maybe if I could stay sober I could make other changes. Maybe.

An old woman gave me a tissue. Smiling at me she said, "I know son. It is hard to give up and start over. If you can't, that's ok. But keep trying. God is patient. There will be a time for you."

All I could do was nod. It felt like she had read my mind. After the people had dispersed I found another place to stay for the night. Tomorrow I would rent a car and drive home. A fresh start. This trip had made me sober. Even if I had never had a dream that didn't mean I couldn't look for one now. Things would be different for me.

Renting a car was more difficult than I first thought it would be. They wanted a driver's license and a credit card. The first rental place I went to I left. Looking through my things I found my Charles Nimrod stuff. The second place rented me a car no problem. I took out a red Ford Mustang. It had been a long time since I had driven. The brake and the gas were confusing. After I left the lot I hit a parked car. Hardly any damage was done to it so I left. Sue me.

After a quick stop in a drug store to buy a few maps and candy bars I stopped at a Denny's to plan out my trip. It would take a few days to get home. Then what? This question filled my brain. It wouldn't leave. What was next? What would I do in Santa Cruz? The money I had was more than I had ever had at one time but not enough to set me up for life. Not even close.

The route I decided to take was interstate ten. The car was gassed up and off I went toward home. I made very few stops and by Midnight I was in Las Cruces, New Mexico. A small and shabby place caught my eye. I had to wake up the attendant to get a room. The small Hispanic man gave me a key and showed me to the little closet like hole in the wall. It was close to the front and on the first floor. It had a no smoking sign on the door but reeked of stale smoke being covered up by carpet cleaner. The sign made me realize how long it had been since I had smoked or even cared about smoking. The craving for a cigarette hit me. Instead of smoking I went to sleep. This was the beginning of a new life for me.

The morning came with the light from the sun pouring onto my face. I drew the blinds. A clock told me it was a little before six in the morning and I wanted some more sleep. Rolling over I didn't get up again until the urge to pee woke me around nine. Noises from my belly told that I needed food. The rumblings made little earthquakes across my belly. Quietly I started my daily business of taking care of hygiene and getting food. I was off in my car before check out time.

Continuing down interstate ten a car came up from behind me. It was a black sedan with no markings that I could see. The car followed me for at least fifty miles, not quite an hour but close. It looked odd and I had just driven by Phoenix and was out in the desert when a siren started coming from it. The fear lurched into me and I pulled over. Two men got out of the car and walked toward me.

Flashing an FBI badge one said, "Charles Nimrod? Can I please see your driver's license?"

I didn't know what to do other than hand over the license.

"Is this you sir?"

"No, it is not," there always comes a time when the truth works best. The lies were used up and I was in a corner. Sometimes when the cookie jar is empty it's better to just admit it instead of pretending there might be something left. There was no way to know what was going on. All I knew was I was fucked. Like a five year old holding an empty cookie jar.

"Can you please set out of the vehicle?"

They patted me down and put me in the back seat of their car. The windows were blacked out so I couldn't see much. This felt like a trap of some kind. The FBI had to follow laws I was pretty sure. Still I was scared that I was going to die. After all, who really would know if I was dead or alive anymore. No one even cared that much.

The car stopped in a parking garage and the door next to me opened. Several guys in FBI looking clothes escorted me to an elevator that smelled official. I am not exactly sure how to describe that smell other than oil, stale, and chemical. There were no handcuffs on me and I still had my bag. They had looked through my stuff but hadn't taken anything. At least not yet. Maybe they were looking for Charles Nimrod and not me.

The elevator stopped on the third floor. It really looked like a cop building. Everyone wore stiff clothes that looked like they came from Sears. The furniture was gray, and while new, looked like it was made twenty years ago. Everything looked plain or dated. Even the people.

I was taken down a hall and into a room with a table and some chairs. Nothing else was in the room. One man sat on the opposite side of the table from me and two stood by the door.

"I want a lawyer," I said.

"You are not under arrest, we just have some questions," the man said in a very soothing voice.

The way he spoke sounded like Shakespeare. This is how a great orator would sound. Loud, but sweet. The voice made me feel warm like my grandma had just baked oatmeal cookies.

"I want a lawyer. Are you saying I can't have one?" I asked.

The man frowned and then let out a sigh, "Son, we just need some information. Then we are going to send you on your way. How about if you talk to us, we let you leave the way you came. If not, then we take your bag as evidence. Do you still want a lawyer?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Well, you can ask for one at any time. How about we start and then you can jump in with the lawyer if you don't like the questions."

"Ok, that sounds fair enough," I wasn't sure what to do.

The money was a nice thing to have, but I wanted freedom more. Still, I didn't want to piss off the FBI. Still, there was no guarantee that they would really let me have the bag. I couldn't really win and they were creating the rules.

"So, why did you ditch the guys in Paraguay?"

"What?" I was surprised they asked about that.

"Paraguay. Why didn't you get on the plane?"

"It felt like a set up. I don't know, it was weird. I heard some things at this party and I don't know. I just wanted to get out."

"At the party? Do you know what you were doing?"

"I thought I was bringing something into the country, but I wasn't sure what. I thought that the guys at the party were setting me up, to get in good with the FBI."

"They gave you money? Why didn't you just get on the plane?"

"I told you. I felt set up so I left the airport."

He seemed perplexed and went on with his questions, "How did you end up in Texas?"

"I was afraid to take a plane back, so I got a ride on a boat."

"A boat? Where did you get on the boat?"

"Paranagua. The boat stopped in Panama to get some bananas and we headed into Houston. From there I started to go home."

"Home? Back to California?" He asked puzzled.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have nowhere else to go. I don't know what else to do."

The man got up and left the room. In a few minutes he came back with a tape recorder, "from the beginning I want you to tell me what happened to you. Give as many details as you can. This is important."

I told him my story from the bowling alley to Paraguay. From running away to crossing into Brazil. Then the story about getting to the coast and finding a ship bound for the US. The whole time the tape recorder was running.

"Fine. So you were not the original Nimrod?"

"I don't know," I said, "what does that even mean?"

"Not important," he said quickly, "we don't need this story getting repeated. Do you understand?"

I nodded yes. At this point I was hoping this was over.

"We have a room for you to stay in tonight. There might be some more questions tomorrow. Just so you understand, you are being detained, but not arrested. Once you have been completely debriefed you will be free to go."

As I was being walked to my room I heard someone say, "that guy is too smart, why pick him?"

The room was very industrial and Spartan. No windows but a nice little bed and a TV. It had a bathroom and a small refrigerator loaded with snacks. It was not a bad place to spend the night I told myself. Although I hated being here I tried not to let myself panic. Maybe they would let me go soon. They seemed to be following the law. But I didn't trust them. This room locked from the outside. It was a cell of sorts.

The bed was not much better than sleeping on the ground. The room smelled like dust and pine sol. My first impression had been that this room was not bad, now I wanted to get out. Even the room on the boat was better. That room smelled like the sea and I could open the door whenever I wanted. To ease my tension I took a shower, but the temperature was regulated. The water was only lukewarm. Even the water followed the rules. What a gray empty place this was.

The next day came and I was given cheerios for breakfast. Then a man came to take me to another room with a table and chairs to talk. "Sorry about the confusion. We have analyzed your story and the details matched. We have your bag, and we have left most of your items intact. Your cell phone has been charged. You have twenty thousand dollars left and we returned the rental car. Would you prefer a bus ticket or airline ticket home?"

"I don't know," I was really in shock. I was not sure where I should go.

"Would you like to be on your way?" The man looked surprised at me.

"Yes, but I don't know. Is it a good idea to go home? I don't know what's going on."

"Oh, it is not important to know what is going on. You don't have the credit card or ID anymore. Stay away from the guy who brought you in and you should be fine. We changed out your hundreds for twenties. Don't spend lots of cash and attract attention to yourself," was the advice he gave me.

"Is someone looking for me?" I asked.

His face sunk in and blended into his neck for a second. Then he said, "I don't know. Honestly, I don't have any information about your situation. I took your story and forwarded it on. If you were needed for more questioning the process would change. Each level has a different protocol. If you need any help, I suggest you contact your local law enforcement agency. Would you like to go someplace else?"

"Someplace else?" I asked

"Other than where you were going. Let us know and we will help you get there."

"No," I said. "I think I'd like to take a bus. A bus to Santa Cruz."

"Fine. We will take you to the station. Have a safe trip. I'm sorry for the confusion."

They wasted no time in driving me to a greyhound station in Phoenix. A stiff looking man handed me a ticket to Santa Cruz. They left and I waited. The room was full of people. None of them matched. It felt like someone took a core sample of humanity to see the different layers. The folks like me where at the bottom with the slimy worms. The lowest form of life in the dirt.

The bus came before noon and I got on. The seats were much nicer than the bed I slept in. The bus wasn't full so I had no neighbor in the seat next to me. This made me relaxed. There would be one transfer in LA, and then on to Santa Cruz via the southern route. We wouldn't get in until after six in the morning. There were many stops along the way. Most of the scenery would be the Mohave.

The desert and the Joshua trees flew by me. I loved the hum of the bus and the blur of the road. Many years ago I had been on a trip like this. How nice it would be to do that again. I tried to think how many days it had been since I had a drink. The number was close to thirty. Maybe an entire month. Even without being drunk I had no sense of time. It had been June twenty-second on the bus in Brazil. My tickets said July sixteenth. Close to a month. Almost a solid month. The cravings were not with me today. I was fresh and new. Clean, riding home a different man as the road moved in a blur beside me. The new life I was going to scared me as much as running from the Big Cheese.

At Claremont a woman sat next to me. The bus had started to get fuller as we edged our way toward Los Angeles. There was a big smile on her face and I guessed she was about seventeen. "Hi," she said, "My name is Sandra. Are you going to LA too?"

"Hi, I'm DJ. I'm not going to LA."

"Really? I'm going for a modeling job. Where are you headed?"

"Santa Cruz," I could tell that it was going to be a long ride to LA.

This girl was a hot sort and all she was going to do was talk and talk and talk. When she brushed up against me I started to get an erection. The way she smelled was beautiful. It would have been fun to fuck her, and probably easy to get her naked. But there would be no time. So instead I had to listen to her. If only she had been a mute.

Luckily the ride to LA lasted only an hour. By that time I was really hot and stiff. My balls started to hurt and I really needed to blow my wad. There was about three hours until my bus came so I offered to take Sondra for dinner. She accepted.

At first I just wanted to get something to eat. But as I watched her tits move up and down as she talked, saw the way her hair flipped around her head, and caught sight of the way she bit her tongue every now and then I decided I wanted to do other things.

There was a little pizza place and I started slowly talking about how guys were pigs. Then I eased into some talk about sex. When she looked uncomfortable, I stopped. Backed up and started again. Playing cat and mouse with language was fun. She was easy to confuse. Then I suggested she come with me to the back. I picked this place because I knew it would have just the right kind of unisex bathrooms.

Into the head we went. It was nasty but not so much that she would say no. I told her we were just going to make out. Then her clothes were off and my pants were down. Her tits were hard and I got on my knees and licked her clit. This was the kind of girl who would only go so far unless she had some oral sex. Then she would do anything after about five minutes. It is important though not to let her come all the way. Once she got hers it would be all over.

After a while her vagina started to feel fuller so I stick in my dick as far as I could. She gave out a little noise and I started to push in and out, in and out. The girl moaned and I had her up against the wall. Then I got her on the floor. I wanted her to smell like the bathroom when I was done instead of fresh and beautiful.

Her vagina started to get tighter on my dick, and I knew I would come soon. My hands wrapped hard around her neck and I choked her while she came. As her eyes started to pop a little I took off my hands. Then I came. It was great. No sooner had I finished than another boner came. I turned her over and fucked her ass. I didn't go in as hard and held her pussy with my hands. While I pushed into her I fingered her hard and fast. Paying special attention to her clit I rubbed her and squeezed while she sounded like an animal. I don't think she enjoyed it much but she was going to do whatever I wanted now. After I came in her ass I knew it wouldn't take much to go again. The smell of sex and old urine excited me. If I didn't have a bus to catch I could have fucked her all night in that bathroom.

At the terminal I waited for the bus to come. There wasn't much time left before my bus came and I got some things from a vending machine. My ride came and I got on with another small herd. Once again I was alone in my seat as we pulled off.

Sometime later I had fallen asleep and I was awakened at the Paso Robles stop by a man sitting next to me. It was like I could feel his stare. His eyes were blazing with something and looking right at me. Hoping he wouldn't talk I got my wish. There was no way for me to sleep though. The dark man just kept glaring at me.

For the next hour or so every time I looked these deep blue eyes were looking directly at me. What made it even stranger was how black his skin was. Not one word did he utter, and I never saw him blink. What he was looking for I never found out. He got off in Salinas and just shook his head no. It was creepy. Then he motioned for me with his hand. I turned away and pretended to be asleep. Shivers went down my spine.

Then a very bubbly woman sat next to me. Relief washed over me as the bus pulled out of the station.

"May I sit here?" She said after she had already sat down.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

"My name is Violet; I'm going to see my daughter in Santa Cruz."

Oh no, she was going the entire rest of the way. No more sleep for me. A firecracker had picked the seat next to mine. This woman was not nearly attractive enough to make listening to her even a little palatable.

"Where are you headed?"

"Same place," I said looking out the window.

The sky was starting to get lighter and the sun would come up soon. It occurred to me that I didn't know what I was going to do once I got home. The bus would go straight into the heart of the Pacific Garden Mall. It would put me back in the place where I spent most of my time. Just a few minutes away from the clock tower. No one would believe where I had been. I think I will say I was in SF with Candice and keep the rest to myself. Everything would just go back to the way it was before.

"My daughter is going to school there. She is taking courses in fairy tales. Can you believe that? Fairy tales? I hear Angela Davis teaches there. What kind of a college do you suppose that is?"

"I don't know," I answered still facing the window.

"Do you go there?"

"No, never went there. I spent a semester at a university in Boston and quit," sometimes I leaked things out that shouldn't be said.

"What college did you go to?" Of course she asked.

"It doesn't really matter," was my answer.

"Well, my daughter is finishing her PhD. Her name is Claire," suddenly I realized how much this lady looked like that chick from UCSC in Paraguay; "She did some studying abroad and is coming home for a while. I just can't wait to see her."

The words were forming on my lips when I stopped them. If I mentioned her daughter I was sure there would be a price tag. Instead I said, "Nice weather we have in Santa Cruz. But you know this time of year there is always lots of fog."

"I know. People always visit in summer and think the beach is going to be really hot. Then they find out the truth. July is always so foggy in the morning, and often way into the day. It is just so funny. The best time is in September or October," she rattled on about visitors for the next hour or so. I just nodded along with her.

I almost got off the bus in Watsonville . The distance was very close and I could have walked home if I wanted to. Instead I just rode listening to the difficulties of only having one bathroom and three daughters. It made me wonder if this woman understood how lucky she was to have issues like that. Her whole life seemed as if it was a lost laundry ticket. Annoying, but not really consequential

Sitting for so long was making me stiff. A feeling came over me when I saw the turn off for River Street. It was one of pure joy mixed with regrets. The prodigal son was returning home to no one but ghosts. No one would celebrate. Still I felt loved and at home. And a little sick. This wasn't really good for me. Like a child who eats only candy for days. The stomach pays eventually.

After I got off the bus and promised to call the very chatty lady I walked down the street. The stores all looked the same as when I had left, but not the same as when I was a kid. Stopping where the Cooper House once was I remembered the curve of that marvelous place. It was an old building that had been converted into a bunch of shops. Built of brick it didn't stand a chance against strong earthquakes. The staircase and the furniture had reminded me of the old west and the bottom floor had a little toy shop that I loved. The toys were too expensive and all handmade. Still, I loved going in to see the place. It felt quirky, from another time, busy and elegant. It was one place that never looked dirty to me.

My mother loved the Cooper House. When it was hit by the earthquake she took it really hard. That had been a part of Santa Cruz longer than she had. There were places that came and went, but some made her die a little bit inside when they left. The plunge was now a mini golf course, the castle long gone, and the Cooper House's bricks were torn apart. These places had become a part of her and when they left part of her brain went away too. Sort of like when her parents moved from Berkshire to Live Oak. Part of her haunted the old house, even to this day. Mission street felt like her.

Enough time had been spent on the past. It was time to start my future. Slowly I made my way to the clock tower. Randy was sitting there with the guys. When he saw me he ran up to me and hugged me, "Man I thought you might be dead," he said.

"No. Just stuck in SF for a while," I said.

Our eyes met and I wondered what to say. Then Randy handed me a beer. It was like I was on autopilot. A month sober shot in an instant. The beers kept coming and I bought more. The next day I woke up under a bridge.

Asleep next to me was Randy. If it was possible he seemed even thinner. The way he breathed seemed like hard work. Not waking him I left. I just needed to think about things.

Walking down the levee I headed toward the county buildings. There was a park there that I went to as a child. It changed throughout the years. The play structures where different. The tunnel was gone. But one thing always remained. The dragon. It might be painted fresh, the color different, but the dragon remained year after year. Rolling along the ground like it was swimming in the sea.

The dragon was blue now. When I was small it was orange. The dragon had been every color you could imagine. But no matter the color it was familiar and looked like the loch Ness monster. Last night I was drunk and this morning I was not. I really didn't know what to do. Amazingly enough no one had touched my bag. Drifting around the park, and keeping my distance from the kids, I made my way to the river. Crossing the little bridge I looked for the fish that swam under it when I was a child. They were gone. San Lorenzo Park looked smaller than I remembered it. But not the dragon.

The idea came to me like a hot flame starting up on a gas stove. Once it was there it was undeniable. Sobriety meant leaving more than the alcohol behind. No more Randy. I wasn't sure how I felt about Randy but I really had no one else. If I was to stay sober I would have to be alone. Painfully so. But if I kept Randy in my life than I would never have much else. Randy had been there since I was eight years old. When he came to school he was the cool kid. There was nothing I wouldn't do to be friends with him. The only way to fit in with him was to do the things that he wanted. Those things were the forbidden. Going places where there was danger. Sometimes winning, often losing. Drinking had been his idea.

Now where was I? At this place where I passed my summers with my family. At the dragon, nearing its mouth. There was a worm on the ground and a grasshopper. A ladybug landed on my shirt. Just like being eight again, and the same choice. Be friends with Randy or be a good boy. I didn't even know what a good boy was anymore.

A hand touched my shoulder and broke my thoughts. It was Randy.

"How did you know I would be here?" I asked.

"I didn't, I just come here sometimes. This is the only park around with a dragon. It reminds me of the garden of Eden," he answered.

"How?" That had a snake, I thought to myself.

"The way all the kids are so innocent, running around and there is this powerful snake like reptile just outside the playground. It is tempting them to leave," he said.

"I always thought it was guarding the place and protecting them."

Randy muffled some laughs, "I guess it depends on where you are standing."

"Yah, I guess it does."

"Something bothering you? You seem really distant. That Candi thing bothering you? I thought you might have left because of it."

"No," I said, "There is no way I could be the father of her baby. She is lying."

"Yah, I know. Oh my God, look, there she is on the bridge. Look at her belly," as he spoke a woman came into view.

It was Candi and she was very pregnant. Way too far along for it to be mine. Unbelievably big. It looked like she was headed for the courthouse. The child was not with her.

"Let's get out of here," Randy said pulling my arm.

"Yah. Where to?"

"How about Beach Flats? Candi won't go there. I know some people who will let us stay for a while. It might be good to stay inside for a while. Get out of the sun"

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

The house was run down and only a little way from the beach. Beach Flats was full of poor illegals and bad criminals. Sadly for the tourist industry it was next to the Boardwalk and the best beach in Santa Cruz. Up the hill from it were multi-million dollar homes and breathtaking views. The city for some reason zoned this as low income rent controlled housing. Proof that all of the city council members were crack and pot heads. No other city would take such valuable land and assign it to the castoffs of society. This was like wiping your ass with hundred dollar bills.

The people were pretty fucked up. They offered us pot and they were smoking crack in a back room. Crack was for sale, but not offered as hospitality for guests. The smell was strong in the living room. A few kids were walking around in their underwear like little zombies. Second hand smoke victims they were all high. I just had a beer. This was not the kind of place you want to get fucked up in. Randy of course started smoking pot. It was not long before he had a way to cure disease and save all the monkeys. When Randy got high he often thought about the poor snakes and the poor monkeys. Randy wanted to crash there, so I left. I wanted to see something I knew I shouldn't.

The walk to the surfer was fast. For a long time I had been eating good food and getting stronger. Getting around was easier. I was healthier and less a part of the streets. There it was; Sean's truck.

The fear came up in me and told me not to go near it. For a while I just thought and stared. Then I went into my bag and pulled out Candice's number. My cell phone was dead as usual. Hiking down the hill I found a payphone.

"Hello?" She said.

"Hi, Candice. It's me," there was a short pause on her end.

"Oh, I called you a couple of times and you didn't answer. I thought you didn't want to see me anymore," she said breaking the silence.

"No, I got hung up with some shit. I just called to let you know I was ok. That's all," I lied. I wanted to know more about what was happening with her. Also I wanted to have her around. A plan B.

"Well, I'm pregnant with your child. Thank you. I'd like you to keep in touch, so the baby knows you. But I want you, to, well, not be like a dad," it hurt to hear that but I understood.

"Yeah, sure, no problem. I don't think I'd be such a good dad," I was just being honest.

"Could you come by soon, and sign some papers for me?"

"Yes. Let me have some time to think. But I will be there soon," I said.

"Thanks," she said.

"Hey, I want you to know, I think you will be a good mom, no you will be a fantastic mom. If I could pick a mother for my child, it would be you," I told her, and it was true.

"Hey thanks, that really means a lot to me."

"Bye. I'll see you soon," I really wanted to get off the phone before I started crying.

"Bye. Thanks for calling," click.

"Hey asshole, where have you been?" The voice of a very mad Candi came from behind me.

"Bitch, get out of my way," I said.

"What? That is what you are going to say to me? You did this to me, asshole. You fucking leave me bleeding. I could have been dead. Now I'm carrying your fucking baby, and that is what you fucking have to say? You call the mother of your fucking child a bitch? Don't you have any fucking decency? You disrespectful son of a bitch."

"Hey, the son of a bitch is in your stomach," sometimes I wish I had more time to think before I spoke.

That bitch could yell. Many heads were turned at us so I said, "Call the cops! Call the cops! This crazy crack whore is trying to rob me!"

With that many phones were pulled out and Candi started to cry. At a fast pace I started to walk away. Running would make me look too suspicious.

"Wait! Come back asshole!" She screamed with a shrill trailing screech.

But she didn't want to see the cops so she left in the opposite direction. The child had not been with her yet again. Live Wire had served his purpose. Lucky me she didn't know who sent him her way. There was a happy feeling of getting the best of her that welled up inside of me.

The money in my bag needed to be put away. The storage locker was my next stop. Opening it I put some items inside the suitcase from Candice. Some money I kept out, but the rest I stashed. After I found the phone charger I plugged in the phone and let it juice up in the locker. Tomorrow I would pick it up. Tonight I went back to my favorite spot under the bridge. Randy came later.

The night was clear but there would be fog in the morning. My clothes were looking a little shabby. All I wanted was a beer. Before I headed down the levee I stopped for some. Flat Tire, it was cold. The little pssst noise from flicking the tab opened hit my ears like a symphony. Getting drunk with Randy when I first got back had just happened. This was something conscious; this was a choice. The sober life was not for me. Who was I kidding?

The fluid breached my lips and I felt it on my tongue. That felt so good. There is nothing like the first swallow. Bubbles popped gently in my mouth and flavor burst on my tongue. The beer moved toward my throat then went back and forth until I would either swallow or choke on it. Beer? I thought. Was this beer, ale, or something else? I finished the can off before I read the label. What do you know? It's Fat Tire, not Flat Tire and it's ale. Whatever it is I love it. Soon all the cans were empty. In the distance, under the bridge, I could see the shadow of Randy already asleep in the grass. He had followed me and drifted off. The coughs filtered down the water and carried far off to die in parts unknown. It was making me sad.

The river is full of life this night and I decided to pick a spot close to it for the night. Randy's coughs made me nervous and I didn't want to wake up next to a cold blue person.

After I had another can of beer I threw it in and watched it float downstream. Then another, and another. Some trash gets stuck in the plants near the bank, others get out of view. Once the last can was gone I stared up at the stars that were spinning in the night sky. They were not as bright as the stars in Paraguay. The stories the Mennonites told the UCSC students filled my head. To everything turn, turn, turn. That was from Ecclesiastes.

What time it was when I woke up I didn't know. It felt late. My pants were soiled with my own shit. Beer usually doesn't get me that wasted. Bugs were on my shirt and crawling on my skin. A few earthworms were wiggling on my back and I picked them off. The river water was cold, but I decided to clean up as best I could. The clothes dried as the fog lifted and I lay out naked in the grass. Still, I knew I didn't smell right.

After I dressed I walked down to the clock tower. Everyone I knew well was there listening to Randy.

It seemed like Randy was holding court with all his fallen angels and the rest of the unwanted," Hey DJ, where you been," he said and they all waved a welcome to me.

"Just sleeping. I don't know about your friend's crack house so I thought I'd go someplace I trusted," I said.

"You getting to be picky? I'll try and find a nicer crack house next time," all the guys laughed when he talked.

"But I know what you mean, I left too. Seemed like a lot of trouble."

Randy had a way of making everything seem ok. "The kids creep me out," I said.

"Kids? They are just Mexicans. Not like real people. They have it way better here than where they came from. You need to relax. You act like something's wrong. What is your problem?"

"I don't know. Candi found me yesterday," I said.

"Fucking cunt," Randy said, "what do you want to do about her?"

I hadn't thought about that, but I would have to do something about her if she was claiming I was the father.

"I don't know." Then Randy got up and we both left.

For a while we just walked around and bought some booze. My head was buzzing when we sat down across from a restaurant. There were some outside seats and a few people were eating and drinking wine. Some had beer with their Italian food. "Look at them Randy. They eat, have a drink, maybe two, and they stop. Go home wake up, go to work. Without a care. Not a second thought about the wine. How do they do it?"

For a while Randy said nothing. "They are not us. Maybe they are just born to be better than we are."

It sounded so true and so dumb at the same time. We walked toward the underpass that led to the fork in the road. One way took you to Felton, the other to White Lady's. Silently we walked toward the death house. The sun was getting lower in the sky but we still had a few hours of light left. The flat wall stood out against the redwood trees as usual. There was no real reason for us to be there.

"You love this place," I said to Randy.

"Yes. I do. It feels like a doorway. Not really death and not really life. A place in between. The whole road feels like that and it goes nowhere, just like all of creation."

For some reason a story popped into my mind. It was one of the stories that I heard when the UCSC people were collecting them. The story had been told by an old native woman and she told it like it was truth even though it was pure crap.

"Hey, I heard this story when I was gone, you want to hear it?" I asked.

"Why not? I am bored," Randy answered.

"This very old Indian lady I ran into told me this. It was about being careful of strangers that you meet at night. It is a story for child, but I think it has been told over and over so many times that people believe it. Like a really good lie.

The old lady said that long ago when God banished the devil from heaven there were still some duties that Satan was in charge of. One of these duties was deciding how much knowledge that man should have.

Satan would put inventive ideas in the minds of men. He led them to discoveries and new ways to think. By doing this Satan made men think that they didn't need God and that they could become as God. But knowledge also led to people turning toward God and being grateful for ideas that led to a better life.

The demons and spirits of hell thought that all the knowledge was working toward God's favor. That man was using his mind to get closer to the almighty and stay away from sin. So the dukes of hell decided to oust their prince. One day they all went against him and kicked him out of hell; sealing the gates behind him.

Satan was angry but could not get back in hell. Instead he took human form and roamed the night trying to find a host for the evening. Once he came upon you he would bring you bad luck and lie to you. He would do whatever he could to take away everything you had. If you were happy then he would leave you sad. If you were rich then he would leave you poor. If you had a big family then he would make them sick and die. Whatever you cherished most he would take from you so you would share in his misery. Misery loves company.

When out far too late one night when she was a girl the old woman had come across a man walking alone. The girl thought the man looked lost and asked if he needed help. The man had a wicked smile come across his face and the girl knew that he was the devil. Satan tried to grab her but the girl ran away. Into the night she ran and she could feel the devil on her back, grabbing at her as she ran. Finally she came to a town while the man was still running after her. She was almost going to faint when she ran into a church. Come in here if you dare! She cried out. But he just stayed at the door, pacing back and forth. The girl spent the night on the church floor.

In the morning Satan had left. The girl was so scared she didn't want to leave. But the priest told her not to fear, and to always wear the cross. He gave her a small necklace to wear. The priest also told her to pray before talking to a stranger, and never to be out after dark. That was when the devil the earth walked. From then on the old lady had kept herself safe from the devil."

"What a stupid story," Randy said.

"I liked it," I said.

"Why? It sounds retarded. The devil could walk into a church if he felt like it. It is just a superstitious old fool telling some dumb story that is crap."

"So? Why do you care so much?"

Randy got red in the face, "I don't care. I don't like stupid stories."

I got up to leave. The day was getting older and I didn't want to be here at night. "You going?" Randy sounded surprised.

"This place gives me the creeps. You coming?"

"Yes, I'll go. It creeps me out a little too."

No ghosts followed us out. Randy seemed different. It felt like he was angry with me. Down by the river we got ready for bed. The buzz of the night insects and the slush of the river lulled me to sleep. In the morning Randy was gone. I wondered if I would ever see him again. It didn't make sense; maybe I ruined White Lady's for him.

Down at the clock tower I saw Live Wire. The place was empty except for him. It was so obvious that he was a cop. Still clean and wearing new clothes. Would that guy ever learn that he stood out like a green marble among one hundred red ones?

As I approached the tower he motioned to me and offered me a beer. Fine way to start the day. Free beer was enough of a reason to sit next to him. "Hey man," he said, "I'm looking for something hardcore."

"Didn't you go to that whore I pointed out to you? Wasn't that hardcore enough?" I asked.

"Oh dude, I thought I recognized you. That chick wasn't hardcore at all. She just had the kid around when she did it. No doing the kid. Do you know anyone who sells heroin?"

"No. That crazy whore was all I had," odd, maybe Candi knew he was a cop.

"Hey, thanks for the beer. I have to go. Good luck finding heroin," and with that I left.

There were some flashing lights of cop cars, fire trucks, and ambulances. It was down toward the far end of Pacific going toward the beach. I headed down to see what the commotion was about.

When I got there I saw Sean crying. Someone was being loaded onto an ambulance with a sheet over their face. The cops were shooing everyone away and only letting Sean stay. A bad feeling hit my already hungry gut. If I had eaten I would have thrown up. In a rush I left. The fast way I left might call attention but I didn't care. I didn't want to know what was going on. From now on I was going to stay as far away from Sean as possible.

From out of the past a nightmare emerged. "Hey," said Hank, "I got a message for you."

I tried to just keep walking. This was the reason I found the old native lady's story so entertaining. This could be the devil in human form living with us. Backwards was the messy scene, and Hank was trying to keep up with me.

"Hey, It's just a message. You should just fucking stop for a second retard."

"What," I yelled.

"Your old lady called me up. She just had your kid. She's in Dominican. Congratulations daddy."

"Not my kid," I said as tried to walk past him.

"Yah? She says different. That kid is really ugly, just like you."

"Fuck off, asshole. Tell her to fuck off too. I don't need your shit. The kid is not mine," I said as I heard him start to laugh.

How I hated Hank

It seemed odd that Candi would know how to contact Hank. There was no reason for him to try and find me.

Since I only had one beer in me I walked to Dominican Hospital. I wasn't really that clean but right now I was good enough to take care of the lies that whore was telling. This had to stop.

The bitch was in a really nice place. I stunk and looked a mess. It didn't matter to me. At least I wasn't drunk. The more homeless troll I looked the more embarrassed that stupid bitch would be. They didn't want to even let me in. This was a nice shiny hospital. Not a place for Candi and her baby. Certainly not a place for a Dick like me.

Reluctantly the nurse showed me to Candi's room. It was like a hotel room. The bed was a real one, not a hospital type. It looked like she was in heaven until I came in. A nurse asked me to sign the birth certificated and in the loudest voice I had I announced that I was not the father, and that there were too many possibilities to count. Candi started crying. Drama queen. Who slept with all the men? Me? No, she should feel bad. I agreed to take a DNA test. The results would be in a few days. The baby was nowhere to be seen.

As I left I said, "You should test that baby and the slut for aids."

The next place I went was a liquor store. After I bought a six pack and a bottle of Jack I spotted Randy. "Hey man, I saw Hank. You talk to Candi?" He called out.

"Yeah, sort of. I am so tired of her trying to say I'm the baby's father. I think I went too far. But I got a DNA test. By the end of the week she won't be able to say anything. That bitch. I used to care about her," I spit on the ground.

I really hated her at that moment.

"She was always a bitch. I told you that when you met her. You should hear some of the things Miranda told me about her."

"You think she really sold her kid? You know, out for sex? Where you being straight with me" I wondered.

The things that Live Wire had said made me think. Randy was as big a liar as I was; only he was better at it.

"I know she did. She's really a nasty cunt. She will sell anything," Randy reassured me.

"I don't know what's going on anymore. Let's go get drunk."

"Amen," said Randy.

When I woke up I decided I needed to see Candice. I had promised her. Instead of contacting Sean I took a bus. It took all day to get there. She was surprised and happy to see me. There was another woman there named Rochelle. It turned out Candice was gay. It gave me a strange thought. I wondered if Oprah was secretly gay. It would be nice if she was, although I was not sure why I cared.

The way I looked and smelled was something I hadn't given much thought to. The ladies insisted that I take a shower and gave me a garbage bag for my clothes. Then Rochelle cut my hair. The whole time she was trying to be cool but I could tell there was something wrong.

"Honey, I'm gonna shave this all off. You have some bugs, and your scalp needs to breathe," she said as she worked.

Pieces of matted hair dropped in front and to the back. When the clumps hit the floor they were moving. Bugs were trying to escape the hairballs, but Candice swept them up. Dirt came loose. I really was a mess.

My head was completely bald. I felt so naked and cold. What was left of my hair and the clothes I had been wearing were rushed out to the garbage. I was rushed to the bathroom.

It felt good to wear the clothes that Candice had bought for me. Dinner was fast food and red wine. Rochelle was very attractive, but she was a big girl. My child would be raised by two dark, fat, intelligent earth mothers. And they would keep the child clean and bug free.

"So Candice, what is going on? You gots to be finished with redevelopment. No one evah listen to you," Rochelle said.

"I am still pushing for my limited special zoning. If that doesn't go through, then I might give up. It seems that no one wants to change anything. They got their hands in their pockets; everything is about making a quick buck. So stupid," Candice said.

Rochelle continued on, "Seems they could figure out that if we all lift each other up then everyone will have more. But the man just keeps us down. And the man keeps his own down too."

"I know," Candice went, "If we could do the low income temporary and then lift the restriction after five years, we could get people into houses and off section eight. Then the housing returns to market prices so we don't have to worry about blight as much. Keep adding homes, moving the low income housing around, after a while people own their own. When they sell they can afford to move where they want. Place stays nice, folks can work building homes, and banks can loan out money. Keeping that money flowing."

"You know, it won't work," Rochelle interjected, "it be the tragedy of the commons."

Candice nodded her head, "I know, I know. That is exactly what we are talking about."

"No," I said, "the problem is that you are doing all this work to make people behave. They won't."

"Why?" They asked in unison.

"Because people drink too much and do drugs," I said.

They thought for a while, and then Candice said, "Maybe I'll try and get some funding for a drug rehab. For low income people."

"That could change the world," I said.

"Yes," said Rochelle, "Then you are fighting more than greed. You are getting to the real problem and fighting the void."

Candice nodded. I had no idea what the void was, so I asked, "The void?"

"Oh the void, the evil, Satan like stuff. There is the infinite and the void. The infinite is the great expanse of goodness. It goes on forever and it is where our minds meet when we talk and understand each other. Then there is the void, the big emptiness that also goes on and on, but it feels like a prison. It keeps us isolated and lost. It is addictive, and the infinite is freeing. In a way they are the same, but still opposites. Like love and hate. In fact, the infinite is love, and the void is hate."

"What? Are you talking about the force?" I asked and they started to laugh.

"I think that touches on it. We all know it is there, what is. But the words change and people forget the real meaning. They need new words. Like the force I suppose."

Never before had I heard anything about this crap. Both of these women were a little too deep for me. It seemed strange that Candice wasn't taken seriously at work. Her ideas sounded good to me and well planned out. Perhaps she lacked confidence in herself ad didn't see herself like others do.

I stayed with them and listened to their big thoughts and references until I thought that the DNA test would be done. Rochelle offered to drive me home. The car ride was fun and I loved spending time with them listening to their ideas. "Maybe I should go conservative. Look at how far Conde Rice got. They listen to gay black women in the republican party," Candice said.

"Girl your ideas are so left of center they would lynch you the minute you opened you mouth," Rochelle shot at her, "Condoleezza Rice didn't want to end poverty and excess. She was about getting people in line."

Once we got to the hospital I got out of the car and watched them drive off. Today they would be at the beach. Take in the sights. Two giant fat black ladies walking around the boardwalk.

The walkway into the hospital seemed longer today. It took forever to find out where I should go, and that wasn't right. I felt off balance and I was scared that the kid might be mine.

A nurse took me to see the baby. That wretched creature hadn't left the hospital yet. From the look of things it might never leave.

The baby had a flat nose that ran across most of her flat ugly face. It was really skinny and hardly moved. When it did move it let out a soul splitting howl that sounded like someone was trying to rip it in pieces. No one had named her yet, she only had Candi's last name on her tags.

A nurse came over with some files and she said, "The test came back, it says that you are without address? Is that correct?"

"Yes. That is correct," the nurse frowned as I spoke.

This was killing me. Could she hurry up with the news?

"Well, you are not getting a present next father's day. The child isn't yours."

"What's going to happen to her?"

"The state will probably take her. She was born with fetal alcohol syndrome. There were drugs in her system; no one knows how that will affect her. The mother can't raise her. That baby needs special care, and I think the mother does as well." She looked at me deep like I should step up and take care of them.

"Oh," I said, "That's too bad."

Then I left. That bitch wouldn't have anything on me anymore. Off to the clock tower I went without a drink.

There I found Randy resting. His cough had been getting better for a while. Today it had come back and brought some mucus friends. Poor Randy was coughing too much to even talk. There was a sure cure for that, Presidente. Nothing worked like this for a cough or cold. There was a store close by so I picked up a bottle and we started to share it.

"Went to the hospital," I started to say then Randy had a coughing fit.

"What?" Was all he could get out.

"Not mine. Sad little thing. Candi should be in jail for letting that kid end up like that," I said.

"She's a fucked up mother," Randy coughed out.

"Listen, about that. Tell me the truth. Did she really try and sell you her kid?" The thought that maybe I beat her up for nothing bothered me.

"I never told you that she tried to sell her kid to me. I don't know what you are talking about," Randy said looking away from my face.

"Did it happen or not? Come on Randy, I want to know, I need to know."

"Some of it was true," he replied.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I demanded, and he could tell I was pissed.

After a coughing fit he finally spoke, "You know, some of what I said was true, but that was a while ago. I don't even really remember what I said. I just remember all the bitches were mad because you beat up Candi. So I told you an enhanced version of what happened. I just wanted you to stay away from her. For you. She has always been bad for you."

After a long swig of Presidente I passed the bottle to Randy and he drank for a long time before his cough made him stop. When the bottle came to me I poured a little on the ground. Not really for dead friends but to piss Randy off. The look on his face was flat though. He didn't care. The cough took him over again.

Drinking out in the open like this was dangerous. When Randy was feeling better we headed down to the river. I wanted to go up it and he never did. Going to those special spots up the San Lorenzo was something I would have to do alone. The weather was perfect for it but I didn't want to leave Randy today. He just wasn't right.

"Something wrong?" Randy asked.

"You look horrible. You sound worse. I don't know," I answered.

"Aw, you care," he coughed out.

"Yah, I feel bad. That asshole Hank talked to me yesterday. It always makes me sick to talk to him."

"Oh how I hate that mother fucker," I said, "nothing is worse than Hank. I'd rather roll around naked in dog shit and fuck a chicken than have to see that guy. Candi told him to find me the other day, can you believe that? How did she know about him?"

Randy shook his head, "Don't know. But she will regret calling that guy. Nothing good ever comes from knowing him."

"Yah," I laughed, "You know that story, the one I told you about the devil at White Lady's? It reminded me of him."

Coughing and laughing Randy got out, "Oh no way, that is funny. I thought you... never mind."

"I'm starving. Let's get a pizza," I knew pizza was Randy's favorite food.

"No man, you go ahead. I'm not hungry."

Looking at Randy's wasted frame I knew he had to be hungry or too sick to feel it. Under a bridge he stayed while I got him some pot and us a pizza. The smell of the herb gave him back his appetite. We smoked pot, ate pizza, and finished off the bottle of Presidente.

The next morning I was woke up by the sound of Randy's breathing. "You ok?" I asked.

Laughing a little Randy replied, "Sure, I'm fine. Are you worried about me?"

"You sounded funny and loud," I looked out at the gray morning.

Soon the sun would burn off the fog and it would be a nice day. It might get hot. My clothes from Candice were already dirty and Randy smelled much worse than before. There was an ammonia odor to him, like a faint whiff of cat piss. There was little expression of glee in his face and he slumped back against a small pile of dirt. His breathing was labored. The day was calling me to go out and play, but Randy looked like he needed to stay put. At least he wasn't coughing as much now that he was sleeping.

Down to the boardwalk I headed, Randy would sleep some more. He needed to. The hours passed and I decided to check on my storage locker. The cash on me was getting low and I wanted to look at my stuff. When I got in I saw my phone. It lay forgotten on top of some boxes. There were a few messages, mostly from Candice and a couple from Herve. That guy. I had almost forgotten him.

I put the phone in my pocket and left. Today I truly looked like a troll. Just like what the kids called us. All I needed was a shopping cart. The hair had grown in a little on my head but I still looked like I had cancer or something. The way my hair looked was so awful that no one made fun of it. Sitting on a bench I saw Sean. The look on his face was so sad I had to say something to him.

"Hey, dude, Sean, how's it going?"

"Hey," Sean's face lit up, "DJ! I wondered what happened to you. Sam said you were off the radar. He said you jacked up a massive drug cartel. How you been?"

"I've been ok. You look a little down man," I said.

"Yah. Sam is gone," he sadly said.

"That is too bad. Maybe it was just his time. We all gotta go sometime," I didn't really know how to say anything comforting.

"Oh, no, no, he's not dead. He got his ear cut off by some guys when a deal went wrong and he's had to fake his own death. So I really miss him, but he will come back. Probably six months. That is how long he is usually gone after he fakes his own death."

"Ok. Well, nice to see you Sean. Tell Sam hello when you see him."

"Ok, See you soon DJ, Ok?"

"Yah, soon," my voice carried down the street.

After a while my thoughts went back to Randy. It was getting late and I thought he would like some weed and some booze. Maybe he would eat. Not long after I found what we needed I went under River street and found him in the same spot as this morning, "Hey man, I got some stuff. Let's go in the bushes and party."

Randy smiled, "You always were a nice person underneath. That was why I became friends with you."

A sigh came from deep within me, "Sorry I don't think I am so good underneath. I guess I let you down."

A little giggle came from Randy, "No idiot, I didn't become friends because I wanted to be around a nice person, I wanted to make you like me. When I see something nice I just want to ruin it. You are perfect the way you are, man."

That really irritated me. Soon after we started smoking weed and eating I felt better. It was hard to stay mad at Randy. Right now he was so sick it was hard to even look at him, "You think you need a doctor?" I asked him.

"No. I just got a cold or something. At least it's not winter. That is the worst," truer words never came from his mouth.

The rest of the day we spent wasted and we watched the sunset together. Long into the night we talked about things and how much of a bitch Candi was. Still, he wouldn't tell if she really tried to sell him her kid or not.

The night was clear enough to see stars and we could make out the sounds of music from a nearby window. The temperature was perfect and I knew tomorrow would be a great day.

After we found a nice spot I got some cardboard for Randy. He was feeling cold. That night we fell asleep laughing. I am not sure where reality ended and dreaming started. But I can remember laughing and laughing and then seeing Randy get up to go pee.

When Randy came back he had a strange wicked smile on his face. It is time for us to go our separate ways. We didn't speak but White Lady came with her dead white face and Randy went off with her. It was time for me to live sober and not be an asshole anymore. I needed to step away from the void and embrace the infinite. Randy laughed and laughed as he went walking toward the street that goes to nothing. "No, you are mine. You need to always stay sweet," Randy called out.

I woke up, and I had to tell Randy I was going to clean up. My world needed to change.

"Hey man," I said to him, "look, this life is getting old. It is time for me to quit the booze. I got to stop."

I waited to hear laughing or some snide remark. There was nothing not even a cough. When I faced him I knew instantly that he was dead. Carefully I touched his cheek and it was cold. The color of his flesh was ashen and there was a smell. That cat piss odor was stronger and the unmistakable smell of death lay on him. For a moment I just cried and stared at him. The eyes on his face were empty and open. Hoping I was wrong I went to get a cop to bring him back to life.

The cop I found called for an ambulance and we met on the bridge. A couple of kids, maybe thirteen years old, were poking at his body with a stick when I came back. They ran away when they saw us. The body was swollen a little now and he actually looked better. When the paramedics pulled him up he was like a board. They covered his face and placed him in a black bag. They zipped him up like he was a formal tux.

Someone was asking me questions. One of the paramedics had pulled things out of his pockets and came to me. He had a prescription bottle in his hand, "How long had he had aids? " He asked me without warning.

"What? He didn't have aids, "I rambled.

The paramedic looked a little surprised, "Well, he looks like he died from aides, and he had a bottle of Epivir in his pocket. He has a script for some other aids meds. Do you know why he would have those?"

No I didn't. But I had sex with him, unprotected, all the time. Not recently, but could I have aids? "You sure that is for aids? He had a bad cough," I weakly asked.

"You need to get tested?" He asked.

"No, no way. I'm fine. I think."

That asshole Randy. It was like he said. He wanted to ruin me. Make me just like him. Walking up the river I headed for my special spot. It would make me welcome and I could mourn the loss of Randy. There I could escape the fear for a little while. Right now I needed to go to a place where I could make things clear.

Everyone fucks everyone, I thought. How I need a drink.

* * *

##  Son of Dick

* * *

My ass hurt. Blood was in my underwear. I hated Hank. What a monster, a piece of human waste. All he did was laugh and drink beer as I started to regain my mind. The aches in my body wouldn't let me move, not yet anyway. The darkness started to turn to a soft gray haze as I became more aware. If I could get to him I would kill him. Pain ripped through my spine from my anus. I wanted him to suffer. Pay for all he had done, this day and for all the past years. There would be no time for that. As my mind got clearer I realized that Hank had already left. That asshole.

While I knew what had happened, my mind didn't let the thoughts surface. Just I was about to grasp what had taken place other thoughts would come to me. Had I forgot to pay the bill for my storage unit? Now was not the time to feel emotional pain. If I let myself get into that part of my mind I might die. This was not the first time I had been raped, but it had never been this bad before. Still, that was for later, I needed to make sure I got away. I wanted to live through this.

Looking around I could tell that I was in a run-down room of some old building. It must have been a shack and I could see daylight through the spaces in the wooden planks. The walls had no paint to protect them and the room didn't look entirely square. Air blew in and made me shiver. I sat up and quickly moved to my side. The pain in my butt turned to fire when I tried to sit.

Quickly, I returned to my side in agony. The fire fueled my hatred of Hank. Hank Hernandez from Watsonville. What a waste of a life. The shack reminded me of him. It smelled like him. How he was not made well, and how he had things missing that makes a person Human.

When I got up I found a shirt but no pants. Outside I found myself in rolling green hills and I knew that I wasn't far from Harken's Slough and the ocean. The landscape here changed slowly but change it did each season. Winter brought rain and flooding. The overly green grass was a testament to all the rain. The unstable ground made building permanent structures difficult. I needed to get out. The day was nice but I was half naked.

There I was on top of a little hill in a falling down shack. The paint was in bad shape and peeling in little strands. Small birds landed on the eves and watched me as I slowly walked away from the front door. The grass was flourishing and as I stepped on it water and mud splashed up from the blades. The road might be impassable, I was not sure.

To my far right I could see signs of new houses and to my left the rotting wood of a few shacks barely holding together. Most of what I saw was a rolling green landscape of cow pasture. I walked toward the shacks. There might be farm workers, or even other victims of Hank. It was more likely to find help there than on a street full of wealthy people in their clean little homes. They would just want me gone.

I walked back in the shack. The way I was dressed would upset anyone. My skin had dirt that wouldn't wash off, my legs were caked with blood, and I had no pants. I needed to try and find something more than the shirt to wear.

The little shack had an old holey pillow case lying dirty in a corner. It looked like Hank had used it to clean up after pleasuring himself. There were stiff areas that felt like glue stains but I knew better. The disgust I felt made it hard to pick up the fabric. Still, I told myself it was only glue. That was the only thing I had to cover myself with. Off I went.

The road was well maintained even though it went to nowhere. This was because it was ruined on a yearly basis. Farms were here and there and a jail near the more solid ground. I often thought the sea would someday return and cover these little hills. All this fertile land would be full of salt and waves. As I walked that image of the returning sea filled my mind.

The asphalt was rocky and hurt my feet. The sun made the road hot and I cooled my feet in the mud filled grass. Instead of walking on the asphalt I chose to stay on the grass. Moving my feet up and down in the thick sticky mud was a chore. Holding the pillow case in front of my slong while sinking in the silt was difficult and tiring. The pain in my ass kept me from resting.

Not far down the road a truck stopped for me. Four Mexican guys were riding in a truck probably headed for work picking something or other. They took me to a shack not far down the road that looked much like Hank's and got a pair of pants for me. They found some old shoes as well. Sobbing I thanked them. They tried to comfort me and gave me some tacos and beer.

"Que?" One asked.

"Hank Hernandez," I said not really knowing how to answer.

All of them started mumbling. They knew who he was, in fact, most poor people in Watsonville knew him. Then they looked at me. A distinct feeling that it was my turn to speak and then a lack of Spanish words came over me. After a minute of awkwardness, we went outside. They started up the truck and we headed off. The truck stopped at Ramsey park. This was a good place to stop. I thanked them and got out. One of the guys handed me five dollars in ones. That was nice. Hank had taken everything I had with me. And then taken everything else. That was his way. Whenever I felt like I had some of my dignity back Hank would find me.

Watsonville was a strange place. The people were a mixture of Mexican, Yugoslavians, and Japanese; with a few Portuguese on the side. More and more were coming from other places but the core folks stayed the same. There was no way to change the place. Nor did it want to change. This was a place for farmers. Life moved slowly here.

Ramsey park was not far from a bus stop. Walking toward the main road into town I saw many kids playing there. The sun told me that it was long before noon and I wondered if the kids could tell by my face what had happened to me. I hope that asshole got aids from me. The thought made me wonder if I had the disease. This was so hard to deal with I thought about just running into traffic and dying. With my luck I would survive.

Did I have aids? There was no way to tell without a test. Then I would know but I was not sure I wanted to know if I was HIV positive. It would be a relief if I was negative, but horrible to know if I was positive. Living with maybe was better than facing yes, you are positive. The walk to the bus stop was short and I didn't have to wait long for my ride.

After I paid my fare I looked back at Ramsey park. The giant cage man was gone. There was once a giant robot climbing structure at this park. That was where I first met Hank Hernandez. Up in the belly of the cage man I used to go drinking with Randy. One night Hank was there. That night he tricked us into doing weird things with him. That was the first time Randy smoked pot. That was the first time I had sex. That was a long time ago. The cage man was gone. Too bad Hank was still here.

The bus ride was long and I found I couldn't sit. Something was wrong with my ass. At the county building I got off the bus and went into the bathroom at Jack in the Box. Fuck, there was something stuck up my ass. Little objects that were way up in it. It hurt like hell every time I touched my anus. Not sure what to do I just yanked and out came some pieces of broken glass. It looked like someone had smashed a car window and stuffed the glass in me.

There was a scream and I think it came from me. Fishing around I pulled out some more, but there were some way up past my sphincter. Sweat started to pour down my face and I felt chills. Panic started to take my mind and I cursed Hank. Pushing my fingers up just caused the glass to go in farther. More sweat and panic and I was getting less careful. I tried to shit it out.

A rush of blood and feces came down my legs. The smell of the blood overpowered the smell of the shit. The field of my vision started to narrow and grow darker. The area under my belly felt heavy while the area above started getting lighter. When I woke up I was in the hospital. At least it looked like one.

The room had two beds and a sheet hanging between. The other bed had the window and I was closer to the TV. Ideas started popping in my head like popcorn kernels in a microwave. The door opened and my mind froze. My ass was numb.

A very old lady came in and checked things then left without even telling me to fuck off. Not knowing what was going on I started to cry. Crying was something I did regularly. One of the many reasons Hank said that I was not a real man.

Coughing came from the bed next to me. The sound reminded me of my one true friend, Randy. Randy who had let me have sex with him even though he knew he had aids. My one true friend really fucked me over. I was glad he was dead.

The place smelled like Watsonville. Poor usually end up there; Dominican Hospital is for the wealthy. When I was young I really loved Watsonville, but that was a long time ago. That was when I played in the orchards and went boating at Pinto Lake. Before Ramsey park and Hank. The door opened again.

This time two cops came in the room. Neither one looked comfortable and I really didn't want to talk. "Hi, I'm officer Sanchez, and this is officer Jones. We are here about the incident," the fat one said.

Next the skinny one talked, "We understand that you are probably embarrassed. But we want you to know that it is ok. The only way to stop this guy is for you to talk, to tell us as much as you can remember."

I just started to snivel and a few tears got loose.

"Look man," the fat one said, "this guy has been putting broken glass in cats, and a little girl. The girl was only three so she wasn't much help. We really want to get this guy, and I know he did it to you. Do you know who he is?"

Turning away I just shook my head no. All of the fiber of my being wanted to tell them. I wanted Hank to spend his life in jail, but even if I talked I knew nothing would happen to Hank. The only one who would suffer for my telling would be me. Once Hank had told me that he made a deal with the devil. At first I thought he was just full of shit, but I knew now that it was true. Talking would just feed the devil; just make the whole thing worse.

"Did he rape you?" The skinny one realized how dumb that question was and blushed.

"I know what you are going through," the skinny one was trying to correct his mistake; "I was once in your shoes."

The look on my face softened and the fat guy looked down.

"My aunt stuck a hot curling iron in me once because I wet the bed. It made me come and she just laughed, saying how I liked it. I was a fag. She left it burning in me and I was running around trying to get it out. It was so far in me," tears dropped from his eyes, 'that it wouldn't come out. Not easily. It burned me so bad I had to get a colostomy. See this?" He opened his shirt.

Underneath his shirt was a little pouch, "This bag now holds my poop. She got away with what she did. She was my guardian and I didn't tell anyone until too much time had passed. Don't let that happen. Talk to us, help us get this guy off the street."

Would I need a colostomy, I thought. That seemed so gross and when he was buttoning up I caught a hint of the smell that was inside the bag. Still, I couldn't help them. Even though I truly wanted to. My head shook no. "I'm sorry," I choked with tears.

There was nothing more for me to do. The fat one gave a sad glance at the skinny one who was staring right into me. "If you need us, or think of anything, here's my card. Give us a call," the fat one handed me his card and I took it.

"Anytime, call. No matter what you think of, we can help you," the skinny one said.

I know that they meant well and I took the card. The card felt like a life preserver and I planned to keep it for a long time. Cards couldn't stop Hank though. Nothing could.

At that very moment I wanted to get drunk and go home. The thought of the bag stuck with me and I felt sick because of it. The cops left and I had all this information just wanting to come out. It couldn't get past my throat. A piece of me died holding on to the words inside me.

The skinny one would understand. It probably took everything for him to talk about what happened to him. Things had been going on for so long. I couldn't even really remember why I never talked about Hank. Maybe if I said out loud what happened it would be real. Maybe if I only thought about it and no one else knew the truth, then I could pretend it was all fake. Maybe I wanted it to just be a part of my mind and not a part of the real world.

A doctor came in after a while and checked some charts. Then he looked at my ass. I think he touched it but I couldn't feel it anymore, "I'm I going to be ok?" I asked.

"Well, that was... nasty. Still, I think you should be fine. The tricky part is going to be keeping the area clean. You had to get eight stitches," he answered.

"Clean?" That sort of just leaked out of my mouth.

Being clean was not easy when you live on the streets. Most of my nights were spent under a bridge. There were times when I got so drunk that my pants became my toilet. This was not going to be an easy task.

"For a while you are going to have to irrigate the area instead of using paper. We have a little bottle the nurse will show you how to use after each movement. The stitches will dissolve on their own. Catholic Charities donated some clothes for you and a pair of shoes. I am keeping you one more day, but tomorrow I have to discharge you. Really, I wish I could keep you longer, but the state has no money right now," the guy seemed very decent.

Honestly, I didn't want to stay. Once they released me I was going to get as far away from Watsonville as possible. Not that Hank never left, but he seldom did. There would not be a bag, at least this time. Next time I might not be a lucky guy. Hank was the kind of guy who would ram a hot curling iron up someone's ass. Hope he didn't know the skinny cop's aunt.

The next day I flushed my ass with water and left the hospital. The doctor gave me ten bucks so I decided to take the bus back to Santa Cruz. The bus would drop me off right at the metro station in the heart of the Pacific Garden Mall. It would be safer there for me.

The ride was long and the other passengers got weirder and weirder as we got closer to Santa Cruz. There was comfort in going to a make-believe land by the sea. All I wanted was to see the street and listen to lesbians rant about politics. Tears were running down my face and landing on my pants. They were big wet drops. Very substantial and hard to hide. The bus pulled into the metro station and I got off. The smell of bread hit me and I spent the rest of my money at the bakery.

My ass bothered me. Whatever had been making it numb was wearing off so I could feel pain and itching. Eating my bread I walked down to the clock tower. Normally I would stop but Lisa was there.

Many people who live here are addicts, but some are like Lisa. Looking up at the sky with her hands outstretched she mumbled to herself. The slight tremble she had was from her medication. It made her eyes twitch and her mind more lucid. When she quit taking whatever she was on she would start to look for the savior. Not Jesus though, she thought that her first husband was returning from the dead.

Lisa had killed him because she thought that Satan had possessed him. Once I had seen her try and kill another person because she thought they were in league with the devil. This crazy old lady really scared the shit out of me. So I walked on.

On past Denny's I went, under highway one, and I found myself walking toward the little dirt path to White Lady's.

The road never changes. No matter the weather it always feels cold walking up the dead-ended fork in the road. As I walked I looked past the trees and saw a car heading to Felton. The path was overgrown more than the last time I was here.

The last time I had been here it was warm and summer was just starting. Now winter was getting closer and the new leaves had turned color. Most of the trees in the mountains were evergreens, but here there were many kinds. Old leaves from many seasons past were rotting in piles on the ground turning back into dirt. The smell of rot, damp ferns, and pee was strong in the air. A feeling that made the hair on the back of my neck and upper arm stand up hit me like a wave.

For a while I just stood and thought about going back to see white lady's ruins. The sad flat wall would be back there decorated with tags by freaks. It would look like the back of a sound stage with garbage all over the place. I knew it well.

There had been a few times when I thought I saw her. The ghost of the old caretaker of the cemetery across the street. The only times I saw her I had been drunk. Today I was sober and eating bread. As I ate the last of the heal I heard a man cough back there.

Something about hearing a human noise made me feel less freaked out. I walked down the path.

When I got to the old foundation I found piles of old branches and beer cans. Looking around for the cough I found three unopened beer cans. This must be a lucky day.

"Thank you, White Lady," I said to the two story wall that still stood, "I needed a beer."

The wind picked up and blew like ice on my skin. After i finished the beers I threw the cans in a pile and sat. The wind still blew but my skin didn't register the cold as well now that I was buzzed. Again I heard a cough coming from the trees.

Looking up at a small grove of redwoods I heard the cough again. It sounded like it was coming from that grove, from above me.

I found a spot to sit and I stared at the trees. A dark figure seemed to be darting quickly and hiding up there. It almost looked like a thin black cape fluttering in the wind. Only for a second would it come into the corner of my eye and it would hide in the branches the minute I tried to focus on it. The shadow was up very high. I knew it was a person, but I hoped it was just the beer playing tricks on me.

After a while I got bored and started to kick at some cans near my feet. Then I heard a cough again. "Bad cough," I murmured to myself.

"Not really," came a voice from the grove.

The sound made me jump a bit. I knew the voice. It was that of a dead man. The beer was really kicking in.

"What are you doing here? You're dead," I called to the shadow.

"What do you expect at a graveyard? The living don't haunt this place," came back an answer.

"That is the beer talking," I said.

There was muffled laughter, "Maybe so. Beer is magical. It even makes you feel better."

"What news do you bring from the spirit world?" I asked in a mocking tone.

"I'm not in the spirit world. I'm right here," came my answer.

"Why hang out in this dump? You can go do whatever you want. You're dead, free. Why haunt me?" I asked.

"Death hardly means freedom. You listen to too many fairy tales. It is absurd to think one's troubles are done merely by dying. If that were true, everyone would be out jumping off a bridge. Why are you here?" It was getting colder and the wind blew in gusts that moved the trash about.

"I miss you," truer words I had never said.

"How is Hank?" It asked me in a very serious tone.

"He is Hank, that is how he is," I said.

"You should kill him," came the voice.

This made me stop and think. There was nothing I wanted more than Hank to die. The beer must be talking, after all, Hank was on my mind.

"I am no killer," I said.

"Sure you are," came the smooth voice from the trees, "we all are killers. It is not that hard to kill someone, especially an asshole like Hank. Who deserves death more? Do you think he will be free then? I think he is free now, do you understand death a little now?"

"Maybe someone else will do it, I am sure death won't let Hank forget his sins, too much to pay for," I said as the wind started to blow little dust devils around.

Beer cans and food wrappers danced high into the trees.

"No one but you to make Hank pay. Hank doesn't sin, he is evil. There is a difference."

"Why? Why care if I kill Hank?" My voice echoed as I looked harder trying to see who was in the trees.

"Because I want you and Hank. I miss you two."

This conversation was getting old and starting to bother me. The weather was turning bad so I got up to go.

"Don't you want to meet my friends? They will be here soon," the voice called out above the noise of the wind.

Walking down the path I could feel the cold again on my skin. The beer was getting diluted in my blood, filtered out by my kidneys. The wind started to sound like a lady howling. Faster my heart beat as I picked up the pace. The sky was getting dark with fog. Fingers of it started to roll in between the tree limbs. The wind blew the fog further into the little valley that the cemetery was in as I emerged from the dirt path.

As I started to follow the pavement my pace increased. The wind screeched a long wail and I tried hard not to look back. Breath was on my neck and I went faster.

When I got to the fork in the road my heart was pounding so much I had to rest. Fear subsided as the hands that I thought would grab me never did. Once my breathing had returned I started walking back toward the river.

The thought to look back grew with every step I took away from white lady's. Finally I did. That was a mistake. Back by the path was a woman in white and crouched in the bushes was a man trying to hide behind her dress. The dress was glowing in the last rays of the sun and it illuminated the cape the man was rolled up in. There was nothing more that I could see. There must have been a couple of Santa Cruz freaks in the trees. That is what I tried to tell myself.

I ran all the way back to River Street.

After I found a nice spot under the bridge I thought about white lady's. It didn't feel the same. Must have been the beer. Sweat poured down my back, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was a vision, something real. I tried to dispel the feeling that I was being watched with logic. When I was sober I never saw her. Nothing weird ever happened. Less than an hour had passed but it felt like months had gone by. Running away seemed silly.

It was lonely under the bridge. Sleep came and went. The morning had a gray almost spring sky. The smell before rain started hit my nose; it was that ozone before the storm. Then came the downpour.

I was hungry but I didn't want to get wet. In a few minutes I would have to go out in the weather and find a place with clean enough water to flush out my ass. The weight of my bladder was getting to me and I walked to a corner and peed. Sweet urine. A rain of golden relief on a gray late winter's day. My ass itched and burned.

The rain let up in intensity and I grabbed a piece of cardboard to help shelter me from it. The noises from my stomach were loud and I knew it was going to be hard to find decent food in this weather. The dumpsters, even the closed ones, would be soggy.

How alone I felt. Digging through dumpsters was a wet and slimy business today. It would be nice to get high and forget I was alive. My treasure hunt got me some halfway edible food and some change. Black bananas were like pirate's gold. They were mushy and sweet.

Walking down the Pacific Garden Mall I found a payphone and called Candice. The baby would be coming soon. Rochelle answered the phone, "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," I couldn't remember what name I had used before, "the baby's daddy."

"Oh hey honey! How you been? It's been too long. You doing ok? You need anything at all?"

"I'm ok," I lied, "I was wondering how Candice is doing, and the baby thing"

"Oh she is great. Right now she is taking a nap. Only a couple of weeks left, December eighth is the due day. Still, who knows," there was a pause.

"Let me know what you need me to sign, ok? I don't want anything Rochelle. Just for the baby... to have you two."

After I said that Rochelle loosened up, "You are being real cool about this, real cool. Maybe next year you can fix me up with one?" She was laughing and the sound of relief came from her body.

"Yah, sure anytime," I said.

"You should come up here, to see the birth. You can stay in the downstairs bedroom. We'll let you have wine and keep you clean... I mean hygienically."

"Yah, I'll try and get up there soon. But I don't want to come too early. I'll outstay my welcome."

"Ok. You come though? Candice will like that. She wants the baby to know you."

"Ok, bye."

"Bye, stay off the streets, you understand?"

I understood. Rochelle cared about me. There was something about me that reminded her of something she cared about long ago and had lost. It felt so good to hear the voice of a person who cared. The dark cloak of loneliness that covered me lifted a little for the small time I spent on the phone. It was painful when it ended. The pain grabbed my joints and made me just stop.

In the rain I sat holding a piece of cardboard over my head. The planter box I chose for me seat filled with water and I remembered how this street looked when I was a kid. So different looking then. Even the hippies looked colder and more uniform now. The Cooper house was gone, and there were chain retail stores along the street. It looked like it was trying to be cool just like the people who walked down the street.

The shoes I had been given were getting wet and I tried to protect them. It was hard to get shoes, especially ones that fit. Getting up I headed over to the clock tower.

Lisa was still there. Usually the cops would have taken her somewhere by now. Budget cuts had made dealing with crazies more of a burden than before. I had noticed people lingering longer than now because they could.

Since Lisa was quiet I decided to test my luck and sit under the tower. It was dry and a nice place to watch the rain clean up the town. A kind older man offered me a cigarette. I think he could tell I was hurting for a drink. Smoking took away some of the edge. That man was by himself, and I think he was as alone as I was. "Thanks man," I said.

"No, it is not really a favor. Just a way to help you get through. I know," he said.

"You new in town?" I asked.

People came and went from Santa Cruz all the time. Just like the butterflies. There was a place in Natural Bridges where the Monarch Butterflies came every year. They would stop for a while and then leave. Many hobos did the same.

"No, I'm not new. I been here all my life. Just came down here one last time. My kids are selling my house. I'm moving to Sacramento."

"You sound upset," I said.

"You're darn right I am upset. They want the money from my house. They don't give a fuck about me," he said.

"Don't give them the money from your house," I said, 'blow it all."

The mood on the man's face softened. His eyes started to dance.

"Yah," he said, "fuck them."

"Damn right. They take you out of your home, fuck them. Get rid of the money. Or better yet, give it all to one of them. Watch the sparks fly."

The rest of the day we spent talking about all the ways he could spend his money and piss off his kids. He decided to talk to a lawyer about buying a yacht and leaving it to one of them. That way they would have to take a big loss unloading it and only one would get anything. They would be miserable for sure. That would teach them to think about their fellow man. Old man still had some teeth.

Lisa took notice of us. Rocking back and forth she mumbled things to herself and shook her head no. Some crazy people were not hard to deal with and then there were the rest. Lisa always was difficult. A young man came over and put his arm around her. It seemed to help keep her from getting more excited. Then she just fell asleep. This kid was magical.

"I'm DJ," I said.

"Paul," he held out his hand and I got up and shook it.

"You from around here?" I asked.

"No. I just came. A truck driver in Bakersfield gave me a ride here. Told me the weather wasn't too bad."

"Yah, that is true," I agreed.

"Look at the rain. It started today I heard, the day I come. That's my luck."

Paul wasn't too dirty yet, but he looked like he didn't have access to a bathroom regularly. His clothes were wet from the weather and his drenched hair stuck to his face.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I turned eighteen. Mom can't get aid for me anymore and her boyfriend hates me. So they kicked me out and I don't know. I just don't know."

"Is that it? Or you have something else?" If he was just an outcast there were places he could go. Drugs and booze were another thing.

"I hate to work. Taking orders sucks. So I guess that would be something else. School was not for me either; I've been expelled from 8 high schools. Just couldn't graduate. I have a defiant personality or something."

So Paul was a nut job. No wonder he hit it off with Lisa so well. Still, he sounded like he wasn't too much of a nut job, and I was lonely. Paul would be my project and maybe my friend.

This would be about the time I would go begging for handouts with Randy. Since he was dead I decided to take Paul instead. Normally I could count on making at least twenty dollars with Randy. Paul had trouble looking sad and would demand money from people. The take was pretty sorry.

The problem with not earning enough money was that it meant I would have to shop lift my alcohol. Paul was too young to help and he didn't listen. It was difficult to lift anything with him around. I got him to leave, but the clerk kept watching me since Paul was such an obnoxious loudmouth.

As we sat on a bench a man approached us. He bought us some beer and was sitting close to Paul. It was clear the guy was coming on to him. "Hey, the guy's not that way," I said, "unless you have fifty bucks."

The man went for his wallet. The thing about the fifty was supposed to be a joke, but Paul was going off with him. In a minute he came back with fifty dollars. For some reason Paul thought he had to share the money with me. That night we ate and drank well. Maybe this would be a better way to make a buck than panhandling.

The alcohol helped me to sleep and I woke up with Paul next to me. He acted like he was lost and needed a guide. That guide could be me. Paul was on the obnoxious side but if we could make fifty bucks a day it would be worth it to hang out with him. Well worth it.

That morning I went down by the river to empty myself of poisons. My shit smelled extremely foul this day. Normally I just leave it to disintegrate in the sun, but the smell was so rancid I covered it with mud. Now part of me was sinking into the earth like a corpse. I decided to let it back up so it could breathe. Paul came and looked surprised. "Is this how you live? I don't know if I can do this," he started crying.

"Look, it is hard, but you get used to it. And you learn to drink a lot. Some people end up down here just so they can drink without interference," I didn't think that I was helping him.

"If you can't learn to beg, we should try and find out how to get money like last night," as I spoke this Paul looked very uncomfortable.

"What?" Paul said, "I can't. I just can't. I really need to get out of here," Paul slumped on the ground and began to cry.

It was awful but I thought about myself. Here was this goose that laid fifty dollars at a time complaining. Paul didn't want to do anything useful. What exactly he wanted or expected I didn't know. Right now he was pliable. Later he might just run off or worse. I needed to choose my words carefully.

"Look Paul, we all do things we don't like to do. Even the white bread people do things day after day that they hate. Do you think the average guy likes his job? Do you really think that the people at the Post Office like sorting through all those stupid little pieces of mail? But they do it every day for eight hours so they can get paid. Think about it as a job you don't like that you only have to do for ten minutes or so. Get it out of the way, and over twenty three hours are yours to do with as you wish. It really isn't that bad."

Paul thought about this. "I hate the way it made me feel. When I sucked that guy's dick I wanted to throw up. It smelled like pee and he came all over my face. I just want to go home."

There was a piece of Randy inside me and it spoke, "But you don't have a home. They didn't want you; you are too old to be worth anything to them. Stay with me. We will be like a family. All people have to do things they don't like. It won't be so bad. You will get used to it."

Paul stopped crying.

Days passed and the fifty a night turned into five hundred. Each day started out the same way, Paul would want to quit, I would talk him out of it, and we would make money all night long behind the Blue Lagoon. It was a sweet deal.

Everyone fucked Paul's face. Even though he was an irritating idiot there was something about him that was sexy. Maybe it was the way he hesitated but let you do whatever. He wasn't hard to look at and he was very young. The guy was popular.

Then one night a guy did him and cut up his face. From behind a dumpster he came running and screaming. I never saw what happened to the asshole that cut him up. It was really bad. Blood was everywhere and he was crying. His face wouldn't stop gushing blood and tears.

I took him to the hospital and he got something like forty stitches. For some reason he blamed me. Like I cut him. What I thought would be a new friend turned out to be a new enemy. As I left the emergency room he just started screaming, "Fuck you! I'll make you suffer, I'll give you pain! Fuck you DJ, Fuck you!"

The doctors and nurses had a hard time calming him down. Since I left before he was finished with his tirade I am not sure what happened.

There was nowhere else for me to go so I called Candice. The person who answered the phone was Rochelle. When I told her my story she told me to go to the statue of the surfer and wait for her. Since she was coming to get me I thought she must need me. Rochelle was nice, but not that nice. I hoped I could give her what she needed.

Walking to the surfer took a while. It gave me time to think. The cuts on Paul's face had sobered me. Before he came running out from behind the trash I was feeling pretty good. The guy had paid five hundred for Paul to toss his salad. I should have known something was wrong. That was usually only good for twenty bucks. My greed let my common sense go on a vacation for a while. That guy had a way about him like Hank. I should have protected my nightly cash cow from the freak.

It was my fault. Still, I didn't want to pay for it or face the revenge of that idiot. Did I put a gun to his head? No, he had choices. No one ever made him do anything. A car almost hit me. The thoughts were clouding my senses. Walking needed my attention, but I couldn't get the picture of those deep red gashes away from my eyes.

Once I got to the surfer I noticed that the air was calm and fresh. The night would make me cleaner. For some reason what happened with Paul made me feel really dirty. I never wanted to see him again. Not because I was afraid of him, but because I didn't want to think about what had happened. It made me feel like scum. Like I could never be clean again.

Rochelle came soon, but not soon enough to take my thoughts away from what a scum I had become. "Come on, DJ, we gotta go."

"What's up?" I hoped she would say something that would take my mind off of the thoughts in it.

"We gotta get to Mercy Hospital. Candice is in there right now. She is going into labor. We need to be there."

Candice was in labor, now? My breathing got heavy and I started to sweat.

"DJ, relax. You don't have to do anything. It's gonna be ok."

The drive was long and dark. Rochelle was excited and babbled on and on about nothing. My kid was going to be born. The thought of a baby with Candice's face horrified me. The cut face of Paul filled my eyes. Finally we got to the hospital.

There was no place to park even at night. The car was small so we ended up leaving it on the sidewalk. Rochelle was practically running and took me up to the birthing room. There on the bed was Candice, pushing. On one side I held her hand, and on the other side was Rochelle. The staff looked at me oddly. I was not that clean but not dirty enough to be asked to leave.

Time passed and around four in the morning my son was born. Rochelle cut the cord. They wouldn't let me hold him because I was filthy. Never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful. Even the doctor and the nurses couldn't believe how good he looked. APGAR was ten, whatever that meant. His head was filled with curly brown hair and his eyes were like liquid gold. Candice had never looked so peaceful and happy.

Rochelle drove me to their home to clean up and headed back to Mercy. My life had changed. The baby was too good for me. What would I do? This was one of those points in my life where I just felt like a piece of shit. My son looked like he would have everything. What was left for me to do? There really was nothing I could give him. He had my DNA; I hoped that would work as more of a blessing than a curse.

The house phone rang and the answering machine picked up. It was Candice, "Dj, the baby is so peaceful. Thank you, thanks you for all you do for me. We are naming the baby Zubari. Zubari Ayo Mosi Murphy. Little Zu-Zu looks just like you. His skin is so light, did you see that? I gots a bright skinned boy. This is as close to heaven as I have ever been. See you soon, come back with Rochelle. Bye."

After I got cleaned up I wrote a little note to Rochelle and Candice. They were starting to feel like family to me and it had been a long time since I cared about anything. I really wanted to belong to them and be there for my son.

Rochelle was the first one to give him to me. So soft and dark, it felt like I was holding all of the possibilities for the future in my hands. He was perfect. Candice smiled with her most perfect set of gleaming white teeth. The four of us made a lovely family. How ironic that the white one was the black sheep.

For hours we just played with the baby. Candice rested most of the time. Delivering a child had been hard work for her. Rochelle loved little Zu Zu. It felt like I was in the presence of a future king. Taking care of my son was pure joy. His cries were soft and sweet, quick to silence. Most of the time one of us held him as he slept. It was hard to imagine that he had just arrived in the world. This was the love of my life.

After that day my life did change. It went back to drinking less and spending time in San Francisco.

Going out with the baby and Candice was hard. The car was so small and we needed a stroller and her scooter. Rochelle put a hitch on the back so we could attach Candice's lark to the outside of the car. Candice's weight had started to become an issue for Rochelle.

When I first met Candice she was big, but now she was too big to be weighed on a regular scale. The doctor sent us to a local trucking scale to get her weight for her six week checkup. She came in at 634. Rochelle was shocked. The doctor was surprised she had such an easy pregnancy with that much weight. Candice would need to lose a lot of weight and that was causing tension in the house.

Tension was not something I did well with. The fabulous life was losing its magic. All I wanted to do was drink so I would pass out before the day would end with Rochelle and Candice fighting.

When my son was around three months old Rochelle had to return to work. Rochelle had adopted my son and was able to take some time off for that. One thing that was a touchy subject for her was her job.

Rochelle was an assistant to a moron. The company she worked for was a bell. They had all been one big crappy company, and then the government had broken it into lots of little pieces. For reasons unknown the government had decided to let them rejoin. One by one they became the old bell, changing names as their reputation worsened. Now they had reassembled into a huge Franken-Company. Someone had accidentally picked the wrong brain. Abby Normal was in charge and it was driving Rochelle nuts.

"An eighteenth century company for a twenty first century world," Rochelle would often say.

Her boss was having her devise a way to track how long each employee spent in the bathroom. This was driving her crazy. The guy was so paranoid that he wanted three people to verify the exact time spent in the restroom. Already the bathroom was locked and they had to request a key. But now he wanted two others to sign it out for you as well.

"It wastes more time than it will ever save. And what if someone is in there a long time? Prove they are not constipated or whatever. It is just insane. And now he wants a new system that is more bullet proof. I have to be careful because the more ridiculous it sounds the more he will like it," Rochelle was talking to Candice and me before she left for work.

The car left and it was just the baby, Candice, and me. We watched TV and took care of the baby all day. It was like I had a job. Honestly, I didn't want to be here anymore but I didn't have a reason to leave. Not a good one.

That night Rochelle came up with a terrible plan. Had I known what would follow, I would never agree to it. It was during dessert that she first brought up the subject, "That damn Sudeep just can't let the whole bathroom thing go. Now he wants to measure how much goes in to the toilet and cross reference that to how much time is spent in the bathroom. It is just so ridiculous."

"Why he care?" Asked Candice.

"Because last year two of the girls were spending too much time in the bathroom. Going for a half an hour at a time. So he put Dixie cups on our desks and we had to put ping pong balls in the cups when we went. It was the dumbest thing. All day Sudeep would run around tracking how long the ball was out on your desk. Lord help if you forgot to take it out the cup."

"So? That sounds crazy. Person would get fired at the city for that," Candice said.

"Not at the phone company. He got an award for helping end employee waste. And he be real worried because he from India."

"Why?" I asked.

"The phone company came up with this plan to hire a bunch of expats on work visas. The company thought that since Americans are so lazy they would hire foreigners for less and get more work. Unfortunately they ended up with people who were not as skilled, took longer to train, didn't speak English or Spanish, and were not as productive. Once they were almost up to speed they wanted more money and they never worked as hard. The company blames all the Indians for this. Wants to get rid of them. Sudeep can see the way it be going. He think, wow, I better do something or I be next one to go. Go right back to living next to a river of shit with sixty relatives in a one bedroom shack."

"So what are you going to do?" Candice was staring at her pie.

"I told him to hire a consultant. I am so tired of spending all day tracking bathroom keys and overseeing the new computer tracking system. Of course, he wants me to find the consultant."

I laughed, "You need a shit expert?"

"Yeah, go ahead and laugh smart ass. I need a shit expert."

"I shit all the time, do I qualify?" I joked.

Candice was giggling but Rochelle was quiet. "You know, you could."

Rochelle made a phony resume for me and told me what she wanted me to say. Because she didn't want my credentials checked she set me up as an independent contractor. The fee for my services was twenty thousand dollars for the first three months. It sounded like a sweet deal. In a few days I went to work with Rochelle as a shit consultant for the phone company.

The plan was to just keep Sudeep out of Rochelle's way. If I had a problem I was to tell Sudeep that I needed to have a conference with my associates and then I would get back to him with a report. That really meant that I would talk to Rochelle who would write a quick report so Sudeep would do whatever Rochelle wanted. It seemed like Rochelle was the real boss and that Sudeep was more like her puppet, or pawn.

Sudeep was not what I expected. The way Rochelle talked about him I expected a weasel guy who was an idiot. Instead I met a very elegant gentleman. He was tall, dark skin, and very piercing eyes that screamed of great intelligence. Once he must have a been a very proud man with a great future ahead of him. That had been reduced to a life chasing wasted time in the bathroom. This guy was a broken what could have been. I liked him instantly.

"So Deek, can I call you this?" Sudeep asked.

"Sure. My father was Mr. Scott," I said.

That felt like a stupid thing to say, "No, I mean this name, Deek, it is not a bad word? I thought it was a slang term," he blushed.

"Yes, it is, but it is a first name too. It's ok, short for Richard."

"You do not mind this name? I spent some time in New Zealand; they have laws against names like this there."

"Yah, it's ok. It was a guy's name first. If you like, you can call me DJ that is what most people call me."

"I like Deek. It is strong. So Deek have you had a chance to go over our current potty break system? Do you need any more background? Let me know what you need from me. This project is a top priority."

Shit and pee did not seem like they should be such a big deal to the phone company. "So, just for my information, what is the reason for this project? What exactly are we trying to do, and why?"

Sudeep took me out into the cubical areas. He positioned us in a place where we could see an older woman who was busy on the phone. "You see that one?" He said in a hushed voice.

"That is the one. She will go for thirty minutes or more every time she needs a potty break. Every time. I noticed this when I first was put in charge. Where is Darlene? The bathroom. I need the last report on productivity. Darlene is still working on it. Where is she? The bathroom. Always she is in the bathroom."

"How does that affect productivity?"

"Are you kidding?" Sudeep raised his voice a little then went back to a whisper.

"These breaks are too long. The others noticed. Then their breaks went to ten minutes. I know what they think. If Darlene can go so long, maybe I can spend some extra time washing my hands or combing my hair. Maybe I can check my clothes, make sure everything is ok. Call my kids in the bathroom for a few minutes. Then the next thing you know all the employees are spending all day in the bathroom snorting crack cocaine. Then who is doing the work? Only Sudeep."

"You don't snort crack," he looked puzzled when I said that, "never mind. So we are starting a new system to track the breaks?"

"Oh yes. For a while we had some honor systems to see who was abusing their potty breaks but now I will have a system that generates hard data. It is tied into security. We have installed a card reader on the entrance and exit to the bathroom. A monitor in my office tells me who cards in and out. I can also track the data via computer. I have created a database to track the worst abusers. Like this Darlene."

"What do you need me for then?"

"The problem is that people hold the door for each other, and they piggy back in. That is when one opens the door and the others go in without using their badges. The data is no good this way. I suspended a few people for not following procedure, but there is the Union. I hate the Union. All got back pay."

This seemed a bit more nuts than I was expecting. "Do you mind if I interview Darlene? Just to try and get a feel for what is going on in her mind?"

"Oh, you are good. Sure, you talk to whoever you need to. Please Deek, I am counting on you."

Sudeep kind of limped away. It was hard to watch a man like that talk about such trivial bullshit. Sad he was so wound up in it. Having a job could ruin your soul and take your sanity. I walked over to Darlene and she caught sight of me. The look on her long face grew sour. I don't think that a fifty something lady really wanted to talk to me about her bathroom habits. Not that I was looking forward to it either.

"Hey, uh, Darlene, you got a minute?" I asked.

I was not sure how to say it so I blurted out, "Why, you know, you, sometimes, you know, take some extra bathroom time, you know, I was wondering?" The question was odd and I hoped she understood as my face grew redder.

She sighed, "Honey, I have to catheter myself once every four hours. It takes me a while to prepare for it and then it takes time to clean up. I have to be sure that I completely empty my bladder or I might get an UTI."

This was painful to listen to. Of course she would be the one targeted. As I looked around her cubicle I noticed many customer service awards and other plaques that looked impressive. On she went about her bladder issues.

"It really isn't that bad once you get used to it. But I try and reuse them once so I don't waste too many. But that means I have to really sterilize after each use. I probably clean up more than I have to, but getting a UTI is a real bitch. The last one I had was resistant to the antibacterial. I ended up in the hospital for a week on an intravenous drip."

It was clear that Darlene needed to spend time in the bathroom. "Well, I am the bathroom break consultant and I will make sure that this information gets to your supervisor."

"Oh they know."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, I told Sudeep and Rochelle many times. Once Sudeep suspended me, and the union grieved it. Almost got him fired. They all know, they just don't care."

"Would you be considered a bad employee? Your work how is that?"

"My productivity and satisfaction ratings are second highest in my group. Last year I helped solve a few problems with national customers, those plaques are to recognize that. I saved the company over half a million dollars that was being wasted on long distance calling and improved service at the same time. Last year I had lunch with the fourth level, I would have rather got a bonus, but oh well."

"Then, if I may ask, why does Sudeep care about your breaks? I mean, it sounds like you get your work done."

"Because I take longer than anyone else. So he wants me fired."

"Why? There must be some other reason," it seemed like she must be holding something back.

"Here," she handed me a memo from Sudeep to her.

The memo read:

Darlene, it has come to my attention that you are still taking fifteen minutes above what the average employee needs to use the bathroom. This is unacceptable. You will cut this by at least five minutes or face suspension once again. If your medical issues cause extra bathroom usage I expect that you will resolve them quickly. I have been very patient with you and still you undermine the moral of this department by excessive bathroom usage. Please note that we have spent a great deal of time on our team building activities and you are interfering with their effectiveness.

Sudeep.

I was a little speechless. Sudeep came over to the cubical, "Everything going ok?"

I didn't know what to say, "I need to conference with my people so I can get a report out for you to look at."

"Oh that sounds great. Would you like to see the bathrooms?"

The rest of the day was a waste. Sudeep was very excited to talk about the success of the ping pong ball in the Dixie cup program he came up with. Rochelle walked in his office and rolled her eyes. "How things doing?" She said.

"Oh extremely well," Sudeep chimed in; "Deek is investigating our problem and is holding a conference to get a report back to us."

"Oh, you don't say," Rochelle was holding back a giggle, "well, I don't want to interrupt. You two have a lot of work ahead."

Rochelle wrote a report that night and I didn't even bother to read it. Whatever it said made Sudeep happy. Darlene kept getting letters from people about what an excellent job she was doing and Sudeep kept obsessing over Darlene's extra ten minutes in the bathroom. It was idiotic.

After a few weeks I really started to feel sorry for Sudeep. Rochelle told me that my job was to be like a busy box. Just as a mother would use to keep babies engaged while they did housework, I was to keep Sudeep busy while she got real work done. Not getting drunk was hard, and the whole thing was so stupid that I felt bad.

It was a Wednesday when Sudeep took me out to lunch. We sat at a little restaurant that only had four tables inside. A few more were on the sidewalk. A guy walked by pushing a shopping cart and Sudeep pointed him out, "You see that guy?"

"That homeless dude?" I answered.

"Yes. Look at him. He goes about his day, without a care. Drinks as much as he wants, says what he wants, even shits where he wants."

"I guess," I said.

"Why can't we be like him Deek? That guy just goes about as free as animals are. Just does what his mood says. Why can't we be like this?"

"Because that is not us," I said.

"I know. But I wish sometimes that was me. Not that I want to be like that back in India. Damn, I hope I don't go back."

"Can it be that bad?"

"Oh Deek, it can be that bad. My house was on the edge of a slum. The sewer ran by our house. An open sewer, literally a river of shit. Even when you were used to the smell, even after all those years, it still bothered me. Now though, I cannot imagine going back. Human waste was everywhere. Children peed on the street; sometimes the smell of urine would make your food taste like pee. It was terrible. Then came the phone company. I got a job in a call center, and then I was sent here. They said Americans were lazy. I really wonder what they are comparing Americans to. Now I work with people who make me look bad, and if I don't find a way to stand out, I will get my visa pulled. Back to live by the river of shit."

Sudeep had a lot to worry about. There was talk of layoffs and while the union protected the bargained for people management was on its own. It would be easy to lay him off. Rochelle did all the work anyway.

"Why don't you just forget about Darlene's ten minutes? You know, focus on your job, and make the third level understand how valuable you are."

"Deek, thank you very much, but I am not valuable. Rochelle and Darlene, Rita, Sandy, and even Bert can do my job better than I can. They just don't need me. Convincing the company that employees are taking advantage of their breaks is the only thing that makes me valuable. Even if it is not, well, a real problem."

Damn. This just made me wonder. Always in the back of my mind I believed that I was somehow special. That in some amazing way I had a gift that made me better than others saw. Better than the rest of the cattle. Talking to Sudeep made me feel small and stupid. It made me doubt that belief, and made me feel common. This whole conversation made me want to run home.

What was stopping me? For months I had lived with my ladies and I was starting to really love them. But fat girl sex and this awful job were taking its toll. The price was so high. Maybe Paul would have forgiven me by now. Nothing could help me stand this horror of a life anymore.

"So, how you get stuck doing studies on bathroom breaks?" Sudeep was a good guy; I wasn't going to tell him a bunch of lies.

"I had problems in college," I decided to let him in on my true shortcomings.

"What kinds?" I really liked Sudeep so I gave him a version of the truth.

"Well, I got accepted into this college back east. They were willing to look past my lackluster grades because of some reason. High IQ or something. Plus, I got a letter from a few teachers who thought I would be the next Hemingway. I got put in a dorm room with a fucker who hated me and the gay bastard got me expelled."

"That is odd that a homosexual could get you expelled. Where I am from the homo would get expelled," Sudeep calmly explained.

"Maybe, this was a clever little fag. I have this thing where I like to save my poop, just for a little while. It is mine, a part of me, and I don't see what the big deal is. So the little freak made this huge deal over me having this box under my bed. That jackass took it up his ass and I am the weird one?"

"Oh, so that's why they kicked you out? Try living next to shit river for a while. A box full is a tiny thing in comparison."

"No, they sent me for testing. And more testing. Then just to make sure I took some more testing and was told that if I wanted to continue my studies I would have to take these meds."

"Meds? What is that?" Sudeep looked surprised.

"Medications. Horrible ones. They made me tired all day long, I couldn't drive anymore, and actually, I couldn't really walk anymore. All I could do was eat, shit, and school. My shit box was removed. There was nothing left but work. I lost weight and had this tick from the medications. It was a miserable way to live."

"So then what?"

"Well, I have this friend who came and got me. Randy just showed up and threw out the meds. Then we came home and I became the shit expert that you see right now."

"That is crazy. Why they say you need this medication Deek?"

"They say I have Schizophrenia. I say I just like to keep my shit in a box under my bed."

Sudeep thought about this for a while. We both watched the homeless guys digging through trash receptacles. Finally Sudeep broke the silence, "I think if you want a box of your own shit, you can do this. This land is free Deek. You should be free to hold onto anything that makes you happy."

Lunch was hard, going home to dinner was harder. Zu-Zu cried and Candice looked tired. Tomorrow she was going back to work. The mundane crap filled the void that pot once did. I missed the pot. This job made me sad. Corporations sucked the life out of good men like Sudeep and turned them into petty monsters. It was getting to be too much to deal with and I needed to get really drunk. I wanted to go home and sleep by the river of muddy water and forget about the stinky river of shit.

The night was long. Sleep stayed away as thoughts about leaving kept creeping in my brain. It would be so easy, but it was the wrong thing to do. Those ugly thoughts wouldn't go and I started to breathe hard. I felt trapped in a cage and my own dreams were the bars that held me in. There would be no relief until I left. Once the baby stopped crying I feel asleep with the thought of leaving in the morning. I had to go.

The sound of sirens woke me up. The noise stopped just outside my window. I got up to shower and there were cops in the hall. Both of the ladies were crying. There was no noise from the baby. One of the cops walked to me and led me back in my room. She was a hot chick cop.

"I'm officer Rojas. Can we talk for a minute?"

While I stared at her lips they moved but the sounds made no sense. People were coming in and Candice was crying. More people came in and the lips in front of me kept moving. "What is going on?" I asked.

The hot chick paused and made her face scrunch up. "Can you please answer my questions?"

I could tell she didn't like me. Something was wrong with my head and I couldn't focus on her words enough to understand most of what she said. "I don't understand," I said.

People started to go in my room and I moved to block the way. The first thing they did was pull out my box under my bed. Sweat poured down my face. "Do you know anyone with a scar on his face?" Hot lips mouthed.

Paul. The image of his bloody face came to my mind. "Yah," I started crying, "this guy Paul, he hates me."

Pulling me down the stairs and into the kitchen the hot chick had me sit and said some more things. The whole time I was just sobbing. There was an uncomfortable silence between us and the buzz from the urgent work upstairs stung my ears. It made me stop crying for a moment.

"Who is Paul?"

"Paul is this kid, he was earning money for us, fags loved him. Blow jobs and stuff like that. That was what he did, I helped find the guys, and I watched out for him. It was going well and then a psycho cut his face up. I never saw him again, I came here. To get away, you know, let him cool down."

"What is Paul's last name?"

"I don't know. His mother kicked him out, I think he was from the Central Valley. He stayed by the river with me. He would suck cock for fifty bucks to get by. Most of the time we just drank and shit. I never told him about myself, nothing really. All I know about him is that he is obnoxious."

"What does he look like?"

"He is blond, kind of stocky, his accent sounds like he comes from Fresno, and he got three big slashes on his face."

"Do you know where we could find him?"

"Santa Cruz. Maybe the Pacific Garden Mall, the clock tower, or the homeless shelter by River Street. Maybe by the River. What is going on?"

"Someone took your baby. They came in through the window and left a note. One of the women you lived with saw him leave and called us. We chased the guy, but he got away."

My heart sank. Of all the things in the world I had done my son was the only good one. The past few months I had been ignoring him like he was just another arm Candice had grown. The empty lost feeling made all the easy feelings in my life go. What was left was pure pain. I sat and watched as the people did things all day long.

After they were all gone I said goodbye to Candice and Rochelle. They had family coming and I needed freedom. In a few hours I was at Sudeep's house. I asked him for a ride home. That Sudeep was a true friend and I felt I needed to say goodbye.

"Who has taken your child Deek?" Sudeep asked in a hushed tone.

"An asshole. That kid was so perfect, my baby. I felt like he was to make up for all my mistakes. Now he's just gone. Like being given a billion dollars and then having it taken all away. I would give anything to have him back."

"I know what you mean. My daughter, Pooja, she is like this. Smart, stunning beauty and I would do anything for her. Even sell my soul to the phone company. Every day I go to work I hear this voice telling me to run away. Then I picture my darling little Pooja. I would do anything for her. Even keep going to work. It is such a small price to keep her from having to live in a shit-hole."

The rest of the ride over to Santa Cruz was pretty silent. I asked Sudeep to drop me off at the surfer on West Cliff Drive. That was the place Rochelle picked me up from. And there was someone I needed to talk to.

Paul didn't know about Candice, at least I didn't tell him. The only people who knew about her were Randy (who was dead), Sam, and Sean. The latter two not only knew about her but knew where she lived. Still, I didn't remember if they knew about the baby. Sean was a good guy, but it was really easy to find out information from him.

For a long time I had avoided Sean because of his brother Sam. Sean lived out of his truck and I wasn't sure where he was parking at. He was not at the surfer, so I walked up West Cliff. At lighthouse field I spotted his beat up white pickup.

Knocking on the window it took a while to wake Sean up. "Oh I was just resting," he mumbled as he started to wake. "DJ! Hey it's been a long time!" Sean was very excited.

"Hey, I got a problem, can I talk to you?"

"Oh sure, What's wrong?" Sean was genuinely concerned.

"Did anyone ask you about me, anyone lately?"

Sean had a look on his face like he was concentrating really hard, "No, not that I can think of. I've been working a lot. Sam needs more money for his Dojo."

"You talk to anyone with a really fucked up face? A blond kid?"

"No, but Sam has been hanging around a guy with some scars. Sam told me that guy got in a fight with the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. The guy literally fought off hundreds of people to make it to Thailand and freedom. He is helping with the Dojo; I think his name is Paul."

"That's the guy. Look, Sean, we have to be careful. That guy is really an assassin sent to spy on Sam, ok? Tell me where the Dojo is so I can help Sam out, like the old days."

"Oh no, I never liked that guy. They are down in Soquel Village, sort of near the old movie theater. Just past the trailer park."

"Ok. Can you run me over there? I want to make sure Sam is ok."

It took no time to ride over to the Dojo. It was a little apartment above a restaurant. The Dojo had no sign to set it apart from the other doors upstairs. I talked Sean into waiting in the truck. Sean loved to live in the make-believe world, and I was not sure if Sam understood what reality was or not. I had no plan I just went upstairs and knocked on the door. Paul answered and just smiled at me. I knocked in a few of his teeth.

As we rolled around on the floor I landed punch after punch on that asshole. He got in a few as Sam watched in horror from the side of the room. Finally I got Paul by the throat and choking him as hard as I could I screamed, "Where is my son?"

That asshole just smiled. I threw him on the ground and sat on top of him. From the area just beyond my sight I could make out Sam crouching in a corner. My hands went in the air and just pounded into Paul's face. The scars on his face became almost invisible from the swelling the pounding left behind. Aches ran through my paws until they went numb. Again I grabbed him by the neck, "Where the hell is my son? I will fucking kill you if you don't tell me."

The smile never left his face even as he laughed up a disgusting river of blood laced saliva. It was obvious that Paul was enjoying this.

A gentle tug on my arm leads me off of the wasted form of Paul. "Hey man," Sam said, "You ok? What is going on?"

The look on Sam's face was of true concern. The little misshapen dwarf was trembling. "This asshole took my son. My baby son."

I was sobbing and thoughts of my son came to my mind. The months I spent with him I had not been very attentive to him. I had treated him more like a teddy bear than a child. There was so much I had let happen, and I did nothing for my own son. So much time had been wasted instead of loving my child. I was no better than Candi, the whore I used to live with.

Some time had passed as I sat and took in my worthlessness. When I looked up Sam had Paul tied to a chair. In one hand he had a towel and in the other a cup of water. "Beating won't get any intel from a person. When you are ready we can question him."

"I'm ready," I said.

This had taken me by surprise. Once again Sam, who I had always seen as a big bullshitter, was turning out to be on the fringe of legitimacy. He worked out a list of questions with me and went over to Paul. The towel was thrown over Paul's face and then he drenched him in water. Over and over water was dumped on Paul landing in a huge puddle on the floor. Next he took out some pliers.

Teeth and fingernails were removed while Paul sat with the towel tight around his face. Finally Paul talked a bloody slur of sounds that I didn't understand. "Hey," Sam said with a look so somber I thought that he had an audience with the devil himself, "Paul gave your kid to someone named Hank. He found out about the kid from me. Hank wanted to know about you, found Paul at the clock tower. Whatever you need, I will help you to make this right."

My son was probably dead. That sank into me and dwelt in the hole down where I had no feelings. It felt like I encased the thought in thick black tar so I didn't have to think it anymore. The feelings were stuck in the mess with the nagging feeling of death.

In order to find my son, I would have to find Hank. I didn't think I could do that.

I left and Sam took off too. We just left Paul to die there. And I walked for hours. Past broken glass and unkempt plants I just rambled and tumbled along until I found myself lost on the railroad tracks. It wasn't long until I found myself once again at the mouth of the San Lorenzo, by the Boardwalk. Back at the river, back to my home. The sleepy aches hit all my muscles and made me want to stop. Instead I went on until I found myself in the dark of night going down the road by the graveyard. Soon I was at white lady's. Only deep black shadows could be seen as I smashed my way through the thickness of the flora to the foundation on which all the trash was thrown. I was not alone.

Eyes were on me but I wasn't sure where they came from or why they were there. I could feel cuts forming on my legs where old branches that had sliced into me. Curse words came out of my mouth and little light came down from the trees. Broken glass lit up like glitter every now and then, but most of the place was a giant shadow. Like the white lady was standing between her old home and the moon. A small laugh mingled in with the scraping of the leaves and clanking of the kicked trash.

I stopped. The wind made little noise and then the laugh came again. I looked all around and from the peak of the old roof line I made out the silhouette of something that didn't belong there. "Are you looking for something?" The voice hissed down from above.

"Maybe," I said. The voice was familiar. It was the same voice that was recognizable but that I couldn't place the last time I was here.

"You live here or something?" I asked.

"Something. This time of night I usually can count on being alone here, except for the spirits. Every now and then some teenagers come through to get scared, or high, or laid. What do you need here?"

I really wasn't in the mood to talk, and I knew that I had reason not to trust this voice even though I didn't know why. Still, what did I have to lose? "I am here because I am a failure."

"Really? Seems to me a person would need to have had a purpose to fail, or at least try at something. What is it that you find yourself lacking?"

"My son," I knew right after I said that I had made a mistake.

"You were never made out to be a father. Your son is better off without you. Go back to drinking, that never fails you."

"What the fuck do you know?"

"I know that Paul took your son. Now your son is dead. That is what I know. If you grieve your son then Paul wins. Do you want that?"

"How the fuck do you know? My son is alive, and I am going to find him, then I will make everything right."

"No."

"What? How is it that you have this information, you helped Paul? Is that it?"

"No, I am Paul's friend, but I just listen. Sometimes I advise, but I don't personally get involved. I really can't stand Paul; he could turn any way the wind blows. Nothing to be gained from that. I like you; you are so much wasted potential. So delicious to talk to."

"Please tell me what you know about my son, I need him back," tears came running down my face and landed in the blackness below.

"Your son is dead. Forget looking for him. If you do find him nothing good will come of it. Forget him, go back to the river and die. Slowly die and then you can be free of him forever."

"What the hell does that mean? Paul could have lied to you, I know my son is alive."

"Really? I think you know, deep down in your gut, that the boy is dead. If you drink thoughts of him away and live as you were then you can save what is left of your life. Even pretend that the child lives some place. In your happy thought the boy can go on. Otherwise you will suffer. Maybe you might see your son again, but not here."

Grabbing up some debris I threw it at the demonic voice. He laughed and I left. Wind chimes and bells rang in the wind as the shadows seemed to move about the area. The graveyard lit up as the moon came out. I walked back to the overpass and slept behind a few bushes. My mind went into the shadows and I didn't move again until the morning.

The dirt was packed tight and cold. I woke up very stiff with the dawn. Sam was on my side and I wondered if I should go to the police. Then I just got up and walked.

Back I walked to Soquel; to the place I beat Paul up last night. Fresh ideas had blossomed in my dreams last night. There was no chance he would tell me where my son was, but I could get some pleasure from his hurt. As I walked on I began to shake and thoughts of wine and beer overcame me.

Getting a six pack from a 7-11 I went behind the Drive In and had three beers. They were not the good kind that Candice and Rochelle bought so I needed to drink more to get buzzed. Saving the rest I went on until I came back to the scene of last night's crime. The cops had been there.

No one was around the entrance to Sam's Dojo, but cop tape was on the door. An old man came up from nowhere and said, "You should move along, I hate your kind. Probably one of you killed that boy last night," he said as he pointed at the door.

"Someone died?" I asked.

"Yes. Some Karate instructor died there. Freak attack. Lucky that the other one chased the vermin away. Yep, we are all lucky to have Sam around here."

Sam. I needed to find him, and I needed to clean up. Looking homeless would not help me find my son. Walking toward West Cliff drive I picked up some more liquor at a store on the way. It took me a while, but by sundown I found Sean's truck.

Opening the door I climbed in the cab with Sean. This woke him from a deep sleep, and he scrambled to put on his glasses. Soon he looked like he recognized me. "Hey, how are you?"

"I really need Sam," I said.

From the back seat I heard a voice, "Ok, keep facing forward," it was Sam.

"Sam, what happened to Paul?"

"He needed to be eliminated. Don't worry, the cops aren't that smart. They think what I tell them to. Nothing more."

"Ok, but my kid? What do I do now?"

"I found out some information. Paul is like a rabbit, he runs in circles. When I found him he was with a guy, a guy he kept calling Hank. Last night I let him go and he ran back to that guy. After I surveyed them for a while, I took care of Paul. I don't think he knew anything. It's this Hank guy who holds the key. We need to find him, and watch him for a while."

Hank, my heart fell into my feet and pushed bile up to my eyes. For a moment I couldn't even speak. Drawing in a deep breath I said, "Hank is pure evil."

"I'm not afraid," said Sean.

"Where can we find him?" Asked Sam.

"He lives in Watsonville but he moves around. Usually I avoid him; he is an asshole and really is purely evil. The kind of evil that can't be contained in hell. If you look in his eyes you can see it. He even smells like brimstone."

"Brimstone? Maybe he works at the mushroom place, the one out by beer bottle beach. Those guys get an odor."

Sam pulled out a prepaid phone and made some calls. Soon we left for Corralitos. There was a sausage place there were Hank was working. Apparently Hank had quit selling used cars and became a butcher. That seemed like a good profession for him.

When we got to the little market in Corralitos it was late. Amazingly Hank's car was in the lot. Hank was working as a butcher for this little market.

Customers started to leave and the store closed, soon the employees left the shop as well. We followed Hank as he left. I did not like the roads we were taking.

Instead of heading into town we went deeper into the backwoods. Up Eureka Canyon and into little mountain roads. It was dark and there were few cars. Even during the day the thick canopy of evergreens kept this place in constant shadow.

After some time had passed Sam told Sean to take a turn off. Quickly Sean pulled off into a driveway and turned off his lights. Sam counted to five and told Sean to go after Hank again. After a short time Sean spotted Hank's car parked at a little cabin. We were far away from help.

Moss grew on the cinder blocks that the house was made of. Mud and ferns choked one side of the building that looked like it might fall down a chasm on the other side. Some windows had glass, but at least one was boarded up with plywood. A faint round glow was visible from one of the smoky glass panes.

We parked our truck a little further down the road and snuck back to spy on Hank. Sam crept up to a window and then signaled for us. The feeling that I was going to throw up made me choke a bit. When we got to the window it looked like place Hank would live in. There were knives, swords, and guns all around the room. Dark posters of menacing rock bands filled the walls. A dead animal lay in one corner of the room. For furniture I saw a chair and a little table. Hank walked in the room carrying a TV dinner and sat in the chair. It looked like he had a remote and the glow from a TV filled the room. The flicker of the dull glow gave the posters movement that I didn't like. How I wished I was more sober.

It was freaky and boring watching Hank. For some reason I expected him to be a monster all the time. Not a Salisbury steak man. On and on this went. After a while Sam motioned for us to go back to the truck. We slept there until Sam woke us up, "Hank is gone, let's go check out his house."

The last thing on earth I wanted to do was go in Hank's dwelling. It felt like the opposite of walking into church and it smelled. There were porno magazines in piles, the dead animal that looked like it was once a deer, and the posters. Not much else. Sam went through the drawers while Sean and I kept a look out. "Oh this guy had the kid," Sam said holding up a mostly used bag of diapers.

The horrible thoughts of Hank with my child filled my head. The thought of broken glass and my child screaming filled my mind and blood rushed past my ear drums making a horrible pounding noise.

Most of the house didn't turn up anything else. Sam seemed excited about a few items, but I was sure now that my son was dead. This was my fault. How I hated Hank, someway I would make him pay for all he had down.

A few items were placed in a bag and then Sam peed all over Hank's house. Every room stank of death and Sam's urine. Then we left. As we drove down the little mountain road Hank's car passed us in the other direction. "We need to get off this road, when he is out of view pick up speed. He knows this road better than we do, get to Freedom Boulevard as fast as you can Sean," Sam hissed at his brother.

The ride was crazy and finally as we made it to Freedom, Hank caught up with us. Somewhere back on the mountain roads he must have decided we were suspicious.

Sean took it easy; there were many cars on Freedom. Sam looked back and laughed. I caught a glimpse of Hank in the side mirror. That was a very angry man, but instead of looking dangerous, he looked ridiculous. Small and fat, just a stupid butcher from Corralitos. A nothing. While the three of us were cunning, Sam had killed at least one person that I knew of. Besides I knew all of Hank's tricks. Sam looked forward and said, "If he honks, pull over."

Sean flipped off Hank, who pulled back. I think Hank could feel our power too. If we were in a confrontation this time, I would not lose. Hank was in over his head. The one with broken glass shoved up his ass would not be one of the passengers in our truck. Hank turned off a side road and we went to Sea Cliff beach.

"That guy is dangerous," San said, "he knows who we are. Even if he can lead us to the child, we are going to have to take care of him for good."

"What are we going to do next?" Sean asked in awe of his brother.

"I really don't care, I just want the baby," I said.

"Let's look at what we got. Then we will decide what to do," Sam laid all the items he retrieved from Hank's out on a picnic table.

A half used bag of diapers, a piece of cloth, a phone book, and a jar of baby food moved in the wind. Sam thought about them as he tried to keep them on the table.

"These are things for a live baby," he said pointing to the diapers and the food jar. "The food isn't that old, so the baby was there recently. Who would this guy give a baby to?"

They both looked at me. I had no idea; in fact I didn't know much about Hank at all. Sam thought for a moment and then called the market where we thought Hank worked.

Sam called from the cab of the truck while Sean and I waited by the beach. Watching the ocean roll in and out made me feel calmer. My son had not been gone that long. I hoped that Hank had sold him and that the baby was fine. All my thoughts had stopped. Finding my son was everything. I had ignored him and I was having a hard time picturing him in my head. At this moment I cared more about him than booze. This hadn't happened to me in a long time. Finally, Sam got out of the car.

"The baby was with Hank yesterday, we just missed him. Hank brought the baby to the market and handed it off to a woman. Not much information about her and Hank is just filling in for a guy on vacation. They will tip him off, you think he will run?" Sam looked at me.

"No, I think he will try and find us when he has the advantage."

"We need him to come to us; I don't know the backwoods of Watsonville very well. Maybe we can get him to come to Boomer's Castle; at night."

Sean's eyes lit up. Boomer's Castle was a crazy creation up in Bonny Doon. Never before had I been there, but I knew that it had working medieval weapons. As long as Sam looked like he knew what he was doing, I was up for it.

"Why there?" I asked anyway.

"Lots of good places to have an accident. And no one cares up there. He might feel comfortable, it is the backwoods. But they are our backwoods, not his. We can set traps, but the castle has plenty of its own. At night that place is deserted, we could do what we wanted and no one is really close enough to hear him scream."

"Or us," I added.

"There are three of us. The only way he could have an advantage is if he brought the child. If he does that, I'll just call the cops. Of course then he would leave alive. It would be better for us to eliminate him."

Sean looked a little worried, "Do we really need to kill him? Can't we just scare him really bad?"

Sam looked at Sean hard, "He had a dead deer body with a dog's head sewn on it. Pornos were all around that area and it looked like he actually fucked that thing's ass. We don't want a guy like that looking for us. Do you think he wouldn't sew your head on my body and fuck our remains while shitting on DJ's corpse?"

Finally I met someone who understood Hank. Most people couldn't fathom what the guy was made of. Sam seemed to know just looking at his house. There was a time I thought that Sam was a total bullshitter, but now I was not so sure. It seemed like his stories were based, at least in part, on experience. Still, I felt stupid listening to him. Sometimes humility leads to the real answers though. Especially when the obvious turns out to be more fabricated than the obscure.

"So what's the next move?" I asked.

"We should stay together. His best chance is to take us out one by one. Either that or leave. If we turn up the heat he might run away. I'm not sure if we need him or not yet."

After a pause Sam spoke again, "DJ, do you know of any women that Hank might know?"

"No. Only knew a few people who knew him, all guys. We all hated him. It was like Hank knew everything about us, but we really didn't know much about him. I didn't even know that he lived up in Eureka Canyon. From the beginning he always hung out near Ramsey Park and the slough."

The wind picked up as Sam thumbed through the address book. After a while he let out a sigh, "This is in code."

Cool air washed against my face and dried what was running from my eyes and nose. The waves picked up in size and crashed harder against the sand. What was left of the blue sky was covered in gray. "Where did he normally find you? Only at Ramsey Park?" Sam asked.

"No, I don't go there anymore."

I had to stop and think. There were times when Hank found me, and it was always the same. By the court house or the boardwalk. Maybe he spent time waiting for me there. This information I shared with the guys.

"Tell me about the last time you saw him," Sam said.

"It was a few months ago. I had passed out at San Lorenzo Park and woke up with Hank. It was bad, I ended up in the Hospital."

"And before that?"

Thinking back was hard, "I don't remember it well. He thought that I got this whore pregnant, and she was telling him a bunch of shit. I'm not sure what he wanted then."

Sam smiled, "There is a woman that might be the one who took your son. You know much about her?"

"Yah, that was Candi, I lived with her for a while. She had a kid, but it wasn't mine. That baby was really fucked up; I don't think the county let her keep it. The last time I went to her apartment she had moved. She has an aunt that lives in beach flats by the bowling alley, and some whore friends who hang out on Ocean Avenue."

Sam thought about this. Next thing I knew we were off to run some errands. Sam picked up some clothes and then we got a cheap hotel room by the boardwalk to clean up in. After we got decent we left Sean in the hotel and were knocking on Candi's aunt's door. I waited outside as Sam forced his way in. A few minutes passed and he came out with an address.

The address was in Davenport. This was a little drive up the coast and out of the sanctuary of the bay. Most of the population smoked a lot of pot there. Very sleepy little ocean side hamlet on the cliffs above the waves.

The ride was pleasant and the fog was rolling in. We parked down the street and Sam spotted Hank's car near the address. He motioned for me to follow him and we found an open window. From inside the little run down shack I could hear Candi talking to Hank. It was the first time I ever heard Hank sound upset.

"Where the fuck is the kid?" Hank screamed.

Then came the fake sobs of that bitch. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but from the sounds that followed I figured that Hank was throwing her around. Once I had done that to her as well. It made the pit of my stomach turn to think about what I had done and what it must have felt like.

"Let's go, the baby is not going to be here," Sam said.

I followed him because he seemed like he knew what he was doing. When we got back to the truck I asked, "What's next?"

"We go to the hotel, and we call the cops."

"That's it?"

Sam stared hard at me, "We are stuck, and it would take more resources than we have to figure out what is going on. That chick is lying to that guy. She will lie to us. The cops can be scary; I don't think she will lie to them, at least not as much."

The drive back to the hotel was silent. "You need a hug?" Sam asked.

"No man, I'm cool."

There was a place that had spaghetti to go by our hotel. After we ate it in the room I left. Tonight I needed to go sleep by the river; I really needed to be alone and to be free. I don't remember how I got drunk, but I did.

The next morning was overcast and my brain felt fuzzy. There was poop in my pants and I didn't care. Some mud was caked into my hair and I tried to pick it out. This was a very damp day. There was some change in my pocket so I called Candice and Rochelle. They needed to know what I found.

Still, I didn't tell them about Hank, at least not everything. Rochelle wanted to come and get me, but I told her no. The only thing I said was that I would call again. People walked by me in a hurry, a sure sign that I smelled bad. Fuck them, I didn't care. I left the streets and walked up the river. I needed to find some peace today.

Up the river I came to a very quiet spot that was all mine. I took off all my clothes and watched as the ferns started to come alive. The peace I wanted wasn't there. All I could think about was my son. His face was in the water, and I heard his laughter ringing in my ears. There was no doubt that he was here. I needed a drink, and that was not going to be found here.

After a few days passed me in this place by I shook the lizards out of my clothes and put them back on. Slowly I walked out of the forest and back into the town. Then I made my way down highway one until I came to Davenport. I had to talk to Candi.

The place where we found her had been abandoned. The haste that she left in was apparent from the half empty bottle of tequila that she left in the cupboard. It was risky, but I drank it. Looking through the house there was little there of interest. One thing that was interesting was a picture of Candi holding a baby. The face was blocked by black curly hair came out from under a cap.

Hope and anger filled my mind. This blended into a white rage of indignation. I would find my child alive. That fool in White Lady's trees was wrong. As long as I could find Candi I could find my son and take him back to his mother. That would be soon.

Eventually, Candi would go to her aunt's house. She always did. There she would stay until her aunt couldn't take her crap anymore. At least once a year Candi did something bad enough for the aunt to take her in, and followed that up with something bad enough to get thrown out. The day was getting old, and the walk back to Santa Cruz would take a long time. So I decided to spend the night inside Candi's old house. Davenport got really cold during the evening hours. That is why they didn't have a homeless problem.

Wisps of fog rolled by the windows of the shack. For a long time I just stared at the weather and listened to the sounds of the shore. It looked like the kind of day where the cold would soak through your clothes and go deep in your body. That was something I was not in the mood for. Besides the place had running water and some food. Once noon came around I would go back to Santa Cruz. Not that there was anything for me there. It was something to do.

The shack was depressing in the harsh light of the day. Cracked paint peeled in corners and the whole place had a layer of filth about it. The colors were dingy gray and the carpet had many burn holes in it. The furniture that was left was not fit for even a thrift shop. At least my bridges had a certain natural beauty. This place just screamed trash.

The walk back along the highway was cold. Nothing surprised me about that. As I neared the shelter of the bay it started to warm a bit. My feet hurt horribly from the holes I began to wear into the soles of my shoes. A drink would have helped, but I was far from booze. Once I got to town I would cut off the shoes and let my feet rest. With every step I could feel my toes swelling up and jamming in the front. If I took my shoes off now my feet would grow so big that I would not be able to get any of my old shoes on them. I needed to get to my stuff, and I kept all of that in my storage locker. It would be a long walk.

The way down highway one was full of crisp fresh air. The landscape seemed to blend into the same scene over and over until I hit the stop light that turns toward the old industrial park. Once Santa Cruz had factories and real jobs. Chewing gum and tea were made by the sea. Now it had all gone to hippies. The jobs went away to places with cheap labor and no colleges.

Highway one had become Mission Street. This walk was full of buildings and I stopped at McDonald's for some food. My feet needed a rest. That didn't help much, so I took the bus to my stuff. The locker had not been touched in many months.

The locker was filled with Rubbermaid containers and rotting boxes. Somehow I managed to get my feet out of the shoes I was wearing. My feet weren't as beat up as I had thought, but they would need a while before they would let new shoes go on them. They were red and had sore where the holes let the flesh go through to the pavement.

Most of the items in the locker were mine, but a few belonged to Randy. The thought that he died of aids ran through my being. The thought made me shudder and the old fear danced through my mind. Quickly I shook that off. Three boxes were all that he had left behind. I was bored so I decided to look through them.

The first box had some religious items in it. Very odd ones. Randy hated all spiritual things, especially priests. Keeping weird objects around made him feel like the whole of religion was a big joke.

The first item was a plastic see- through box with the front of a Bible and tons of cut up words which I assumed came from the book that the cover was from. As I opened the box I saw that there was a piece of paper glued to the back of the cover, it read,

"All these words came from the sacred text. Now they are free, arrange them to suit your needs. They came from a Bible so they must be true. Anything you want them to say, they will."

Odd and yet very Randy like. Then there was a Koran in what I assumed was Arabic. It was ripped in places and had a foul odor to it. In all the time I knew Randy I never heard him say anything about Islam. A picture of daffy duck was pasted in it with strange writing below it.

Next there were some saint's medals, all burned. A bottle of liquid, and then some cloth. After I touched the bottle a bad smell filled the room. The feeling was creepy and I decided not to look further in the box. I threw it in the dumpster of the store next to the storage place. The box made me want to get away from it.

After that I wasn't sure if I wanted to go through the other two boxes. Still, I opened the next one. It had a blanket in it and in the middle of the blanket was a glass box. As I opened the box I found a small handmade doll. It had the proportions of a child and was crafted from black yarn. Small blue beads were used for eyes, and it wore a little cloth diaper. Also very creepy, but I didn't want to throw it away. At least it didn't smell, and it was weirdly beautiful.

The last box held pictures, lots of them. Pictures of me, people I knew, and those I didn't. It had some letters and books. I decided to look through that later, maybe never. The past was dead to me, and my feet felt like I could get them in my walking shoes.

Carefully and with love I pulled down the door to my unit and set the lock in place. How I adored my things. Candice took care of the locker getting paid for so I wouldn't worry about it. Sometimes having a worry gives purpose.

The day was gone, and I headed off into the night. Still swollen and throbbing my feet took me to Candi's aunt's house. It took a lot of knocking before the old witch opened the door. Forcing the door in I made my way to the couch and sat down.

"You seen Candi? That bitch stole my son."

The witch looked shocked, "No, Candi no steal nino. Candi good girl."

Actually, the aunt wasn't a witch at all. She was under a spell or something to think that Candi was a good girl. Maybe the aunt had a massive brain injury, I don't know. Good girls don't show all their nasty tattooed skin for the world to see. I cried.

Aunt brought in some rice and beans.

"Eat, eat," she said.

"I can't," I said pushing away the food.

It was a nice gesture, but I couldn't eat right now. Food didn't have taste, and I all I could smell where horrible things. Nothing made me feel at peace and time went by so slow. I cried some more.

Aunt let me cry for a while. As I stopped she talked, "I don't know Candi at. Her baby girl very sick, she no have her. Lost all ninas. Very sad. Candi cry all day, all night. I no see her baby anymore. She go to find baby father."

"Do you know who the baby's father is?"

"Si," she looked down, "very bad. Muy malvado."

"What is his name? Where can I find him?" I asked.

"His name is Jank. My cat gone now. Baby very sick. Jank malvado, live in Watsonville some place. He meat cutter."

What the hell was going on. I thanked her and left. I called Rochelle and let her know what I had found out. Then I went to find Sam, he seemed like he understood.

Wandering down by the river I walked along until my feet started to throb again. Finding a patch of marsh grass I sat down and spread out my legs. Soon a man came by and sat next to me. His clothes were old and had caked on dirt. The shoes he wore were tattered and in need of replacement. It was obvious that he had been outside for a while. As he offered me a smoke he said, "My name is Russell. You from around here?"

Taking the cigarette I replied, "My name is DJ. Been here all my life. How about you?"

"I'm from Alabama. Came here looking for work. Thought I would come to California and get rich," he sighed.

"Only rich-born people make it here. They suck off the rest of us. You working much?"

"Some construction. I'm trying to get a ride up to San Jose, they tell me there is more going on there."

"Yah. That's true, but that place is like living in an armpit. Plus, they don't let you stay in one place too long. Nowhere to really sleep at night."

"But at least there is work. What do you do for money?"

"Oh, I usually just find some or something."

"You don't work?" He looked very surprised.

"Sometimes. I was working at the phone company, but I really can't cut it in the corporate world. Wall street and I don't mix."

"If I had a job at the phone company I'd be the happiest guy on the planet. What did you get fired for?"

"Nothing," I said, "I just left."

"Why?"

"I needed to do other things. Working doesn't allow me the freedom to take care of business."

Russell thought about this for a while, then said, "Don't you get tired of being cold? Sometimes I spend half the night crying because my feet feel like they are going to fall off."

"I do. Then I will usually find someone to live with. After a while either I get tired of them, or they get tired of me. You try that shelter over by River street? Maybe someone can help you."

That was when Russell started to cry. After a while he started to speak in between sobs, "I want to go home so bad. No one cares about me anymore. The only person who really did was my father and he died, left me with less than nothing. I have no wife, no kids, no family, no future. All I got is looking for work to pay for my next meal. Sometimes I just want to die."

On and on Russell went about his dad crying the day away. I enjoyed being with someone else who was miserable although I declined to share my story. Truly he was alone. It was nice to spend some time letting my feet recover while I listened to how good things were in Alabama. Still, I needed to deal with my own issues so off I went to look for Sam and Sean. Of all the places Sean liked to park he liked the surfer statue the best. That was where I went.

The truck was not parked in its usual spot, but Sam was lingering by one of the benches. "I was waiting for you," he said.

Motioning for me to follow him he headed toward the lighthouse and away from the boardwalk. Following him down the road I could not spot the truck. Our pace was fast, almost like a jog, and I was out of breath when we finally stopped at Lighthouse Field.

This park was once just a bunch of tall grass but has been turned into a very interesting place. The tall grass looms up and trails go this way and that. It is easy to get lost here. Sam looked at me, "The kid is dead."

A lump of bile filled the back of my throat, "How?" Was all I managed to get out.

"I don't know. But we have been watching them. They are up in Eureka Canyon, squatting in that cabin. I heard them talking about you, and the baby. Hank was mad, that Candi girl killed the baby. He was upset more that you had a son; apparently he has two kids with the woman, both girls. Forget about your kid, we need to get rid of Hank. He calls that road kill lover of his DJ."

"How do you know she killed my son?"

"I think she is not as big a low life as Hank. What he wanted to do with the baby must have been bad. So I think she killed it. She keeps saying the baby is gone and it's in a better place. Don't get me wrong, I think she is a fucked up piece of work, there are other things she could have done, like giving the baby back. But in a mind like hers killing the baby was the easiest choice to save it."

"I don't think she would kill my son. I need to talk to her."

"Ok, but after we take out Hank. Until he is eliminated safety is going to be an issue. This guy is not someone I would want to face alone; I am going to need your help. Sean is too soft, he would blow it. Believe me this is going to be hard and messy."

"What are we talking about?"

I had never killed anyone. The idea of killing a person, taking their life, even a dirt bag like Hank, made me queasy. Even in my mind I had never killed him, although I had done all kinds of torture to him in the fantasy world, I had not delighted in the details of his death.

"Look," Sam said, "I am going to call the meat cutter's union and say I have a job for him. Hank goes where they send him. I am going to ask for him because he came recommended. They might have a policy or whatever, but I'll talk them into sending him out to Shopper's Corner. From there we are going to have to knock him out. Since he knows you, I will meet him with some pepper spray while you come up from behind with a crowbar. Then we make sure he is dead and dump him way up in Zayante."

"What if they find his body?"

"Don't worry; we will leave him with all the other ones. No one has found those yet, right?"

"Ok, we get rid of Hank, but Candi what about her?"

"She's not a threat. She's a baby killer, remember? She won't want to have any involvement with the cops. Even if she sees us deal with Hank, she'll keep her mouth shut. But I doubt she will tell you about the baby. She has too much to lose."

"What about that Boomer's Castle thing? Where does that come in?"

"Oh, that is just something for Sean. He doesn't need to know what's really going on. That way if the cops ask him anything and he talks, the story will sound convoluted and unbelievable. They will write all of us off as para-militant nut jobs."

The first thing we did was call the local butcher's union and set up the job. It was amazingly easy. Sam just said Shopper's Corner had bought a few cattle for cheap and wanted an extra butcher for the day. The request for Hank was not questioned, or the 4am start time. As soon as he hung up the phone we went to get some supplies and other items of interest.

We walked around until we saw an old car for sale, an 80's Volvo. Sam called the number on the sign and the guy raced over to meet us.

"This thing won't smog," Sam said.

"It will," the guy sounded nervous.

"No, it won't. It's going to cost me an easy grand to get it to work. I'll pay you $200 right now for it."

"No, I want a $1000. This is a classic."

"A classic piece of shit. $200, take it or leave it."

The guy took it. Sam filled out the paperwork with bogus information and off we went to the hardware store for some rope and blunt force objects.

"I hope this car lasts the night," Sam said to me.

"Why buy the thing?" I didn't understand why we needed a car.

"We can't use Sean's; first off, Hank knows it. Might get messy, don't want to screw up Sean's living area. Easy to ditch this old piece of crap. Probably not even registered to the guy we bought it from."

"Our fingerprints are in the car."

"So? Probably a bunch of others in here too. This is not TV, most cops are not going to figure this out or work that hard trying to. Only good detective in our area is in Scotts Valley so we make sure not to leave anything there. As long as it is in the Sherriff's area we will get away with anything we want."

"Good to know. What do we do now?"

"Sleep. We need some good solid rest. We can drive in the Zayante pretty far, but we are going to have to drag the body for a couple of miles. This is going to be hard work."

The pounding of my heart made it hard to rest. Snores came from Sam right away. This whole thing had me freaked out, yet Sam acted like he did this every day. Sort of like picking up butter from the store. Killing sounded like one of life's mundane chores when Sam talked about it.

It was impressive how he thought to take care of all the little details. More impressive that he knew a good place to get rid of the body. Sam scared me.

Most of the day I stared out the car window and watch the seagulls. The morning was warm with a cool breeze. A little girl ran past our car laughing. Dogs were barking off in the distance calling to the rushing sound of the ocean waves falling. There was a rhythm to the day that made a strange music. I was going to change. It felt like I was going to kill more than Hank. In that moment I justified what we were going to do. Killing Hank was ok because he was bad and he wanted to do it to us first. This had to be done. My mind changed, I looked at the killing as cutting out a cancer, not as murder. What we were going to do was just, a necessary thing. Sure enough I had died inside. There was no going back now that my mind had been reframed. Innocence was over, and I was surprised that I had some to lose. That is a part of it, being ignorant to your own blissful naivety.

Just after I fell asleep Sam woke me up, "It's time to go," he said as he started up the car.

Puffing black smoke and stalling at a stop sign, the Volvo was driving on borrowed time but we arrived at Shopper's Corner long before Hank was scheduled to arrive. Then 4am came and went, no Hank.

Around 8am Sam called the Union and chewed them out. They said they were sorry about Hank but he had an emergency. Thinking fast Sam said that the cattle had not arrived either and that he wanted someone for 4am tomorrow. If Hank could make it, he was willing to give him another try. I was surprised that he acted like it was no big deal if they didn't send Hank.

"What if they send someone else?" I asked.

"Then we leave and come up with a new plan," Sam talked like this was nothing new. Like changing an undershirt.

Again we found a safe place to park. It was another beautiful day in contrast to how ugly we were. I kept telling myself that this has to be done to make the world less horrible. To stop a raging fire, to contain it, sometimes you need to set some fires.

A couple of children were running around near us, teasing each other, laughing. What would Hank do to them? In a way, we were protectors. Protecting the unsuspecting from all the evil that Hank might do. Helping to make the world safe for the beauty. Not letting the rotten Hank spoil it. Each thought took me farther down a path and away from being human. With every breath I became aware of what I was doing to myself. There was no way to stop it though. I hated Hank that much.

Tonight the Volvo started spewing out more puffs of black smoke here and there. Still, we arrived in the parking lot at the time we wanted to. An old car that looked like Hank's crept into a space. Sam got out and handed me a crowbar, "If he goes down, run over and hit him a few times. Aim for the head, but body hits are good too."

Then Sam disappeared. What I thought was Hank walked over to the door and waited. Sam popped back in the Volvo.

"No good, they sent another guy. Let's go up and see if he is at the cabin. A guy like Hank might start looking for us if he smells something bad. We don't want to wait for him to find out there was no job."

Casually we drove off toward the old cabin that was up on Eureka Canyon. It seemed like a long drive, but we made it there long before the sun had come up.

The real Hank's car was parked a little further down the road from the cabin. We passed it by and parked even further down on a little dirt pull-out. It was a great spot, hard to see just driving by. But it was a long way from the cabin. Sam put some items in a duffle bag.

"They are probably asleep, and there are at least two, Hank and Candi. Don't trust her; don't let either one get behind you. There are some alarms around, but real amateur stuff. Don't worry if something goes off, just fulfill the mission. Get Hank and get out."

"What about my son?"

"Don't worry about him. If he is still alive they will need him to stay that way for leverage. Just get Hank."

"How?"

"We go in, and if he is asleep, I'm going to hit him on the head, hard. You hit him with pepper spray if he gets up. Get his face, aim for the mouth, it will make it hard for him to breath. Hit the girl with pepper spray too. Then we drag out Hank. Don't even think about bringing a baby with us. You can talk to the girl later, she will run to her aunt. Meet her there."

It all sounded like such a good plan, but there was no way I was going to leave my baby son if I saw him. No way.

Morning was coming soon, and Sam went ahead of me to disable alarms. It took a good half hour before he motioned for me to come over. "I think I got everything, but assume he knows we are here. Remember, don't react to noise. No one is around to hear it."

This was creepy. The cabin looked like a fortress in the darkness. No light was coming from inside. Sam and I had headlamps but they were off. We went in through the front door. The small noises seemed amplified into a riot of sound. Every one of our steps echoed in my ears. It was so loud he must of known we were there.

My eyes had adjusted and soon I could see very well in the rooms. The smell of Hank's road kill lover hit me before I made out its figure in the dark. I tripped and Sam grabbed me. For a while we didn't move at all. Then Sam pulled me forward into the bedroom.

The bed was in the middle of the room and it looked like there were two lumps in it. I was to let Sam get in a good strike and then spray them. The blood rushing through my head made so much noise I was having trouble thinking. Sweat ran into my eyes and stung them. When the bar crashed into Hank's head a little scream came out of me and I panicked as Candi turned over. Before she could understand what was going on I doused her face in pepper spray. Screams billowed from her direction as she raced about. Then I got Hank square in the mouth. Sam hoisted Hank onto his back and we ran out of the cabin. It was amazing how graceful Sam looked even with the dead weight of Hank on his back. As for me I tripped and jolted left and right. It was a messy crashing of feet and legs, but I got out.

Once outside I helped Sam carry it back to the car and throw it in the back seat. No longer was Hank a person, now he was a body, an it. Relief and fear blended into my sense of urgency. I wanted to get out, fast. My instincts wanted to unload the body and forget.

Instead, Sam slowly drove the car down the mountain. We were driving like nothing had happened. Taking the back roads to Zayante.

We drove until we turned on to Redwood Road. This we followed up until the nothing was around except dense foliage and tall trees. The atmosphere here was strange and the air seemed to dampen and thicken. Sam drove very slowly like he was looking for something. When he found what he wanted we parked the Volvo and got out. The new day had just started. I was living in a Hank free world. It didn't look very powerful hunched over in the back bleeding all over the bench seat.

Somehow I think I would have preferred a fight out at Boomer's Castle to sneaking up on Hank in his sleep. The guilt soon left as we pulled it out of the Volvo. "It's a long walk. I am going to tie his arms and torso up and we will drag him to the pit."

"What's the pit?" I asked.

"It's a place for unwanted bodies. Where you take one if you want no questions asked."

"Ok, let's go," I said.

At first it didn't seem so bad. We walked down a narrow path cut into the woods by deer and lost souls. It took us to fallen trees and their cores hollowed out by ancient lightning strikes. If I wasn't hauling a dead it behind me I would have enjoyed the walk. As time went on the trail started to look funny. The branches of the trees grabbed at my clothes, and the wet soil gave way under my feet at unexpected times. Dragging it started to get difficult, as if it was gaining weight as we went. Sam stopped, "Let's rest a while."

My throat itched from thirst, and my arms pulsed with pain. Marks were on my hands from hold the ropes and dragging the it. Sam looked my way, "It will be over soon. Then everything will be ok."

From out of his pocket Sam pulled out 2 juice boxes. It was like drinking gold instead of apple juice. My stomach made noises, I think I was hungry but I was too amped up to care. Right now I just wanted to survive.

Again we plodded on to the pit. Now the trail was nearer the ocean side of the mountains and fog settled into the much thicker growth of redwoods. Dead sticks and slimy moss lay everywhere. The forest debris did not get cleared from this place. Still, I saw an old soda can tossed into the woods mixing into the other debris. As we turned a corner the cold went right through my clothes.

The fresh scent of the forest masked something else that just reached my senses. Run away, danger smell came to my mind. It became stronger, and the way became even more primitive. Soon, the overpowering stench of dead human flesh dominated the air. It was an old smell.

There was a small part in the trees and Sam walked over to it. I followed and looked down into a sharp drop in the mountain. It was not so deep that it would kill you but enough of one that it would be hard to climb out of. "Throw him in," Sam commanded.

As I tossed the it over into the chasm I realized that this was the source of the smell. Some rotting clothes were visible among the ferns and moss covered stones. I think I saw an elbow as well. "Let's go back," was all Sam said.

The fog was burning off and more sun hit the trail as we went. Once we were out of the path of the rancid smell we both sat on the ground. It had been a while since I had been this tired. All of the excitement had drained out of my body and I was empty. I cried.

"It's over," Sam said, "it's ok. We will head back up and talk to the girl."

I lay back onto wet foliage. A layer of forest smells covered up the stench of rotting flesh very well, but it was still faintly in the air. Odd, I hadn't noticed it when we first sat down. The smell made me want to get up and run away. Rustling told me that Sam was feeling the same way so I moved quickly to get up. Falling down I realized that I had been hit by something hard in my stomach. All I could see was the tops of the redwoods before an object hit me again on the left leg.

It took what seemed like a long time before the pain in my leg stopped enough to allow me its use. Up I staggered and looked around. From some brush I could make out fast movements. Someone was fighting there, "Sam," I called out as I walked to the commotion.

Loud slaps and dull thuds came from the wiggling ferns. I saw what I thought was Sam for a moment and then he was pulled down. Parting some large fronds I saw the two fighters. On the left was Sam and to the right was a bloody headed Hank. Something gave way from my bowels. Everyone turned to look at me because I think I must have screamed a little. This gave Sam the opportunity to kick Hank in the throat. Hank swiveled and started to come at me. Quickly, I reached into my underwear and pulled out what had just escaped from my body.

Flinging shit at Hank had little effect, even though it landed right on his face. Sam kicked, but missed.

Blood came up from Hank's mouth, and he made noises like he was trying to talk. Small jerky movements told me that Hank was hurting really bad. Something inside me was happy he wasn't dead. Being a person who took another's life had put a dark spot on my soul. I didn't want to spend my sober hours like Macbeth. Fear guided my actions as I grabbed up a fallen branch. When Hank neared me I swung it and landed it on his head. The branch erupted into a cloud of splinters as it found solid cranium. Hank stumbled and shook his head, but he didn't go down.

The sound of leaves crunching behind Hank made him turn into Sam's fist. It landed square in his face. A horrible sound came from Hank and he went down. "We need to go," Sam ordered me and I followed him.

"Shouldn't we make sure he isn't going to get up again?" I asked.

"No, he lost a lot of blood. There is no way he is going to make it. We need to get back to the car and just let the forest have him. Both of us are like shadows, we don't really live with the rest of the world. We linger near but are impossible to catch. What can Hank do now even if he finds help?"

The trek back to the Volvo took forever. Now and then we would stop and noises that sounded like Hank were still coming from behind. Crashing and trudging through the forest kind of sounds. They were not keeping up with us but I could still hear them as we approached the Volvo.

Sam started the car, and it died. A feeling welled up inside of me that was a mixture of fear, doom, and excitement. Once again Sam turned the key and only a clicking noise happened. I was tired from the hike and carrying what I thought was a dead Hank. Breathing in and out, Sam just sat there for a while. With purpose he tried the key again. This time the engine turned over and began to run. Then there was a muffled boom and beneath the hood a little black smoke billowed out. The Volvo rocked back and forth a few times before it went motionless and silent.

In the back seat was a bag. Sam pulled out a hammer and gave it to me, and got a fillet knife for himself. "We are going to leave on foot, I know you are tired DJ, but Hank is in way worse shape. Try to just get out, and we'll make it."

Rocks came flying from the trees and crashed the driver's side window. They kept falling at us. Big rocks. With each hit my skin jumped away from my body a little bit. Sam didn't move, or say a thing. All he did was look around.

After a few hit's the glass windows on the driver's side were just piles of green glass pebbles and rocks started landing inside the Volvo. I opened the door to get out as a rain of stones landed on the car. Both of us were outside and behind the car before the next downfall.

Then it just stopped. Opening my mouth I choked back my words when Sam motioned me to be quiet. Listening to the sounds of the forest I could hear labored breathing and a gurgling sound. It sounded like Hank was dying. A loud painful gasp of breath came from where the rocks had been thrown from. Slowly Sam got up and we walked away.

Down the road we went but not very fast and not talking. My butt was starting to itch from the shit in my pants. Both of us looked and smelled bad. For some reason I really wanted to have sex. All I could think about was how badly I wanted a picture of a hot chick and a beer. It had been a long time since I'd had sex. Maybe I had aids. That thought was quickly removed from my mind. The idea bothered me, and I really didn't need to know the truth.

There were no cars on the road and it took a few hours to make it back to a place that was more traveled on. Down we walked on into Santa Cruz and to the beach. We let the salt water clean our bodies and our sins. It was really cold and killed my boner. Then we went to find Sean.

The surfer statue was alone so we waited for Sean on the benches and watched the waves. "Sean is probably at work," Sam said.

"Yah. He does that a lot. Don't you feel kind of like an asshole? You just take all his money so he has to live in a truck. Why don't you get a job?"

I thought Sam would be angry with me but instead he said, "No. I don't feel like an asshole. Not at all. Someone has to do the things I do. No time for other work."

"Oh. How did you get hooked up with Paul?"

Now a bit of rage boiled in Sam's words, "That guy. He came looking for me. I should have known better. Claimed you guys were friends. Sorry, I guess I let him know all about you. Wonder why that guy would steal a baby. He got what he deserved."

"Maybe. How you think he met Hank?"

"Don't know. Something very wrong with that Hank guy. I hope he's dead."

"Sam, you think he might have made it? You think Hank might survive?"

"I don't know. He has something going on. Not like others. No, I knew he was dangerous from the beginning. After we talk to the girl stay as far away from them as you can. All of them."

"You think she is dangerous?" I asked.

"No, but she has ties to him. That is what's dangerous. A guy like that probably has friends that are as scary as he is. She would know them. And she is afraid. Fear makes animals and man dangerous."

It was around noon when Sean drove up. Droopy eyed and ready to sleep, we put Sean in the back and Sam drove. I was having a hard time staying awake in the soft swaying of the truck as it went down the road.

The ride was for nothing, there was no sign of life at the cabin, and Hank's car had vanished from the area.

Sam could tell that I was tired and I think he was too. Way up the road he drove and parked in what looked like a car graveyard. After the truck stopped Sam looked all around to make sure this area was deserted. Then we slept. It was dark when Sean woke me up.

It was time for Sean to go to his next job. It was at the sugar factory tonight. That was a long drive and Sam and I decided to go along and sleep in the car during Sean's shift. Before heading off toward Salinas we stopped at a store for candy bars, soda, and beer. The whole way there we ate and drank. It was sort of fun, like having a sleepover without the sleeping bags or TV.

The area at the sugar factory was full of wild dogs. It was not far from the beach. Too far to see the waves but close enough for lots of fog to roll in. Sean had been here once before, but this was the first time he had worked here alone. It scared him because the sugar factory was the place that his company sent someone when they wanted to rid themselves of an employee. The dogs came running to the truck around midnight and woke us up. Sam blasted them in the face with pepper spray. All the dogs ran yelping in every direction. We settled back down for some more sleep. It was cold and very damp. Getting back to sleep was hard.

No one came to relieve Sean in the morning so we all just went into the sugar factory and hung out in the office. We let Sean sleep and kept an eye out for any supervisors. No one came. Sean just stayed there for two days straight. It didn't bother him, he was on double time and we were having a great fun. Plus, Sam and I helped him with his rounds.

Sean had an old detex clock to punch. It was a heavy round canteen shaped object that he carried from place to place wherever a key was stored. After he found the little key holder he would place it inside the detex clock that would timestamp a roll of paper that moved inside it. One of the key stations was at the top of a 100 foot high silo. The first 90 feet had an elevator that led to a ten foot ladder. At the top of the ladder was one of the keys.

At first we tried to free the key from the wires that held them to the holders. No luck. Sean was terrified to climb the ladder and get the last key. Almost in tears, he went up the elevator platform with Sam. I stayed on the ground and I assumed that Sam was going to get the key for Sean. Instead when the elevator stopped, down came the detex clock crashing at my feet. Problem solved.

Sean was a wreck about the broken detex clock, but as Sam pointed out Sean had been working for 48 hours without a break. No one else would work at the sugar factory. Guard companies rarely fire anyone. They just move bad guards from place to place. Good ones too, anyone their clients decide must go no matter the reason or whim.

Breaking the clock calmed down Sean, but he still felt bad. Talking about how stupid the key stations were made him feel a little better. After all, who in their right mind would put a key station at the top of a silo? It made no sense.

Around 8am the next morning someone showed up to take over for Sean. It was an old woman and she had not been here before. When Sean was finished giving her the instructions and touring around he showed her the broken detex clock. At this point she thanked him and we left.

Sean was not going to be working that day so Sam suggested that we see Candi's aunt again. I wanted to find out about my son, but Sam was more interested in Hank. The two of us were fairly sure he had died, but Sam needed to know for certain. A few blocks down from her house we parked and I went to talk to her alone.

After a knocked on the door I heard no noise, but I stayed until the aunt opened the door.

"Senior Dj, por que?"

"Look, I need to find my kid. Have you seen Candi?" I started to cry, "I miss my baby so much."

Actually, I didn't miss my son very much and that made me cry. The boy was like a little misplaced doll, like the doll I found in Randy's things. It bothered me how little I valued the baby. He was so beautiful, so bright. That child had the best mother and all the good things that she could give him. The only down side was me. While I tried to be more of a fit into his world there was a part of me that was glad to be free from him. In order to make that ugliness go away I looked for him. I cried not for my lost son, but for my own sorry lost soul.

"Si, come in," the aunt said.

Again she took me to her living room and brought me good smelling food. I had been eating so many candy bars that I wasn't hungry.

"Candi is here, aqi."

"My son?"

"I don't know. Candi in bad shape. El Diablo hurt her."

"Can I speak to her? I don't want anything from her; I just want my son back."

With that the aunt left. I heard yelling and screaming in Spanish. "No" echoed through the house over and over again. Each time it got weaker. After having spent a few months living with that bitch I knew she was close to just giving in. She would do what her aunt asked because she had nowhere else to go. Banging of doors and footsteps came closer. Finally the two women entered the room.

Candi looked horrible. The once beautiful face was misshapen and her nose had been broken. A white tank top exposed her badly bruised arms, and as she opened her mouth to speak I noticed more than one missing tooth. Clearly she had the pretty beaten out of her.

"I don't know about any fucking kid," she said.

I looked up slowly and said, "You shouldn't be afraid of the cops, or even Hank. I know you were the last one with my son, my beautiful son. You should be afraid of me. Terrified."

"Beautiful son? That bastard was black and fat. How could you fuck a nigger? She must be some kind of ghetto fabulous slut with no brains. You want that back? Are you color blind?"

This caused a great deal of rage to flare up in me. This welfare leach and part time prostitute would never be as good a person as Candice. My son was black and very beautiful. It was very ironic that trash like her thought that a pearl like my son was an abomination.

"I will burn your aunt's house to the ground," I said very calmly.

She knew I was serious. "The baby is gone. I gave him away. You should thank me. Hank wanted to hurt it, bad. Now go and don't come back."

I don't know what she was thinking. I grabbed a lamp and started smashing up her aunt's house. There were screams and running around. The sofa ripped easily with a fork and the TV's glass broke into an interesting spider web pattern.

"You want to tell me the truth? Or do I burn this bitch to the ground?"

"Ok! Stop, the kid isn't with me, I can't tell you anymore. Hank will kill me."

"What? You are worried about Hank? I am here now, that is what you should be worried about."

"Really? Do you know Hank? Do you know what he does? He took your baby because he was jealous of us. You don't want to know what kind of person he is."

I smashed a vase into her back, and pulled her by the hair to my face, "Hank doesn't give a fuck about you. He has been giving me hell since I was in Junior High. That asshole has done just about every horrible thing he could think of to me. But he better not take my son. And I'll send you to hell as well to let him know I'm coming soon."

"Why don't you go to the hospital and tell him yourself?" She spit in my face.

"What? Is Hank alive?"

"Someone found him near Felton, beaten, and hurt real bad. Near death. He's in stable condition and will be out in a few weeks. Beat me all you want, you are no Hank."

As I left I knocked over as much as I could, and peed in the front doorway. After I made it to the last of the front steps I heard the aunt tell Candi to leave and don't come back. Candi cried, she was too ugly to sell her body right now. I didn't feel sorry for her at all.

Hank being alive troubled Sam. The three of us decided to part ways for a week. Grabbing a beer I said my goodbye and promised to meet at the surfer statue in seven days. My feet took me to River Street and then under highway one. Soon I was down the road to White Lady's. It was still light out and that made the walk past the graveyard more bearable.

In the trees I heard what sounded like an animal moving in the treetops. I wondered if the joker that had been up there before was back, or if he ever left. The trash was piled higher than ever waiting for a good rain to come and take it away. Leaves crunched from years past beneath my feet. A used condom caught my eye and I thought about what kind of child could be conceived in a place like this. Then I heard some laughter riding along the wind and branches. It was the same voice. The voice sounded so much like a dead man.

"You need to get a life," I said to the laughing breeze.

"Why?" I hadn't expected to hear an answer.

I jumped and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as the reply came from the peak of what remained of the old wall. It didn't seem logical to hear someone when I was as sober as I was.

Then came more laughter, "Didn't mean to scare you, I thought you knew I was here."

"Whatever," I said.

"Why are you here?" It asked.

"Why are you?" I answered.

"This is my best option. Is it yours?"

"At the time it is."

"Why is that?"

"Because I still can't find my son and I have nowhere to go for the next seven days."

"Interesting. Why do you keep looking for your son? Don't you have anything better to do? Don't you think that your son might not want to be found? He is dead, after all."

"Stop that! You don't know, you just sit in a fucking tree by a wall that was once part of a house. This place is trash and ruin, what do you know?"

"I know Hank. You couldn't kill him. I know that."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"Everyone knows. I hear them whisper how strong Hank is. How alive Hank is. There is fear; fear about what he will do when he gets out of the hospital."

"So you think I should be afraid of him?"

"No. I think you should go back to the river and pass time while you wait to die."

"That is lovely."

"You are worthless. Not in a bad way. It is ok, just go back to being yourself. After all you make good company. Maybe you won't be happy, but you will not be as miserable as you are trying to do what you think is right. Be what you are and stop lying to yourself. You are a bum, nothing more. Stop fucking up your life and everyone else's."

These words cut through my veils of rationalizations of who I am. All the justifications fell away, he was right. I was never happy, and being free by the river was the least miserable way of life for me. Part of me wanted to run all the way back to my favorite bridge and go to sleep forever. But I owed my son more than that.

"Yeah, whatever. After I find my kid, I think I will go back to the river. But now I need to find him."

"Candi left the baby somewhere; maybe near the cabin. It is dangerous there though, and the boy is dead."

My feet were taking me out of the area as I heard loud laughter bending the trees. How would he know? Right now I needed to talk to someone, anyone. But it was seven days before I was to meet up with the brothers and I didn't know where to go. It seemed like since Randy died I stopped hanging out at the clock tower as much. The world was a lonely place.

Somehow I still ended up at the clock tower after I left White Lady's. I missed Randy .There were a few other trolls hanging around but no one I knew that well. An old man clutched his paper bag close to his chest. Obviously, he didn't want to share. A younger kid stared at me, hard. It started to make me uncomfortable. Finally he spoke, "You named DJ?"

"Yes, why?" I answered him.

"Some guy has an old picture of you he's been flashing around. Says you're a baby killer. He said some other crap."

"You know this guy?"

"No. He looked fucked up. I got a bad vibe off him. He sounded weird. If I were you I'd stay away from him."

I wondered if that was Hank. My stomach was empty of candy bars and it complained. The noise from my belly was loud, but other stomachs around were screaming to be fed as well. There was no money left in my pockets, but I had a few bucks back in my storage locker. That would be a long walk on swollen feet but I really needed a beer. One of the guys suggested dumpster diving behind India Joze. It sounded like a good idea so I went. A few others went as well.

The food in the dumpster was the kind that felt like fire was searing your mouth. Hot and yummy, it hurt so good. The worker from the restaurant had asked us to go, but gave us some bread to eat as we left. These were decent people who worked here.

We walked over to a curb and sat and ate the bread. It felt good to be among my kind sharing a meal. The sun was going down and I felt sleepy. The other guys and I started to ask for cash. Once we got a handful of dollars we bought a 12 pack and headed down toward the river. The next few hours we partied and swam naked in the warm mucky water. I don't even remember falling asleep.

The next day I woke up naked and curled up with another guy. My butt hurt. I wasn't sure what I had done or where my clothes were. There were more guys than I remembered hanging around with last night lying naked in the grass by the river. Moving among them I located most of my clothes. After I got dressed I headed out for the old park. Sometimes I went there when I felt lost. Going back to the place where I played as a child made me feel like I was touching a path that was good.

My feet were sore as I spotted the loch Ness dragon swimming on the grass. No children were out yet to play and it felt early in the day. Everything was still wet from the morning dew, and fresh. This was how I felt a long time ago. In those days I would spend the better part of the afternoon here. Somewhere along the way I left something here that I couldn't find anymore. I couldn't even remember what it was that I lost.

I paced back and forth until I noticed a man standing on the bridge a ways down the San Lorenzo River. It was hard to make out his features but I could feel his eyes staring at me with disapproval. For a moment I was ashamed of myself and thought about going back to SF. Maybe I should be more concerned with doing what was right instead of what was comfortable.

Quickly I walked away from the park and down toward the beach. I might have aids; I might have given it to someone last night. They might have given me something nasty. Walking fast I left those thoughts behind and went to look for alcohol.

After a day of can collecting and begging I raised enough money to get a bottle of Vodka. There were cops everywhere, and a pair was following me. I tried to keep moving but after an hour or so I got tired. A cop came over and sat next to me.

"Hey buddy," the cop who was clearly not my buddy said, "You hear that there might be some layoffs in the city?"

"No," I didn't see where this was going.

"Well, people feel secure enough to lay off a lot of cops. It would be a shame if there were some tourists getting robbed, or houses over on Bay Street getting broken into. That might scare some people."

"Into not laying off cops?"

"Oh, you are a smart guy. I like you. Tell you what; I'm gonna get you another bottle of what you are drinking. And I don't think I am going to write you an open container ticket today."

With that he produced a bottle of whiskey and handed it to me. It irritated me because I liked Vodka. The cop had said he would give me another bottle of what I was drinking. This man could not be trusted.

"You know, if I hear about these break-ins and robberies I just might need to get information about them. I pay my informants in alcohol. You understand?"

"Anything else I should know?"

"Daylight crimes are scarier than nighttime ones."

He patted me on the back and left. Cops could be your worst nightmare. If they wanted a few tourists and middle-class families freaked out, then I would try and make that happen. But for now I had two big bottles of booze and I was going to get really drunk.

Time passed but I am not sure how much. The alcohol started to wear off and I was lost on the railroad tracks. Different colors of broken glass sparkled everywhere like a church window. Sunlight splashed down from the tree limbs and grass gently covered the rolling hills on either side of me. It was beautiful but as the high wore off my head started to not care. What I needed was a place to rest, and while the glass glistened in an inviting way, it was sharp and dangerous. Not a place to lie down. I climbed up a hill to try and get my bearings.

As I reached the top I realized that I was still near the boardwalk. Most of the time I avoided it because the rent-a-cops didn't let hobos hang around. We were bad for the tourism industry.

The city could care less about us bums hanging around, but the Canfielders hated us. Maybe this would be a good time to fuck with some tourists. So I could save a cop's job. In a way I would be doing a good deed. The city needed it cops.

This was a weekday and there were not too many tourists hanging around. This old couple was walking hand in hand down by the arcade. Good as any other target, I hit the guy and growled at the lady, "the cops are all getting laid off, so I am going live like I want."

Then I screamed in her face, spit flying from my teeth. Old lady screams echoed back in my face. The old man fell to the ground and I disappeared into the Beach Flats. Rent-a-cops were in pursuit, but they wouldn't venture too far into the neighborhoods. I would soon be free and the cops would be happy.

The old people made a lot of noise, but I knew better than to run. Movement signaled people's brains to pay attention. Humans and sharks have a lot in common. I headed back to San Lorenzo Park. There was something there I wanted to find. Maybe that guy on the bridge was staring at me because he had a message.

When I arrived at the park there were children and animals making energy everywhere. The joy of the day went through me. How I wished to be like them. Never in my life do I remember having what they did. It was glorious and lost long ago. The swings were placed against the blue of the sky by the little spirits of the playground pumping their legs back and forth. The dragon swam effortlessly in the grass and yet went no- where. This park held onto time like an event horizon.

As I scanned the park my eyes rested on a man sitting on a bench and smiling. It occurred to me that he felt this joy as well. His eyes smiled. This feeling was what I was looking for, but I had no way of taking it with me. Then I saw Hank walking toward me. Not even that asshole could ruin the feeling though. Instead of doing whatever he wanted to me he left. Joy was a weapon against Hank. No wonder we couldn't kill him with violence, fear, and hate. He thrived on those emotions. Beauty killed the beast.

That day I lingered at the park for hours. The man on the bench looked at me with his dark face and smiling eyes. But he didn't smile at me, he frowned. It was a big full lipped frown that made me feel ashamed. There was no way for him to know what I had done, yet it felt like he did. I wondered if he had a way of knowing about other people as well. Maybe his eyes worked like antennas.

The clouds started to blow past me and I could feel the air getting cooler. The sun was losing its power to heat the day and I needed to find a place to spend the night. There was nothing in my pockets and I wanted beer. Not quite sure how to get some I started walking down to Pacific to see if I could beg enough money to get a 40 ounce or something.

I asked a few people and mostly got turned down. Some dumb bitch bought me a sandwich. Finally I got lucky and twice in a row people gave me five bucks. Down I walked to my favorite beverage spot and picked up two 40s. One of them I downed the minute I got out of the store. For some reason I didn't want anyone to ask me to share with them, not tonight.

It was getting late and I realized that I didn't know what time of year it was. It seemed like fall, but it could be spring. Santa Cruz only had two seasons, and they were not that different from each other. A vending machine with newspapers was on my way to the river. Pausing I caught the date, February 18th. I had missed Christmas, New Years, and Valentine's day. The days would start to get longer. Then I realized I had missed the worst months of the year. The cold was behind me. As I walked down the levee to my bridge I popped open the tab to my can and started to drink. This should keep me warm enough tonight.

As I built some cardboard into a shelter a rat noticed me. Rats are not like other creatures, they are the closest thing to a human you can get without actually being one. Cunning and devious they can get past their fear to make things happen. Nothing would make it leave. Throwing things, screaming, even dumping water on it only made it run away for a little while. It kept coming back and finding more and cleverer ways to conceal itself. The rat had decided it was going to have my shelter. This would be a hard night. That damn rat wanted to share my home no matter the consequences..

The shelter was cozy and I started to drift asleep. The scurry of little feet across my chest woke me up. The creature hissed at me and I grabbed it. Then I heaved that thing through the air so hard I heard a splash in the river. Hopefully the vermin got the picture. Back into my dreams I went.

When I woke up it was just before dawn. A sticky sharp pain radiated from my left foot's big toe. It felt like a hot needle had hit the bone. I screamed and leapt up with a rat still attached to my foot. Down came my foot and I knocked the rat off of me with a stick I grabbed. The stick also struck my injured toe. I beat that rat and beat that rat until it looked like a fuzzy flat bloody rug. A welcome mat for the cardboard home I made last night.

Holding my foot I got through the pain with foul language and screams. My feet were not in good shape; this made me worry and sweat. Rocking back and forth I peed my pants and cried.

When the sting had gone I decided to look at my foot. The canvas of my shoe was stuck a little in the puncture wound on my toe. Pain raged up my leg as I took off the shoe. It didn't look bad at all. There was some blood, but hardly what I had expected. Feeling better I replaced the shoe and realized how hungry I was. I had two bucks left from last night but that wouldn't get me much. Once I started walking I made my way to River Street, I was in time for food at the shelter.

Now I had nothing to do. Hunger was gone but there was nothing to fill the time with. Plus I was not certain how many days had passed since I last saw Sean and Sam. What did it matter though, I doubted I would ever find my son now. That made me feel so bad inside, like my intestines had rotted out deep inside me, still full of waste and bacteria, and the foul mess was trying to come up through my mouth. The thought of my son dead left me feeling actual pain. It was unbelievable and not like anything I had ever felt before.

Wandering around I spotted a couple of women talking and laughing. They reminded me of Candice and Rochelle, and I wondered if they were lesbians too. The bad feeling in my gut got worse as I started to miss my two lady friends. The lonely feeling just added more churning to my insides. Part of me wanted to call them, and another part thought finding some booze would be easier. Easier won.

I'm not sure how long I was drunk for. When I sobered up I found that my toe was throbbing. It hurt to walk but by the time I made it to the clock tower I could stand it. Everyone looked at me when I sat down. This was the opposite of what usually happens. "What?" I said.

"Nothing, you just look kinda bad," said a guy to me left.

"You don't look so good either," I answered.

"Hey, you find that kid you're looking for? Cuz I think we heard something. Something about a kid."

It was Black Tony who had spoken. This could be a lot of nonsense, or it could be what I was looking for. Black Tony thought that the spirit of St. Augustine lived inside his body. Sometimes he was what the headshrinkers called lucid. Even though he often was delusional, hope let go of my twisted stomach for a moment.

"What about the kid, try hard to let Tony talk Augustine," I said.

"We heard about this kid, a baby. A whore had the baby, trying to keep it from the worst kind of evil. She gave it to the Smiths for safe keeping. To be raised like them."

"Who are the Smiths?" I asked.

A mix of reaction came from the crowd. It was obvious that some knew who the Smiths were while most didn't.

"The Smiths are on their own. Leave the child to them, for it is lost to the world now. May God save its tiny little soul. God loves children," finished Black Tony.

A woman with a nervous look motioned for me. Getting up I followed her. When we were close to the bookstore she sat down on a bench and I sat next to her hoping she was not just acting crazy. Then she spoke to me.

"The Smiths are a strange group. They camp in Felton, behind the quarry, way behind the quarry. There are a few paths that lead to them. One is right off of Mt. Hermon before the stop light. It has a little sign in Redwood marked CS. That means Camp Smith. But they don't like visitors."

"Why would they take my son?"

I was worried because most people wouldn't want a baby around. Children were a lot of work and got in the way.

"There are rumors that the Smiths are cannibals and that they raise children to eat them. Some say that they kidnap people to eat. I don't know, I have heard they only eat their own and that they never eat their own. I would stay away if I was you."

"Thanks," I said leaving her.

The conversation left me alone with a strange bunch of thoughts. There were many camps in the redwoods where people who wanted to stay away from the government lived. There were always rumors about these groups that were fantastic and often not true. Most of the time they were full of addicts and women who couldn't get by. Rumors, especially from Black Tony, were not reliable, but I needed to check this story out.

After a morning of panhandling I took the bus to try and find the CS sign. It might be all bullshit, but I needed to see if I could find my son.

I knew where the quarry was, but I wasn't sure what stop light the creepy lady was talking about. I had a couple of hours of daylight left at least, but I felt rushed. I'd never heard of the Smiths before, and it could be some nutty story of Black Tony's. Once he had decided that a bee hive held the lost souls of the Spanish explorers and knocked it down to save them. That ended with Black Tony spending a few days in the hospital recovering from all the stings.

As I reached an area near the stop light for Zayante Road I saw a little trail that looked well used. It had a little redwood round and it read "CS." Wiping my face I decided to go down the trail.

This trail was very beautiful at first. It was light and airy, full of forest smells that delighted my nose. Pollen drifted from the trees and was lit up by the sun filtering down through the top of the dense forest canopy. It looked like tiny faeries dancing in the pine needles and oak leaves. Flowers had started to bloom along the trail and clover grew everywhere. My foot started to ache but I pressed on.

After an hour or so the forest grew thicker. The side of the mountain I was on didn't get as much sun and the underbrush was thick. Muddy puddles lined the trail and the air smelled damp. A chill came up my back and I could really feel my toe beat with pain. Switchbacks in the trail kept me in this darkness for a long, long time.

Finally I got to sand. The tops of the mountains here were full of sand and as a child I had looked for shark's teeth in the beach like trails that lined the mountain tops. The smell of death hit my nose, it reminded me of the pit. Human death was an unforgettable smell. What went on up in these parts of the county was a mystery to most, and I was no exception. After another hour I could hear and smell what I thought must be the camp of the Smiths. Clanking and body odor mixed with the rustling of my footsteps as I got closer to the camp.

I got off of the path and headed toward the noise from a more private vantage. Carefully I approached their little home. Peeking through the forest cover I could make out the bright blue of tarps strung from tree to tree. Old tents sat in a line far from where I was, and what looked like a pot farm was on the side directly opposite me. The smell of death was very faint now but still present. The people were thin and looked tired. The few children I saw looked sick and just sat around. It reminded me of a commercial to adopt a kid from another country. The liveliest thing about the place was the few chickens I saw walking around. This was not a nice place, and they were most likely dangerous people. There was no way I was going to go in there, even if I saw my son. As I turned around I saw that while I was watching the camp, three men were watching me.

"What are you doing here?" One asked.

"Someone told me my baby boy was taken here. I just want to find him," I said.

The three looked puzzled and looked back and forth at each other.

"Come on," another one said, "just do what we tell you to."

I did. They lead me into the camp. Not only did they grow lots of pot, they had a still set up for making meth. It always amazed me how people who couldn't get through high school could figure out how to do something as complicated as brewing up meth. The glassy-eyed children didn't even look my way as we passed them by. Unusual for kids not to be curious about something new. Most of the people were lying about the tent areas or huddled under the tarps. I counted around twenty. There were probably at least ten more. Sounds of sickness came from the tent area, and I didn't here baby sounds.

"We had a chick give a baby to Marla a little while ago. Hispanic chick, pretty, but kind of scared. Marla thought it might be a runaway, someone from the past," One of the men said as he motioned for me to sit down.

"It is not often that anyone comes here. Or knows who we are. It was odd, but we will accept any child into our circle. That is our way."

"Can I see the baby?" My heart raced. I just wanted to get me son and go.

"Sure, but you said a baby boy, this one was a girl. We were going to try and make her one of our own, but she didn't eat. All she did was cry. Died yesterday. Tonight we are going to have the funeral."

"A girl?" It didn't really register.

One of the men went and brought over a little bundle of cloth rags. They unrolled it carefully and out came a small flat faced child. I knew that child. That was the baby that Candi had said was my baby. It was a while ago but I will never forget that alien face.

"That's not mine. Mine was a black boy," I started to cry.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," I heard one say, "Stay here tonight it is getting late. The funeral is going to be at midnight, you might not understand it. Don't worry about offending us, but please respect our service. It isn't like Western ones. You might feel uncomfortable."

That sounded creepy and I wanted to leave. Still, the sun was going down and traveling in the woods at night wasn't the best choice. I decided to stay.

Later in the day the people started to get more awake. They started heating up a big old bathtub that was full of water. They were cooking something that smelled like pork. One of the men told me that I could sleep under one of the tarps and that I should be quiet and again I was told to respect their ceremony. I hoped they weren't vampires or something.

What happened next was too much for me. A woman fished the steaming bloated body of the child out of the bathtub. It turned out that they were cooking the dead baby. I saw a few women trying to not get burned by the hot flesh and for a moment I thought it was a doll. They took it to a table and removed what looked like the brain and all the bones. The bones were put back in the tub. Then they cut up what was left up and passed it out to all the people who were sitting in a circle. What they were saying wasn't clear, but they ate the flesh of the baby. Even though I had not eaten in a while I was no longer hungry.

There was weird singing and it looked like they buried the brain by the pot plants. I thought about quitting pot at that moment. The last thing they did was take the bones out of the tub and give them to some people. The bath tub water was left in it. More of this I couldn't watch. I didn't sleep well that night.

In the morning I went to go back the way I came. Most of the Smiths were still sleeping, only a few kids were up and playing. As I left I passed a little girl holding one of the bones. It looked like it had been decorated. With wide eyes she looked at me and said, "She was going to be my little sister. Now I just have this."

My pace quickened and I almost ran all the way back to the pavement. There was no way I would ever go back there again. In fact I was thinking it might be a long time before I went into the woods again.

I didn't know how much time had passed but I really wanted to see Sean and Sam. The walk from Felton to the surfer statue took most of the day. The big toe on my left foot was hard to deal with. Finally I reached the statue and to my relief, there was Sean's truck.

Sean was sleeping in the front seat. Gently I tapped on the window waking him. Blinking he finally realized it was me and he rolled down his window.

"DJ, how are you?"

Then he made a face, "What is that smell?"

Other than the surf I couldn't smell anything.

"I don't know what does it smell like?"

"Like a turd and government cheese had a baby, and that baby pooped in its diaper and was lying dead in the sun for a few days," Sean answered.

"Really? I just don't smell it," I thought he was going nuts.

Opening the door, Sean got out of his truck and looked around. A look of realization came over his face.

"DJ, it's you. That smell is coming from you," he smelled me up and down, "it's your shoe."

"What?" I asked.

"Take off your shoes, you must have stepped in something, let's clean them up," Sean said.

As I took off my left shoe it was obvious that I hadn't stepped in anything. My toe was way too big and green puss oozed from it. Even I could smell it once I took out my foot from its covering.

"You have to go to the doctor," Sean ordered and he drove me to Watsonville Community.

In the waiting room they took as quickly as others were complaining about the smell. The nurse frowned as she cleaned it up. When I caught her glance she would try and smile. My foot was not skin colored any longer. It was a black and red swollen mess that engulfed most of my toenail. The little puncture wound had split open and gushed green stuff. I hate rats.

The doctor came in and said some shit I didn't hear and started to clean the toe. I couldn't really feel it any more. The nurse wheeled in an I.V. and hooked it into my arm. They looked serious. The doctor said something and the repeated himself louder, "What happened?"

"A rat bit me a few days ago."

The next thing I knew I was getting rabies shots. Then they took some blood. Kept examining my toe, talking and talking. Not much of what they said made it to my head. They did feed me and Sean. That was nice.

It is hard to sleep in a hospital. But it was the first time in a while that I had a bed and it felt great. In the morning I awoke to hear two familiar voices blending into Sean's. It was Candice and Rochelle.

"I called them," Sean said.

"DJ," Candice said, "it's time for you to come home. You can't do nothing for Zu-Zu. He be in God's hands. You need to get off the streets. You can't be happy there."

Rochelle took a turn, "Look, we filed a temporary leave for you. Sudeep is working on getting you a sabbatical. We did a little work and now we have you in the records as working for the phone company for the last ten years. You have medical and dental," Rochelle said with a wink.

"I don't deserve this."

"Pull you together," Rochelle said, "Right now Candice and I are both pregnant. You are going to be a daddy again. Just get better and come home. It will all be good. There is no looking back; it's time to go on. We need to get that foot taken care of."

Sean and Candice were nodding along. The only one who didn't think that was a great idea was me. There were things that I had, my clock tower, my storage locker, and freedom that I would lose if I went back with them. Santa Cruz was where I belonged, not San Francisco.

"Herve called," Candice said, "he asked if you could help him on the weekends with some art exhibit. You like that, and it would be a way, to get healed from losing Zu-Zu."

"What if the baby is alive?" I asked.

"What if my son is out there, I need to find him."

"If that boy is out there, then God will bring him back to us," said Rochelle, "Right now you need to think about having two more children. We want a lot of children, Candice and I. You don't need to be a father, but we want you to be part of our family."

This was so fucked up. Two brilliant lesbians and me make a strange family. Even if there were more children I needed to do right by the first. After all, I was the reason that he was gone. If I had been less of a scumbag the baby would be fine.

"I just need a couple of days."

Sean looked around and finally let his gaze rest on the wall, "You might lose your foot."

"What," I screamed.

It made sense, but it hadn't occurred to me. I thought once the wound was cleaned out and a few days had passed my foot would be no worse than it usually was. The room started getting black. I was losing consciousness.

The ladies were rushing to my side. Where I fit into their world was still sort of a mystery to me. I was to be around, but they were to be the parents of the children. The role I played was a bad male role model that they pushed around and took care of. This was getting to be too much for me. It was really upsetting me that I might lose my foot. This loss seemed so much more important at the moment than even that of my son. Was my foot more important than my son? I doubted I would give it up for him.

Rochelle was arguing with the doctor outside. It seemed they were just going to cut off my foot until they found out I had insurance. That pissed her off. Now that a more lengthy stay could be covered, they were only going to remove part of my toe.

My visit to the hospital lasted a few weeks. After rabies shots, antibacterial I.V.s, and endless cleanings I was given the ok to leave. My wound would still need special attention for a while. Too bad for me, I was going to find Candi and see where my baby was. The wound would need to care for itself

Candice and Rochelle wanted me to go home with them, but I talked them into going with me to Candi's aunt's house. I thought Candi would have a hard time lying to the baby's mother. Candi wasn't there though. The aunt was not about to let me in, and through the front door I told her about Candi's kid. No story was going to open the door that day. The three of us left without seeing Candi's aunt. Then against my wishes, the ladies drove me back to SF.

It had been a while since I had a bath. Time just sank into the hot water that was murky with my filth and dead skin. Then I showered off. It felt good. In the living room the ladies were busy looking at baby clothes and talking about having "twins" as they put it. When I entered the room they were kissing each other. Before they noticed me I went back to my room.

The window in my room faced the other side of 19th street. Multi-colored buildings so close that nothing could fit between them lined both sides of the street. This city was cramped with humans, buildings, and shit going up and down steep inclines. From the house it wasn't too far a walk to the university. Which was the one area around that didn't make me feel revoltingly sick.

My SF routine started up again. Sudeep and I had lunch. Work seemed like a dream because I spent most of my time sleeping in the bathroom. Because of this I received an award for going the extra mile. Along with the plaque I received a bonus. The others were happy I was back because Sudeep could focus on me instead of them. In an odd way all the little phone company rituals reminded me of the Smiths. Strange customs that made no sense to outsiders. I suppose my plaque was in a way like getting a bone from a loved one.

The modern art museum had a Paul Klee exhibition. This really wasn't the kick I expected. I spent less than half an hour looking at all the weird little things he created. It reminded me of an episode of Star Trek when this black cat's castle was destroyed and all that was left were these sad looking puppets. It bored me and I couldn't find anything to do other than go to work and help buy baby shit.

As the days went on the ladies tummies grew. Books on childcare filled table spaces and both women looked magical in a way. I was dying inside. What if Hank wanted these children too? Really though, I just wanted my freedom. I hated living in a big box and being told where to poop.

The days started getting longer. Each day blurred into the next. Wine was available, but it was rationed out to me in small glasses. There was no way to get really drunk. My body was clean, and I slept well in my bed at first. As the days wore on I found it more and more difficult to sleep. Some of the things I really needed to do where not possible here. The ladies were like wardens.

One day I found a bill for my storage locker. This overwhelming feeling came over me. The thought that I may never see it again gripped me. At work I thought about this a lot. Sudeep could tell I was worried and gave me the day off. Instead of going home I left a message on Candice's voice mail. In a short time I was taking a bus back to Santa Cruz.

The air in Santa Cruz was different than SF. After I got off the bus I walked around to let it fill my body with the new smell. Walking felt different without part of my big toe. This street seemed different because of the new sensations in my feet.

Once I spotted a liquor store I bought a big bottle of vodka. Drinking it I felt instantly better and much more comfortable in my own skin. I wasn't happy, but I was free. The feeling of freedom was what I craved the most.

The day was foggy as it usually is in the morning. Disappointed beach goers shivered in bathing suits and shorts on the Pacific Garden Mall. Instead of going to the clock tower I went in the shops. Today I didn't look like a troll, in a few days I would go back to being kicked out of places because of my look and smell. The last thing I remember about that day was drinking the final drop from the bottle. I was home.

Walking up to the surfer statue I was disappointed not to see Sean. One of the hardest things about my life was the lack of human contact. Most of my time was spent with a bottle under a bridge. This weather wasn't unpleasant. The sun made its way through the thick marine layer and I decided to go down to the beach. When I reached the edge of the sand I pulled off my shoes and there it was my half toe.

While I had been living with it for a while I had never really had the courage to look at it for long. I gave it a hard stare. No nail left, the tip was severed in a diagonal. The top of my toe came to a point as it was almost Christmas tree shaped. The horror of it had passed, and it really didn't look quite so bad. It would never get better than this. The step it made seemed a little off, but nothing too bad. Rolling up my pants I got my feet wet. Then I realized that I really wanted some beer.

While I had brought some money with me I was burning through it really fast. The weather was nice and I found myself very generous when I was drunk. It seemed like I had a lot of friends I didn't know about when I was buying the beer and the pot. Once I passed out they all vanished. Still no Sam or Sean. A familiar face did find me though. As I was strolling by the wharf as I went to see if Sean was by the surfer I saw Hank.

The feeling to flee came over me. I had only been living outside a few days so I looked ok. The skin on my face had not turned to leather like it did when I spent months at a time outside. Plus, my clothes were holding up. Hank looked scared. Still, he walked towards me. Instead of running I just held my ground and lit up a cigarette.

Hank stopped short of where he usually did. Instead of getting up in my face he stayed back and gave me distance. It seemed like he wanted room. The sky was that early summer gray and the wind was blowing small holes in it. "You are going to die," he gurgled.

That gurgle in his voice told me he was not well, "We all die," I said.

"Some die sooner than later."

"Way I see it; no one knows when they are going to go. But we all do. Even you. Hope you like it hot."

The gurgle sound got louder and his face turned red. The mighty Hank Hernandez had fallen. There wasn't much he could do except bluster about like a fool. So he left and I went on to my destination.

It felt odd to walk away with my back turned to him. Even though he was hard to kill, he didn't look like it would take much to end him now. As I walked up the hill toward West Cliff I turned to see him watching me go. Maybe he was looking for Sam I thought to myself. Walking fast I turned and he was not behind me. I didn't think he could keep up. Sean was parked by the surfer so I knocked on the window and told him we needed to get away fast. The backseat held Sam. After I sat down and shut the door he drove off. We passed Hank, and he threw something at the truck. "Stop the truck," Sam said.

"Are you nuts?" I screamed, "That freak wants to kill us."

"Sure he does. But we need to let him know not to mess with us."

The constantly obedient brother, Sean stopped the truck and Sam got out. I was stunned and just sat. In a second Sam was in Hank's face. Instead of being afraid Hank hit Sam hard and Sam went down. Grabbing what I could I got out of the truck and I jumped out and started hitting Hank with an umbrella. It wasn't very effective but it gave Sam a chance to get away. Then Sam pulled a can out of his back pocket and sprayed Hank in the face. We both got back in the truck as Hank was rolling on the ground screaming. The truck didn't stop until we ended up at the flea market.

The flea market had once been a two- screen drive-in theater. Long ago the watch a movie from your car business started to wane and on the weekends during the day the drive-in turned into a flea market. Now the screens were gone and the asphalt hills had been changed into a permanent place to try and raise a few bucks. We entered and Sean paid to park.

"Why are we here?" I asked.

"This guy Hank has that cheap girlfriend right? She sells here sometimes I heard. She steals things from guys and then brings it here on Thursdays to sell. Maybe we can find her, shake her up a little. Freak out that Hank guy a little," as Sam spoke Sean nodded along to the words.

Seagulls flew overhead. There seemed to be more of the birds here than there are at the beach. Trash filled the walkways and dirty children begged for "dinero."

Food vendors looked upset at the seagulls while a bunch of wealthy looking people discussed how unsanitary all the birds were. Most of the stands were just folding tables with a sheet for a tablecloth, but there were more covered areas than the last time I had been here. Not that I go a lot, usually I stay away from places that sell other people's crap. Dumpsters often hold better treasure and they are free.

A man from Camp Smith spotted me. With a nod he passed me by. A chill went down my back and I heard blood pumping in my left ear. They didn't act like they wanted to bother me but they creep me out. The one good thing about the flea market is that they sell beer. Sam and I had a few. Sean never drank just in case he needed to work or drive.

It took us over an hour but we did see Candi. She had a little folding table full of small items. The three of us walked over to her and looked around. She didn't even flinch. A ring I gave her was on the table,

"How much?" I asked.

"100 bucks," she replied.

"What! That is crazy," I said.

"The gold is worth more than that in scrap."

"It's fake you dumb bitch," I told her.

The lips on her mouth formed a perfect little "o" and she looked really mad.

"Is that what I mean to you?"

"No, you mean much less," I lied.

While I did hate her, there was a part of me that really adored her. Sometimes I just wanted to possess her. Now that her face had been beaten in she did lack some of her appeal, but her body was still nice. The conversation was cut by Sam.

"You gave a baby to the Smiths, it's dead."

The look on her face was hard to describe. Her eyes just opened so wide and looked so hard at Sam I thought she was trying to read all of his thoughts with her gaze. It seemed like she could. All she wanted to do was get information before she could decide how to feel.

"Yah," I said, "The Smiths tried to raise her, I think they loved her, but she needed more than a bunch of pot smokers and meth-heads to care for her. She died and they buried her."

"I know how they bury people," her voice crackled with emotions not yet fully formed, "did they do that to her? Did they eat her?" Her voice sounded like a whisper.

"Yes. And they gave the bones to people who loved her," I didn't think there was much I could say to make this better.

Tears rolled down her face, "My mother is one of them, and she lives there. I was hoping my daughter would be ok, at least she was away from Hank."

"Why would you leave her with those people?" Sam asked.

"They are...ok. They eat their dead because of their leader, Apauli. He is from the islands, I don't know which one. They do that there, and he brought the custom with him. Only instead of eating everything they bury the brain. It's safer."

"Safer?" I was surprised she knew so much about these people.

"Back on the island people got something like mad cow from eating the dead. Apauli decided it would be safer not to eat the brain. I guess the mad cow and the island disease were both linked to eating that."

"I get it," Sam said, "You're giving away your kid, hiding DJ's baby, you were just protecting them from Hank. We know you want to do the right thing. Your aunt thought you were a nice girl. Help us get rid of Hank, and help DJ get his son back."

"I can't," she choked out.

"Sure you can," said Sam, "we won't let anyone know you were involved. It will be clean and safe."

"Hank is my brother," her face was as close to the ground as it could get from where she sat.

"You and your brother had kids?" Yelled out Sean.

People stared our way and the noises of the day vanished. All eyes and ears were focused on us. Candi started to cry and covered her face.

"Sean, don't give away the ending, DJ hasn't seen the movie yet," while what Sam said seemed stupid to me, it seemed to satisfy the throng.

Noises returned and Candi nodded her head in pure shame. "We have different fathers, me and Hank. He wanted to have children with our daughters as well. Thought he could make a super race. Better than Nazis. That's what he said."

"The child, where is she?" I wanted to know what happened to the other kid of Candi's.

"His family has her," Candi started to cry, "The last time I tried to see her they wouldn't let me. Hank told me he was going to marry her and move to Mexico. She always suffers."

The thoughts that went through my mind were so unpleasant I didn't allow them time to bloom into full blown visions. Sam looked sick, and Sean had a weird look on his face.

"Why is that guy staring at you? That blond guy over there?" Sam asked her.

"He's one of the Smiths. They are always around. I think they remember me. Once I left my daughter with them...I have been followed ever since," Candi said in a low voice.

"You were one of them? You said your mother was, how about that Hank? Was he one?"

"My mother was born in the family, so was I, and so was Hank. They don't care about Hank, they asked him to leave."

"Why?" I asked.

"He killed chickens, lots of chickens. The Smiths use chickens mostly for eggs. They are hard to replace for them and he wouldn't stop. And the way he killed them the chickens couldn't be eaten."

"Did you leave with him?" I knew I shouldn't ask. I was jealous and the answer was destined to bother me.

"Yes, we already planned to have a baby. I was 12 and Hank was 30 at the time. He had left when he was 12, but came back. I wanted to be with him forever. I had my first baby when I was 13."

I almost said something. This was a time not to comment though. That would put Candi at 21 tops. When I first met her I thought she was in her late 20's. Right now she looked at least the same age as Hank, maybe older. It was amazing how fast her looks were fading.

"Do you think the Smiths would help Hank?" Sam asked.

"No, but they wouldn't hurt him either. They believed that he would have special children. They think that someday he will father a pure Smith, whatever that means."

"Why?" Again I opened my mouth.

"My mother said so. She is the spiritual guide of the group. What she says goes. My mother had a dream that Hank and I would have a daughter and that Hank would have children with our daughter. Those children would be perfect and pure. A DNA that was free from failure. All the Smiths accept that, even if they don't believe it."

Sam gave her 10 bucks and motioned for us to go. As messed up as I was Candi was worse. It was better to be missing part of my toe than to live like her. She might have a roof over her head every night, but the price she paid for that was too much.

"Where now?" Asked Sean.

"Let's try and find the little girl. If she is with Hank's family that won't be hard to find. They all live in a tiny house on Littleway Lane, out on the edge of Watsonville. It's old and has two doors. Easy to get into and out of fast. If we take the kid, he'll show up," Sam said.

Sean had to work so we dropped him off at Seagate and went to the place where Hank lived. Damn, the child was just out in the front lawn playing with some other kids. After I pointed her out, Sam went and took her. Calmly we drove off, and the family didn't even realize she was gone. The child recognized me right away and hugged me. I felt bad, I didn't come to save her, and I came to kill her daddy.

Instead of using the child as bait Sam dropped her off at Candi's aunt's. We explained what Candi had said and the child cried and clung to the aunt. The two spoke in Spanish for a while.

The aunt put the girl on the couch and wrapped her in a blanket. Then she pulled us outside and whispered, "You know? You know what he do? To a baby like her? God bless you saved her. God will bless you."

A creepy feeling came over me and the child's sobs cut through my skin. I felt really bad and sick. Sam looked at her, "We don't know. Hide her."

"Si, oh si. I will never say one word from my mouth. No. That devil no touch her again," the aunt was in tears.

The child made strange noises, she was crying hard. As I turned to go with Sam I felt a tight hold on me. It was the child. Instead of pulling her off I let her hang on for a while. Then she spoke.

"He hurt me. He hurt my bottom," her eyes were big when she spoke.

"He hurt my bottom too," I said.

Tighter she held on and cried. Then again she said as she finally let go, "I hope you feel better."

Down I went on my knees and looked in her eyes, "I'm fine. You will get better too."

A small smile crossed her face and her aunt took her inside. I lied, that child would never be ok, Hank broke people. Hank knew just what to do to crush your spirit. That child's spirit was close to breaking before she went to live with Hank. I hate rats.

"Let's burn down his house," I said.

"Might not be the smartest thing, but it would send a message," Sam nodded his head.

At first I wasn't sure if Sam had agreed to do this or not. But we stopped by a closed nursery and stole some bags of stuff. Then we headed to the house. Now it was late, but still the house was alive. Following Sam's instructions I spread out some of this, and soaked it with some of that. He filled four bottles with gas and plugged them with a strip of cloth. Next thing I knew he was lighting the cloth and chucking the bottles.

Once the bottles hit the sides of the house they splashed fire everywhere. Then the stuff around the house caught fire with a boom. The flames spread and licked high up the walls. It happened so fast. People were screaming and running everywhere. The whole structure was in flames in minutes. Sam lit up a cigarette and watched. Slowly we got in the truck. As we pulled out he asked if they needed any help. The blood pumping in my body told me to flee fast, but Sam was calm. It seemed like he enjoyed watching the fire grow and the black smoke billow off into the night sky.

The Hernandez house fire did not smoke out Hank. Days past without a sign of him. I wondered if he was worried. Not only did we have his kid, we ruined his home. Before he was looking for me but now the hunter was the game. At least I thought it was that way. Sam was not convinced. The way Sam saw it Hank was waiting to catch us off guard.

The way to the sugar factory was a nice ride by the coast. Once again Sean was being sent there because no one else would go. It was strange such a lovely road could lead to such a crappy place. There was no relief for Sean again, so we would spend another weekend here. This was fine with Sam and myself. Hank didn't know about this place. The dunes by the sugar factory led to the beach and that is where Sam and I spent the day. Sean felt like he should stay at his post. He was a model employee.

The water was icy and we only had seabirds for company. The wild dogs were respectful of us and kept a safe distance. My clothes were getting really bad. The surf sort of cleaned me up, but I couldn't stand to get my whole body wet. I wished for some beer.

On this trip to the sugar factory we didn't come prepared. On the beach we found some rocks and killed a few birds. Plucking feathers off of dead birds really sucks. The big feathers are easy, but the soft down is terrible to get off. After we plucked them we rinsed them in the sea. Finding some drift wood we made a fire and a spit to roast them on. It was a nice way to spend the afternoon. As the sun started to get low in the sky the bird's skin began to get golden brown. The smell was delicious. After they were done we pulled them off the fire and walked back to share them with Sean.

Sean was really happy to see us. There was a vending machine, but we had no change. The birds tasted great and there was nothing much left when we were done eating, other than bones. Sam even ate the organs. I knew enough to pull out the guts, but I left the rest in the bird. It smelled good enough.

After we ate Sam and I went back to the beach to catch the sunset. Our fire was still burning a little. The flames didn't hold much life. Smoke started pouring out of the sticks. As the sun became orange it faded down into the water. Soon the thin line of red vanished. The air was full of dim light as we walked back. I could live like this forever if I had beer.

The Detex clock had been replaced. It was accidentally dropped again so Sean wouldn't have to climb up the ladder. There would be no one coming to relieve Sean this weekend, the whole place would be ours. No supervisor would come out here because if they found Sean asleep they would either have to ignore it or send him home. If Sean left then the supervisor would have to take over. None of them wanted to do that.

It was easy to turn the office into a bedroom. The guys had sleeping bags that smelled like they hadn't seen a washer since world war II. Still they were soft and bug free. Around 8pm Sam went out in the truck. When he came back he had candy and beer. "I'd forgotten about this. Found it looking for flashlights."

The beer made Sean nervous so we drank that on the dunes while he did another round of the place. Sean was a very dedicated person.

After we were finished drinking we met up with Sean at the office. It was really nice to be around people who were trying to help me instead of save me. I was drunk and feeling fine when a pair of headlights lit up the office through a side window.

Sean was scared; Sam and I just went into a closet. It would most likely be a quick visit from the field supervisor. Nothing big but Sean loved his job. The visit was important to him. As quick as I've ever seen him move Sean went out in the parking lot to meet him.

The light in the office came on and lit a line up under the closet door. Voices could be heard from the office. One was Sean's, and the other sounded like a prick. A very nasty stupid little prick. There was worry in Sean's voice. The two came closer and the conversation got clearer.

"You broke another Detex clock. That is probably going to cost you your job. And your hygiene is disgusting, You really are going to get in trouble for this," came the voice of the prick.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Sean was close to tears.

A sound came like a rolling of tiny metal balls and then we heard, "You can suck it. Suck it right now," came the nasty voice.

The prick was trying to make Sean into his bitch. Balled fists of Sam came out of the door. Once I could adjust my eyes I saw a tall thin loser with one of those douche bag mustaches. Sam punched him hard. Then he ran away.

A look of shock was on Sean's face, "Don't worry," said Sam, "he will be too afraid to talk. His kind always is."

I wasn't as sure about that as Sam was. It didn't really matter, guard companies don't fire people. They just give the guard a new post, usually a better post. The sugar factory was as low on the food chain as it got. No replacement came and the rest of the weekend passed without problems.

On Monday Sean picked up his check and gave it to Sam. It was decided by Sam that we needed to clean up. After that we got a cheap beach flats hotel and went to the Goodwill to get some new to us clothes. One thing that was nice about Sam was that he was frugal with Sean's money.

Each of us took a turn in the bathroom. It felt good. There was still a lot of light left and I didn't want to watch TV. Sean was asleep and Sam was flipping channels. Once I drank a few beers I decided to go to white lady's. The voice in the trees was calling for me.

The walk was very pleasant. Spring was starting to take over and little leaf buds were everywhere. The air was cool and clean like laundry hung out to dry on a line. Birds were everywhere and there were countless varieties. They flew in pleasant formations and made beautiful sounds. I don't ever remember the walk to the overpass being such a nice calming experience. Especially not on just two beers.

I saw old Al picking up some cans along the side of the road. Usually we are in competition for the recycle money, but today I was not in the mood to bother with bottles and aluminum.

"Hey, I know where you can find a whole bunch of cans," I was hoping I could get some company.

"Where?" He asked.

"Over at the white lady's house. Tons of crap is just sitting there. Mostly cans."

"I don't go there," said Al.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It's not worth it. Place is bad news, real bad news. I've got better things to do than go there. Harvey West is bad enough. No sir, no white lady for me," and Al turned around before the graveyard. In a few more steps I was at the entrance.

As I walked the overgrown path that lead to the ruins of white lady's house I heard the voice in the trees, "Why are you back?"

"You don't want me here?" I answered.

"Do you want to be here?" Came the voice in the trees.

"I don't know. I feel like I have to come back. Like you won't let me stay away for long."

"You sound like you are talking about booze. I am not booze. Why don't you go back to looking for your son? He's not here."

"I don't know how to find him. I got problems that don't have to do with him."

"You mean Hank? Hank has everything to do with him."

A chill ran down my spine and the sky started to get cloudy. Shadows were cast by the sun and the breeze blew down the collar of my shirt. How does everyone know Hank?

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Me," came my answer.

"I know you," I said.

"Yes, and I know you. You wanna cookie for being so smart?"

"Come on, who are you?"

"Someone who likes to be in trees and talk to idiots," was all that echoed at me.

"Maybe I should leave."

"Maybe. So go," it said, "or you could stay with me. Stay here. Stop worrying and just stay forever."

There was something soothing and hypnotic about the way he was talking. Usually it sort of pissed me off, but today the voice made me want to be a part of it. The nagging suspicion that I knew this guy started to break the spell of the voice. It was bad, I knew that. How bad, I wouldn't know until I was sure of who it was. The wind picked up and it seemed like something in the trees was moving quickly around me.

The wind and the movement caused the branches to break and blocked my path out. I climbed over one, and was hit in the face with another. The shadows of a figure where getting closer. Faster I went and lower the quickened movements of the figure came. I felt a slight tug on my shirt as I broke through the mass of underbrush and was out in the streets.

As I caught my breath I looked back and it looked like shadows were still moving frantically in the trees. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I caught a reflection of something white and I started to walk very fast away from the path. The sky was getting dark from storm clouds and the wind was creating little dust devils alongside me. The whole way back to the hotel I looked straight ahead and didn't stop. Once I got in the room I took another hot shower to take away the chills that were making my skin crawl with goose-bumps.

Watching TV helped change my mood. It was too late for Oprah, but we found a video show to watch. It was stupid and funny. The perfect contrast to my day. Still, when we turned off the lights the way the shadows flickered in the night made me pull the blinds down and hide deep under the covers.

The next morning was full of fog and cold. It was nice to be in a bed with a layer of blanket and wall in between me and the weather. The smell of coffee and toast was in the room. The skin on my legs was smooth against the sheets and I thought I could stay in bed all day. The fear from yesterday was mostly gone, but I thought I would head to San Lorenzo Park to feel more alive after I bothered to get up.

When I was leaving Sam decided to go with me, and Sean went off to work. The walk to the park wasn't very far and the gray was starting to fall apart. Patches of blue sky came through. The dragon looked a little dark and ragged; chips of it had broken off. Soon it would be time for a fresh coat of paint. Some very small children were playing in the sand but mostly the park was empty. It was nice but not as jubilant as I had hoped for.

"We need to get rid of that guy," Sam said.

I knew who he meant. Still, I wasn't ready to think about him. Truthfully, I was glad he wasn't dead, not that I wanted him to be alive. It just made me feel more human and less animal that I didn't kill him. Trying to kill him was one thing, but I knew that my soul would get fucked up if I did it. Some of the guys at the clock tower are vets. They killed people and they were tortured by it. I drank to pass time, they drank to forget. It is painful to hear these guys sleep. When good people kill people it damages them. Not always forever, but some end up lost in my world. I wasn't good to begin with; it scared me to think about what I would become. Even the good men who recover are never the same. Wounds leave scars behind, sometimes nasty ones.

It's like we all have this beast in us. Our job is to starve it, to keep it small. There are times when we need it to survive. If you let it out too much you feed it. It grows and can take over until you are an animal. When you become this it feels right because you lose your sense of justice. The ones who get really messed up are like this. They can't really talk or think right any more. I hope I don't end up like this. It has been many years and I really haven't deteriorated much or died yet.

The wind was cold and it brought the smell of damp grass. After a short while we decided to go. As we walked along Soquel the cops that I had met before spotted me. They recognized me even though I was not as messed up as before. They looked at me and Sam and we stared back hard. Then they just nodded and passed us by. It felt really weird.

"We need a plan," Sam said.

"For what?" I asked.

"Smoking out Hank. He might be looking for us, and I want to meet him on my terms. I think he is waiting, picking a good time for him. Let's force him out."

"Out of where?" I asked.

"There are places we know that he has gone to. The shack in Harken's Slough, the cabin in Eureka Canyon, and his family place. We got rid of one, let's get rid of the other two and see if he has any place else to run to."

Again we looked for a car to buy. Sam had money from Sean's last pay check. It felt wrong taking all of Sean's money. Still I went along with it. By noon we had an old Nissan for $400. It seemed like it was in much better condition than the Volvo. We decided to go to the slough and try to find the shack.

The car ran surprisingly well. We drove it fast down highway one. Not fast enough to get noticed though. Turning off on Airport, we got lost and turned around several times before we made it to the backside of Ramsey park. The hills rolled on the way toward the ocean and water was still filling up the little valleys from the winter rains. Places in the roads would be closed until summer came around. At a flooded dip we could spot a shack that I thought was right. Pulling off into the grass we walked over to the shack.

Once we opened the door I knew it was the right one. This is the last place he raped me. There was even a little bag full of crushed glass by the tiny refrigerator. There was only one room and a bathroom in the place. It didn't have electricity at this time, but it did still have running water. This place was too far away to have city water, so it must have had a well of some kind. That would require electricity so we decided that must be shared. This meant that other people lived nearby. After we torched the place we would not want to hang around.

The place was filthy and didn't look like it had been used in a long time. "Maybe he doesn't come here unless the road is open," Sam said.

The place didn't have much other than some pornos and rotting food. The bathroom was dusty yet clean, like it hadn't been used in months. As Sam took out each little item from here or there he regarded them well. It took a long time to sort through everything. Outside was a nasty smell of decay. Sam got a stick and started poking the soft ground. When he hit a rock he dug it up. Then a can, and finally a skull. "This guy Hank has got to be stopped," I think Sam was talking to himself.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"Burn this place down. If we keep closing up the holes eventually the rat will come out or suffocate."

There was a small stove in the kitchen that was hooked up to a propane tank. After Sam unhooked the tank from the stove he let the gas pour into the house through the hose for about 15 minutes. Then he tossed in a match. As the fire burned I noticed it was not as spectacular as the house on Littleway. Then the propane tank exploded. Sam pulled me to the ground and the shockwave rocked the ground. It looked like a little mushroom cloud went up next to the shack. The place was burning nicely by the time we made it back to the car.

"Are we going to the cabin now?" I asked.

"No. Give him time to find out and think about what is going on. If he gets scared he will make mistakes. In a few days we should go, but in the meantime we should lay low. First payphone you spot let me know, I'm going to talk to Sean."

There was a payphone in a shopping center on the way out of the slough. The call was short. "What's up?" I asked.

"We need a place to hide out for a while, so I had Sean ask to go to the sugar factory. Not too many people request that place, so we just need to pick up a camera. If that asshole supervisor shows up again and drops his pants I wanna get something we can use."

"Ok."

"Hey, DJ, this thing with Hank could get real intense. You know anyone who we could count on? Someone who might have seen some action?"

The first thought that came to me was Sudeep. I am not sure why, but he seemed like he had the veil between the world as the white bread people believe it to be lifted a little. Maybe a lot, I couldn't tell with him. I decided to give him a call.

"Hello?" Came Sudeep's voice from the other side of the phone.

"Hey, buddy it's me, I need to ask you something. It's really weird, please don't take it the wrong way," I knew I sounded nervous.

"What is it my friend?"

"Have you ever killed anyone or something?" I felt so stupid after the question came out.

"Tell me where you are, I will be right there," he sounded serious.

After I gave Sudeep the directions to the sugar factory Sam and I purchased some supplies. At 4pm we all met in the parking lot. Sudeep came just a little bit after we had arrived. I introduced him to the guys and he said, "Give me the details."

Sam loved Sudeep. The evening was spent filling him in on the details of what was going on. Then Sudeep told us about his military background in India. When he was 14 he joined an elite group called the 9th para unit. It was a special battalion that carried out counter strikes on terrorists. "I had to face a guy like this Hink once," Sudeep said, "His name was Sher, king of the jungle. Hard guy to kill. Very hard."

"How did you take care of him?" Sam asked.

"Like you, we destroyed his bases. Scared his followers. But he just kept going deeper in the jungle. No matter what we did, we couldn't kill him. So we decided to not try and kill him, but to make him harmless. We blinded him. Nothing disables more. Took all the fight out of him. Lost his followers once they saw her for being a weakness."

"Blind him? That is a good plan. We could get him and put out his eyes. That way we wouldn't have to worry about disposal or anything. I think we should go for that," Sam said.

"How? We don't know where he is," I said.

"First, we burn out the cabin. Then we send a message to him through his union," Sam said.

"Are we sure he doesn't have any other places to hide?" Asked Sudeep.

"I'm not sure. His primary was the first house we burned. If we burn out three he should be mad enough to want to confront us."

"Maybe," said Sudeep, "worth a try."

The next few days Sam and Sudeep planned out the attack. Sean and I were not included. According to the other two the less we knew the better. It was decided for sure that Hank was to be made into a non-dangerous hostile. They had decided that we would go up to the cabin and check it out. For this mission Sean was to be at work. Sam was very concerned about protecting his brother from whatever it was we were doing. At least we were not planning to kill Hank. I could live with my soul intact.

We drove up to the cabin in a late spring rain. It was cold and the windows of the Nissan kept fogging up. Once we got to the old familiar cabin we parked out in front. They had a plan in case of this and that. I was to follow orders. The plan was to look around, see if there were indications of anything important, and then torch the place. It was muddy and the probe of the grounds around the place turned up two skulls this time. Sudeep and Sam looked for booby traps before going in the cabin.

The cabin smelled moldy and stale. The weird road-kill beast had been removed. The pornos were all gone. Still, they found many things that they piled into the front room to go over. We sat in the floor while they discussed the findings.

"The Smiths? This paper has some numbers for them. Do you think he still contacts them?" Sudeep asked.

"Could be. Let's keep that, it could be important," Sam answered.

"I wonder though, if you snatch him from here, why would he leave anything important? This cabin looks like it is deserted. Is there any other place, any at all, where you saw him sleep at?"

This jogged my memory, "He was with Candi at this place in Davenport," I said.

"But that was the bitch's place, and she moved out," said Sam.

"We should check that place out after we burn this one up. Maybe he moved out fast because you know this place. Maybe he helped that woman move into the Davenport place. You said they are related. What else do we have?"

There were some toys, a shirt for a young girl, a dildo, some travel magazines, and a notebook. They discussed each item but only kept the paper with the phone numbers and the notebook. We piled up a bunch of furniture and papers in the middle of the living room and covered the pile with gas. The blaze started and we left.

"Let's go drive by this other place. Maybe stop if it looks ok," Sudeep said.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam answered.

As we left flames started to come out of one of the windows. I wondered if the firefighters would say anything about the skulls. Three fires that all tied to Hank. Maybe the authorities might not investigate that well, but Hank would know that the three were linked.

The Nissan was still holding up well. The three of us went off in it and Sean was still at his job. Sam didn't want Sean to go back to the surfer statue and told him to park at blue ball park to wait for us. The name blue ball park made Sudeep laugh. Down highway one we drove and past all the familiar places. When we came to the little house I saw Candi outside smoking. Maybe she hadn't really moved out.

"That's her, the chick, his sister," I said to Sudeep.

Slowly we drove by. There was no sign of Hank's car. Still, we didn't stop.

"It would be foolish to go in now," said Sudeep, "we come back, at nightfall. That way we can move without being seen so well."

"Got it," said Sam who drove off back towards Santa Cruz.

That night we went back to the place Candi was staying at Davenport. The place looked deserted. There were no traps at this shack, it was just one of a pod of three on the ocean side of highway one. The smell of pot was very strong in the air. All of the shacks had faded peeling blue paint and patches of white on worn down planks of wood. One of the doors into the shack was open and Sam cracked it a little. They rushed in and I stayed behind as a look out.

I'm not sure what happened next, a gargle of a scream sounded from the place and it was muffled quickly. Even though they had a pillow or something over the victim's mouth, I could still hear it faintly from deep inside. After a few minutes they emerged, followed by a hollow faint noise that sounded like an animal in a trap.

"It's done," said Sudeep.

We got in the Nissan and drove back down to the sugar factory where Sudeep had left his car.

The ride was well over an hour. For at least 30 minutes we sat in silence, only road noises filled the air. Then I asked, "What happened?"

Sam sucked in a lot of air, "Hank was there. We drilled out his eyes with a screwdriver. We poured acetone on the sockets, just to make sure. He was gagged, and incapacitated. Then we set his oven on the highest setting and left some newspapers in side. Shouldn't burn down the place, but it should send the message that he isn't safe anywhere."

"Yes," said Sudeep, "He will understand. But I don't know how incapacitated he really is. That man was hard to blind. Now he will have a difficult time getting around. Still, you must be careful. Nothing can be so dangerous as a wounded tiger."

When Sudeep finished Sam sucked in a lot of air again, "That girl is a liar. She is totally on his side. If her aunt tells her where the child is she will take the kid to that guy."

"I agree," said Sudeep, "she will aid him. She should be dealt with."

"Candi? How do we deal with her?" I asked.

"The way you take care of any problem. It must be eliminated. Where do you think she would be?" Asked Sudeep.

"Probably down by the bars. She hangs out at the end of Pacific Avenue trying to get money from guys. That would be where she should be."

"Sam, take us to this Pacific Avenue," Sudeep ordered.

By the time the words had exited Sudeep's mouth Sam had already turned the Nissan around. Back we headed toward home.

It didn't take long to exit the freeway and make our way down town. We parked down by Louden Nelson, a big meeting hall. Hippies and the ultra-conservative alike held functions there. It looked like an old Carnegie building. There were a few of those buildings around when I was a kid. The old Watsonville library had been one. Walking by Louden Nelson reminded me of going to the library with my mother and picking out doctor Seuss books. That library was long gone and so were my reading days. Back then everyone thought I would be a writer, everyone except for me. I couldn't think of a more boring way to spend my life.

We crossed a few streets and ended up at the corner Candi liked. I spotted her right away. Few women had as asymmetrical of a shape as her. The right side of her body was far too developed for the left side which looked anorexic. This was from some strange nerve damage or something. The way she moved made me want to fuck her. I needed to clear my mind, so I asked the guys to wait while I spoke to her.

Candi liked having sex in weird places. It made her feel more invisible and secret. She didn't like guys she fucked to be able to find her home. She recognized me right away and I was shocked by how ugly she looked.

Her face now matched her body. It looked like her left eye socket had been shattered and her nose was bent horribly to the right. It was obviously broken recently and that nose had been large to begin with. Now it was swollen up two more sizes. Before it had a graceful beauty, but now it looked like a hag's. Her skin had deep lines near her eyes and the skin on her neck looked like leather. Tonight she wasn't getting much attention. I wondered if she knew why.

"Hey, Candi, I've got 50 bucks," I knew that would piss her off, but I thought she would go with me anyway.

"So?" She said.

"So go with me in the alley. I'll give it to you, and the 50 bucks," I thought I was funny but she just frowned.

Still, as I walked she followed. I must have been the best thing she was offered that night. It was horrible to look at her face, so I pushed her head down to my zipper. I thought about how she used to look as she sucked my cock. It wasn't as great as I thought it would be. No enthusiasm, no fun noises, and I didn't want to look down and she that hag on my schlong. There was little tongue action, just some gutless sucking and pulling. Her mouth was probably injured like her eye socket and nose. The image made me go soft and she was irritated that we had to start over. Eventually I came in her mouth, but she didn't swallow it.

The look of my cum on her troll face made me sorry I offered her any money.

"Well?" She asked.

"It's in the car, Come on, I'll get it for you," that was a lie.

Back we walked to the car and she was pulled in. Sam gagged her while Sudeep tied her. Then off we drove. Sam took us to the caves up past UCSC. There were few people here this time of night.

They gave her something, something nasty. After a few minutes she started having convulsions and I felt so horrible. Her head knocked around and her body flapped around like a rag doll in the wind. It was so hard to look at. I cried a little. Sudeep looked at me with pity, "It is for not only you, but the little child."

He was right. That child was going to suffer more than she already had if we didn't take out her two tormentors, her parents. After Candi settled down we got back in the car and took her back to Davenport. The fire department was at the shack so we took her a little further down the road and tossed her out of the Nissan by a big green dumpster. Left her like she was trash. This was a person I had once loved. There was a numb feeling coming over me. I felt worried I would get caught, but not worried for Candi at all.

"What did you guys do to her?" I asked.

"Nothing, just gave her something, won't really hurt her, not much. Now the cops will find her, think she is connected to the man. They won't care what the two will say, even if they can understand them. Both are scum, so the police, they won't dig so deep," Sudeep talked like he did this shit every day.

Now we actually did drive back to the sugar factory. It was odd; we played the radio loud and laughed like everything was great. A few of the songs we tried to sing to. The whole ride was just funny. At one point Sam rolled down a window and told some old lady he loved her. Then we stopped at the cement ship and played in the water. We were loud and getting really wet and cold. The black water shone with moon light. The rangers came and kicked us off the beach.

There was a little quick mart that I knew of where we stopped and grabbed some beer. A lot of beer. The odds were no one would be at the sugar factory and when we got there, the rent-a-cop just left without even asking us who we were. Over the dunes and down the beach we went. When we finished drinking it looked like a Samuel Adams truck had dumped its load all over the beach. We woke up the next day lying naked in the dunes among the tall grass. I didn't feel so good.

Our clothes were scattered on the beach. Once we found our stuff we dressed and headed out to Denny's. Sam drove the Nissan and Sudeep followed in his car. At the coffee shop we got breakfast and coffee. It took a while to eat. The cold had affected all of us and we got refills on the coffee until our stomachs hurt. Still we were acting strange. Happy enough to distract us from what we did but not full on crazy like last night.

Sudeep asked me if I wanted to go back to the city with him, but I just headed out with Sam. Boxed in life was just not for me. After hugging and our goodbyes the two cars headed out. A weak sigh came out of Sam and I yawned. It felt like we were on our way to a new life.

We ditched the Nissan at hidden beach and walked down the sand. It would take a while to get to New Brighton this way. The day was nice and not too foggy. This would be a good way to unwind, walking barefoot in the sand for a few miles.

Once we got to New Brighton we would take the railroad back into Santa Cruz. Sam would find Sean and I would visit the aunt. It was risky, but I needed to make sure the child was ok.

Sandpipers and sand dollars were everywhere. Fancy homes with glass encased patios lined the ocean front. Few people were out, mostly just joggers. Drinking all that coffee made me have to pee a lot. There were many pit stops into the waves on our way up the beach.

Once we got near the cement ship Sam decided he was in a more talkative mood, "Who would make a boat out of cement?"

"I don't know. It's been here a long time. My grandfather spotted a great white shark off the bow when he was going to dive off it once," I said.

"What happened?"

"Grandpa changed his mind about diving that day."

"Your family still around here?" Sam asked.

"Yah, they are. Not that it matters much. How about yours?"

"They are around. But only Sean will have anything to do with me," Sam looked sad, "They all think I'm a liar. It's not like a guy like me can make home movies of the shit I do."

Looking up at the seagulls I said, "I disappointed everyone. They love to remind me of this, how much of a disgrace I am. So I save them the embarrassment and stay away."

"Yeah," said Sam, "it's like a favor. We have a lot in common."

"I guess so," the more I knew Sam the more I realized our souls were cut from the same fabric. Probably a hefty bag that God used to throw out other lost souls.

"I always was a disappointment, the folks never really wanted me, thought I was too violent," Sam said watching the birds circle overhead and poop.

"Not me, I was their golden boy, for a while. Until my problems started. I remind them that they come from a tainted gene pool. We all carry the potential for becoming a hot mess."

This line of conversation was getting depressing. I wanted to change the topic, but I could tell Sam wanted to vent. So I let him and steered clear of talking more about myself. The key was to keep answers very short and ask the other person lots of questions.

"Santa Cruz used to be different, smaller, and nicer. Just sleepy and kind. Lost in time. San Jose and Watsonville were farming places. The only really fucked up place was San Francisco. It was easier to live here then," Sam said.

"That was long before our time. I know, everyone says the university ruined the Santa Cruz way of life, blah, blah, blah. I don't know, I love lesbians."

Sam thought about this for a while, "My parents thought that if Santa Cruz didn't change I would have had a better chance at being what they wanted."

"How did you end up getting into all this shit? You said you didn't go into the Marines with Sean."

"No. I met this guy that ran a Dojo in Seaside named Bo. The way he moved looked like he was flying through the air. I wanted to do that. Lessons cost big money, and I was young. Couldn't afford it, but Bo trained me as long as I worked some side jobs for him. It started off small stuff, taking envelopes here and there. Then it got bigger, and my training got more intense. The next thing you know I am in too deep, doing bad shit. It changed me and now I just can't function outside of that world. Not well anyway."

"Tae Kwon Bo? Is that the Bo you mean? That crazy guy on TV? I thought he was a joke."

"Everyone thinks he's a joke. That is how he gets away with what he does. If he looked like a bad-ass then people would figure it out. No one thinks a guy with goofy teeth training kindergartners is going to be the boogie man."

It sort of made sense. Still it was hard to picture Tae Kwon Bo as someone who could get anyone involved in a secret underworld life. Finally we made it to the Cement ship and past it to New Brighton. From there we climbed up to where the railroad track ran. Finally we were heading back home. It felt like I was different. A long time ago I felt like Hank took something from me. It didn't feel like I had it back, but now Hank didn't have it more. Plus I took things from him that meant more. His life was burning in ruins around him.

What had happened to Candi started to sink in my mind more. Not that I cared, because her selling me out to Hank had been running through my mind more as well.

The forest hid the railroad most of the way into Santa Cruz. The wood planks were rotting and the ties were worn or missing. The sun started to beam down through the evergreens and light our way. It was a beautiful day. It would suck to be blind.

When we got to the boardwalk I walked down toward the river and Sam headed over to the cliffs. A hand grabbed me from behind and spun me around. It was the cop that had talked to me before.

"Hey, there was this horrible home invasion in Davenport. Guy got his eyes torn up. One of the guys that were seen around the place sounded like you. Heard it was two homeless guys and a Mexican," he had a harsh sound in his voice.

Then he put his mouth almost on my ear and whispered, "Nice," as he slipped some money in my pocket.

As he freed me from his grasp he yelled out in a harsh tone, "Move along, we don't want your kind here."

Some watching tourists beamed with approval. A few more people looked up to give their happy looks to the cops.

After I walked down the levee I checked my pocket. Five hundred dollar bills were there. This was very weird.

The levee was almost deserted. It had been a long time since I was alone. The loneliness made me feel horrid, like I was going to end up spending all of eternity this way. So empty and worthless.

Not a soul to hear my pain. Maybe I could find Sam I thought. That might make me feel better, but I knew he wanted to rest. Being around me reminded him of what we had done and amped him up.

There was a bridge and I climbed to the bottom of it and found a place to sit. The idea of spending all this time doing nothing overwhelmed me. No one was around at all. Not even a rat. I really needed to get drunk and fuck someone.

As it got later I decided I could move. It would be hard to break a hundred just anywhere, but I knew a place that wouldn't care if I spent enough of it. So I went to my buddy who told me the money was fake. Damn cops, I could get in a lot of trouble if I dropped that at the wrong place.

I walked by a bar and caught sight of a TV with a Tae Kwon Bo ad playing. Hard to believe that old and goofy guy was anything other than a joke. The rest of the night I walked aimlessly until I ended up outside my storage locker.

The lock snapped off easy and the door rolled up with a whipping noise. Quickly I shut it. All these memories. So much that I should not have with me. Things that I would hold on to until my death. In one of the corners I left my mother. Carefully I touched the box. Nothing much was left of her, just some dust in this sad little box. Thinking about the Smiths I thought about eating some of the dust, but I couldn't. I did open the box and there was a little piece of charred bone on the top. This I removed and thought about that little girl with the bone of her would be sister. There was no one who would want this bone.

That night I couldn't sleep. Instead I stayed awake looking through my things and remembering. The few pictures that I had left were getting old. Everything fades away, but nothing is really ever gone. Even some image of the light is left forever spinning on the edge of a black hole. The event horizon captures the image before the real thing slips into the darkness. This always scarred me. I thought it was the eye of God. When I first learned about this in a physics class I freaked out. Just one of the reasons I left college.

In the morning I was jittery and went to check on the child. Not that I really cared about the kid, it was another reason that drove me to make sure the child was with the aunt. It was pure anger and revenge. If Candi took away my son from me, then I would make sure she never saw her daughter again. The life my son was going to have was just as important to me as the sick inbreeding of the master race was to her. Now both dreams would be gone. In the eyes of Candi's kid I would be the hero.

It took over an hour to get to the house where Candi's aunt lived. I was buzzed but not too drunk. After a knock or two there was no answer. It was so quiet I wondered if she moved out. Then it occurred to me, this lady could be Hank's aunt too. How could I be so stupid?

Walking around the place I looked for an easy entrance. The back door was open, and I knew I should wait until I had someone with me. At that moment I threw away that idea and just went in, quietly. Moving through the house I saw Hank lying on the couch. The little girl was sitting on the floor and she saw me. She made a shush motion with her finger and mouth. Slowly she got up and walked to me. I guess what I had to give her was better than what she had with these freaks.

Out of the house we went in silence. When we got to the street she took my hand and looked up into my eyes. Never before had I been so adored.

There was no one in Santa Cruz I really trusted, so I called Rochelle. "Stay put," she said, "oh Lord, what have you gotten into now?"

There was a bench where I liked to watch things go by me. That is where I took the kid. She looked at me as we sat down. For a while she just looked at me then she asked me, "What do you do?"

"What do you mean?" I answered.

"You know, do, what kind of job you have?"

"I don't do that. I eat, shit and do grown up stuff."

"Don't you want to do anything?" She asked as a wave crashed so high the spray of the white cap misted my face.

"I already do what I want," I said.

Birds called and yapped as the child spoke, "If you got a job I could live with you. Maybe we could get married."

"No, we can't. You need a real family, a normal one. Don't you want that?"

The child looked hard at the ground, "I want to be safe. I want to be with someone who doesn't hurt me."

"Kid, you are better than your mother. You are better than me. I have a friend who will find a place for you. You will be ok."

The child swung her feet back and forth, "My mommy said you were really smart and that you had a lot of rich guy stuff in a storage locker."

At this I laughed, "If your mommy saw what I had in my storage locker she wouldn't say that."

"Can I see?" The girl asked.

"No, it's full of old crap that you wouldn't want. Just old memories, nothing of value to anyone but me," it was hard to say that about my precious dreams.

"My mommy said you can do stuff if you really wanted to. She said you went to college."

I never spoke to Candi about that. Then it occurred to me that she could have learned that from Randy or Hank. They both knew.

"I only went to college for a few weeks before they kicked me out."

"Why? Did you do something bad?"

"I refused to take some bad medicine. They didn't want me unless I was like everyone else. My thoughts were not of the right consistency."

"What does that mean?" The little girl blew a spit bubble as she asked.

"You have a kid in your class no one likes? Talks at the wrong time? Does the wrong things? Pisses the teacher off a lot?"

"You mean like Ricky Sanchez? He throws his lunch at everyone when he gets mad and talks loud all the time. Sometimes he won't sit in his seat and has to go to the office."

I got down to her eye level, "Yes, just like that. I was like that. And someone found a little pill that would "help" me act better. Make me less me and really sleepy. So I chose to go away from school instead of take the bad medicine."

The child sighed, "Oh. I think I would just take the pill."

"That is why you are better than me."

She frowned as I said that, "No, you are a good man."

That hurt. I was anything but. The child thought I was doing this because I was good, when really I was spiteful. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I tried to change the subject.

"I want to be a lawyer."

"A lawyer? What happened to being a princess?"

"Princesses aren't real, and if they were, they are useless. They wait around until someone saves them. I want to be a lawyer and make bad mommies behave and help put bad guys in jail. I want to help people who don't have jobs get rich so they can take care of the kids who need homes."

"Who told you lawyers did that?" I asked.

"No one, when I was taken away from my mommy a lady lawyer, Mrs. Garcia, tried to help keep me away from bad people. I want to be like her. If she had help she could save more children. I told her about you, about how probably there are lots of people who could help take care of children if they had a chance."

The kid had a lot going for her. Rochelle came and we got into her car. I knew this meant that I would be staying in San Francisco for a while. Even though I resented it I was happy for some company. It was nice to think about staying in a warm bed for at least a few nights.

No one knew what to do with the kid. For a few nights she stayed with the ladies and me, but she was getting really comfortable. This was not a safe place for the kid, it would be too easy to find her. Candice thought that the authorities might take her back to her family. Clearly that was not an option. Rochelle knew some people who could make her disappear, but then the child would be in the sex trade. We decided to try the Catholic Church.

On a Monday we walked right in and asked for someone. An old Hispanic man came out to talk with us.

"Yes, yes, how can I help you?" He frowned hard as we told him about the child.

Her big eyes fixated on his face as she nodded along to the story. It took quite a long time to finish and the priest asked no questions as I spoke. Finally I finished and said, "So that's what we are dealing with. We just want to put her somewhere her father/uncle can't rape her and get her pregnant. Or anything else."

"You know the church is facing a lot of abuse issues. When it comes to children we have to act within the law. What you are asking is for me to help hide this little girl with no proof of this wild story."

"Yes," I said.

The father sighed and took the child by the hand. She waved to me and the ladies. There was a good feeling in the air. This old guy wanted to make sure the kid was ok even though he could have trouble for it. This was a good man. Not a selfish jerk like me. He understood that having a strong soul was worth risking the wrath of the world.

For a few days I stayed on 19th street. Getting clean and sleeping in a bed is great at first but the wonderfulness of it all wears off after a while. There was wine, but I couldn't get really drunk. Once they were more settled in with me Rochelle wanted me to go back to work. Reluctantly I agreed. My life was out of my control.

The girls at the phone company were happy to see me. They bought donuts every day. Sudeep was overjoyed. His bathroom project had been over-shone by some Rasheed guy's garbage project.

There had been some personal items; I think a microwave or something, tossed in the dumpster. The company freaked out about this and the environmental impact of it all. Then a guy from the third level came to investigate named Rasheed. He ordered a new dumpster and shrink wrapped the old one to preserve the evidence. The phone company just got curiouser and curiouser.

At work one day Sudeep made me a special garbage trail investigator to find out what Rasheed was up to. This Rasheed guy was no Sudeep. He was an asshole. Just as Sudeep was making the bathroom issue drag out to keep his job, Rasheed was doing the same with the dumpster. Only Rasheed wanted people to get fired. His eyes lit up when he thought he might be able to ruin someone.

So I wrote a report, complete with made up statistics, about how much the investigation into the dumpster was costing and how much the new bathroom procedures implementation was saving the company. It was completely bogus but went unquestioned. Rasheed was transferred to I&R and I got a $100,000 bonus. Everyone in systems operations loved me.

Home was getting more difficult by the day to deal with. The house was full of pregnant woman smell. They spent all day decorating for their "twins." Both had bumps and were doing great. The only thing they had to worry about was me. I sucked. One day I went out to think about things.

Riding Muni I came to a place in the park where there were a group of ragged people. After I got off the bus they came and asked me for money, "I'm not going to give you any money," thinking back to all the busybodies who had purchased sandwiches for me, "but I will buy you all a sandwich," their faces looked dismal, "and lots of beer."

The people cheered. I partied with them the rest of the afternoon. They were not my friends, but they were my kind. At last I felt comfortable and free, swimming in a school of weird fish like me.

It was good to be more at ease and less worried about fitting in. I got really drunk and fell asleep in the park under some brush by the tea garden. Waking up to the morning fog felt almost as good as waking up in a warm bed after months outside. I needed to go back to 19th street and ease the ladies' minds. But then I would go home.

Rochelle was at the door before I could make it up the steps, "You ok?" She said.

"Yah, but I been thinking. I need to go, home. This is a beautiful life you have. But I just don't fit in here. I don't belong. I need to go back to Santa Cruz."

"DJ, are you happy living like that? Really happy? You need to take a hard look at your life. Don't you want to be happy?"

"Being happy is not really an option. It has never been about that, not for me. I look for the least objectionable choice, the way that causes me the least amount of misery. Happy has never been part of my existence."

Rochelle sighed and led me in. The living room was nice and had a few candles glowing on the tables. Fresh fruit sat on the coffee table and flowers filled the window sills. Their home looked like heaven. There was no room for me here. I was like poison, a toxic gas that ate away all the good I touched. Much like Chinese drywall.

With grace and a somber look Rochelle brought me some hot tea. It felt so good to be warm again. For a few hours we drank tea, laughed, and peed a lot. That tea goes right through me. Then Rochelle took a more serious tone, "You did good at the phone company. That report you wrote was very convincing. You have something and you know you be wasting it."

"I had something and it's already mostly wasted."

"Tell me, what did you want to do when you was young, before you were grown."

"I didn't know. They all thought I would be something great. I had a high IQ and I wrote poems all the time. But I didn't want to be anything. Everyone else wanted me to be a writer. I tried, but I just couldn't do it."

"Why?" Asked Rochelle.

"The most I could get out was a page, maybe two, and I'd lose my train of thought. Or I'd discover some fact that upset me. Learning about the way the universe works upsets me. Makes me link events and facts that make me feel strange. My thoughts are my worst enemies."

"There is so much more to life than sleeping under a bridge," Rochelle shook her head.

"No, not really," I said.

"Is that what you want DJ?"

"I want to be perfect and never make mistakes. I die inside when I'm wrong," I couldn't look at her when I said this.

"You are going to have two kids soon, do you want to be a part of that?"

"I don't know," I was being honest with her.

"That's an answer at least. Can you stay one more day, maybe two? Candice will want to say goodbye."

"I would like that," I said.

When Candace came home with bags of fast food she was happy to see me. The ladies and I ate, drank and laughed. It felt good and I wondered if I could maintain myself enough to keep this going. At least for one night I would pretend I could. Candice talked about her work and Rochelle talked about our day at the phone company. All I wanted to do was forget the phone company existed. Alexander Graham Bell would never have started the company if he would have seen what it would become. Full of little tin zombies on the hillside. No matter what I did there I felt lost. Franken-company was not a happy place for me. I felt sorry for Sudeep; he was so much more than his job.

After dinner we watched TV and then went to bed. I stared up at the ceiling then out the window. The blanket felt warm and heavy. The mattress was soft and springy. The temperature of the room was just right and the window was cracked open just enough to let in a cool breeze every now and then. This was comfort, but I couldn't fall asleep. My mind kept going back to my son. He was gone, more where coming. I needed to go home. These two children would be better off without me.

The door to the garage closed behind Rochelle. It was going to be time to go soon. As I packed up my stuff Rochelle came back in from the garage. She handed me a box, "Open it, it's a gift."

The box had a laptop in in. There were some accessories and a carrying case. While I stayed here I was on the computer, but mostly to play minesweeper and solitaire. "Thanks, why?"

"You wrote a good report. I gots to thinking, maybe you could find a place to write, maybe write a book or something. I don't know. If you got a talent maybe you should use it. Find a way back into the real world."

"I don't see how making up fake stories could lead me back to a real world. Maybe I live in the real world and you don't," I was upset.

People were always trying to help me. But no one ever asked me what I wanted. They already knew what I would say, and it wasn't what they wanted to hear. I am a hobo. That is all I am.

"It's ok, I'm just trying to give you something you might like. I bought you some vodka too."

As she handed me the bottle I smiled. This was what I really wanted. It felt good to be understood. After a big hug I walked out of the house and waited for the long ride home to start.

Once I was back in Santa Cruz I waked over to the statue of the surfer, but there was no sign of Sean. It was early in the day so I walked along the cliffs to warm my body and spied on the activities that went on at the little beaches down at the bottom of the edges along the way to Natural Bridges. It felt like noon when I got the state park. Most of the gray had been replaced with a stunning blue. The smell of the ocean was fresh and not damp like San Francisco. It was too cold to linger, so I cut across the way to highway one.

I walked along Mission Street and watched all the people. Like the street itself there were a variety of types walking down it. Normal people, hippies, college people, rich, and people like me walked alongside businesses from Safeway to obscure places that sold things I didn't understand. It was a beautiful mess of things that didn't match. I stopped at Upper Crust Pizza for lunch. This had always been a favorite spot of mine. Not for the food, but for the place. I loved the mural and the people who ate here. It felt like being in my own home.

Wandering around I found myself drawn to the place under highway one. I knew where I was going and I thought I really should turn around. The last time I had been to white lady's I had been really scared, totally freaked out. Today had turned into a warm sunny day. There was nothing to fear, nothing at all. There were birds singing and the trees were all green with sprouting leaves. The cemetery looked nice today. Everything was inviting. Instead of going straight to white lady's I walked over to the mausoleum. There was the place my mother was supposed to be.

I walked over and inside the giant white building. The tall halls were confusing and looked the same. My footsteps echoed and filled the building. No one else was to be seen inside. Granite boxes one on top of one another held the bodies of the dead. At least they were supposed to. This place seemed to be static and I felt guilty for disturbing the peace of the inhibitors.

It took a while but finally I came to the right hallway. At the end of this corridor was a huge window that looked into the walled garden. This was it. Finally I came and looked up at the top row of vaults. There was my mother's. Inside that vault was nothing; years ago I had taken her little box out and moved it to my storage unit. It had been really difficult to do. Cracking the seal open, moving the stone, getting out the box and then replacing the slab of marble. It still looked good, but if a person checked they would be able to tell it was not sealed. Looking closely the small crack was visible.

The garden looked so beautiful. The only way to see the garden was to find the entrance and go in or to look through the few windows of the building that faced it. This place filled me with a strange feeling. It was like the dead had only a few small windows to see a stylized vision of the earth through. And these windows only let in a few sheltered views of the living. It seemed unrealistic and overly frozen in time. So unnatural that I couldn't leave my mother here.

It took a while to make it out. That place seemed like a house of mirrors. When I was small and Santa's Village was still open I had been lost in Alice in Wonderland's house of mirrors. As I grew older it got easier to find my way out, I just looked for the darkest mirror, and it always led to a walkway. This house of hallways was more difficult to navigate and I hadn't figured out any tricks to getting out yet.

Once I found my way out natural noises filled the air instead of the oddly loud rhythm of my shoes on stone. It felt good to be out. I passed the garden gate and looked inside. From the outside it looked different, bigger, and less ethereal.

A few cars passed me as I walked down toward white lady's. The birds' songs were loud and joyous. The day was so bright and full of hope. I had never felt this way on a walk here. It was nice. Even the oddsters who lived along this road seemed normal to me. It was ok. I almost turned around but decided to go on. I wanted to see the place again. Especially if it was in a different light, a new atmosphere. Then maybe my nightmares about the long wall would end.

For many years I had this horrible dream about being trapped in the woods at white lady's during a great fire that never ended. From behind the last standing wall flames jumped up into the treetops. I was burned and helpless on the floor, all the trash smoldering around and beneath me. Laughter and smoke rings filled the air. The sky was black and churned with movement. Maybe it was clouds moving, but it was hard to tell through the darkness what was going on up through the treetops.

I was hurt and couldn't stand up. Crawling through the trash I found a little picture frame with a small canvas needlepoint that read, "Home Sweet Home." The thought echoed through my dream and a giant demon stood up from behind the wall. The movement was fast and shadows moved out of his way revealing a fiery sky. His head towered over the tall wall and the smoke made any details of the demon soft and fuzzy. The horns on his head were the only distinct feature about him, and I thought he might be a part of the shadows.

The demon tossed a doll at me. It was a doll my sister played with when we were small. It was burned, and the plastic head had a portion missing. Half of the face was gone. No matter what I did I couldn't save what was left of the doll. It just burned and burned until the plastic face melted off. Then I would wake up. The thought of the dream made me think about turning around. On I went.

The path was inviting today as I started off down it toward the ruins of the once great house. The feelings that usually made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and brush against my collar were not there. The way was not as crowded with brush as I remembered. The sun made its way to the ground and gave warmth to the soft brown earth on the trail. The path opened up to the remains of the foundation and the silhouette of the peaked two-story wall. It looked like an old building, nothing more.

As I walked into the ruins of the old house I saw a figure leaning up against an old staircase. As I got closer I recognized it was black Tony. I couldn't tell if he was asleep or dead. Turning to leave he spoke to me, "Hi friend. You have a cigarette?"

"Yah, here you go," I handed him the smoke as I realized this was probably the first time I had visited this place this sober.

"It's gone now. Everything is alright," black Tony said as he lit up.

"You come here a lot?" I asked.

"No, never much. Came here today to help free the devil. He's gone now, out of them trees," a chill hit me as black Tony pointed up to the trees by the tall wall.

"He's gone now. How did you do that?" I asked hoping he would just answer with gibberish.

"Well, I had a dream. Evil dream. So I came here and told that old devil he had to get out of here. He needed to go. This place needed to be clean. So he ran free. Going to find them sinners. Gonna get them and leave poor old white lady alone."

While it was sort of gibberish it didn't comfort me. There was less trash than there usually was and the wind picked up little bits of paper. I thought I would go since I wasn't really sure why I had decided to come here in the first place.

As I turned black Tony called after me, "He wants you. He watches you all night long. He wants you, he wants some company. Stay away and don't let that old devil get you."

Walking out I could still hear the ranting. As I hit the end of the trail I stayed in the brush as I opened a bottle of Vodka and drank for a while. The whole time the sound of black Tony came from behind me. The sounds of the words were far enough away so that the meaning faded into a weird kind of melodic song. The bottle was half gone when I decided to move on. I was pretty drunk.

The day had some daylight left but I was too wasted to do anything. Instead of looking for my friends or hanging out at the clock tower I went down by the river.

The weather was still nice and I decided to just sit by the water and drink. When I woke up it was dark and cold. The breeze blew in fog and streets lights floated in the distance blurred by the smoky essence in the air. Dampness and cold filled my nose and cut through my clothes. I got up and went to find a less exposed place to finish off the night.

There was a bridge close by and I found a place under it where I could sleep. Pigeons liked the spot I found and there was bound to be some of their poop on me in the morning. From above me where the pigeons nested came a voice, "Hey."

"Hey," I answered back.

"What do you have with you?"

"Why don't you piss off? This is my bridge man, why don't you find your own?" I asked.

"I want some company," the voice sounded familiar and I found myself wide awake.

That hit me deep inside. I wondered if this was that asshole from white lady's.

"You get tired of white lady's?" I asked.

"Something like that," it sounded like the voice was smiling.

"I am sure you could find some friends at the clock tower. I think that black Tony would help you find God if you are really lonely. Now please, I just want some sleep."

"Black Tony? That crazy old man? Do you really think he can help me find God?"

This was getting old. I didn't like the sound of the voice, and I just wanted to sleep. It would be a night of 20 questions if I answered him, so I didn't. When I woke up in the morning I checked to make sure that I had all my stuff. It was all there. So was the voice.

"You sleep well?" It asked in a mocking tone.

"Like a king. How about you?"

"Very well, I suppose. Did you ever find what you were looking for?" It asked.

"Never. Never will I guess."

It laughed a little, "Are you back? Or are you still going to chase ghosts?"

"Wherever the booze is I will be."

"That sounds profound," it said in a sarcastic tone, "You decide to give the real world a try? Get a real job? Family? What did you do while you were gone?"

"Whatever I did or will do is not your concern," I said.

"Oh but it really is my concern. You are my concern. You are my company."

I got up and left. It might have been following me, I didn't care. This was a beautiful day and I wanted to go get drunk and find someone to be around. Something to belong to. The aloneness of my being was something I wanted to forget.

I walked by Pacific and down to the cliffs. The surfer statue was still guarding the waves, but Sean was not here. Maybe he got sent to the sugar factory again.

I didn't know what to do. The voice from last night haunted me, so I took $75 and went to see this weird palm reader. It just seemed like a good idea.

She was a faker, everyone knew that. In her client room she took me and made me wash my hands in a strange blown glass basin. Then she examined them and looked deep into my right palm.

"See? You have children in your life, I think 4. One is not with you? Missing? You want to know where he is?"

"Yes? I am looking for my son," I said taken back by her comments.

"Looking? For the boy? It looks like you will find him soon."

"When?" I asked.

"There is a woman with a broken nose, and a man with scars. They took the boy? I think so, but something went wrong. Find this woman, she knows everything. Don't trust her though; she is in love with your enemy. Bad love, don't trust her."

"What should I do?" I asked.

"The snake has two holes left. You sealed all the other ones. Go to the snake holes. Your son is there, in one of them."

It was worth the $75. I knew that Hank was staying at the aunt's place sometimes, but where else would he go? I really wanted to talk to Sam.

The cliffs were being hit with the rush of the waves. It was high tide. I walked down to the boardwalk and up to the train tracks. The landmarks looked like they always did. No one was here now. I felt so alone.

The urge to drink came to me, but instead I went to a coffee shop where I could plug in my computer and play minesweeper. After I had finished doing that I found a place to buy some beer. As I drank the first one I wondered why Rochelle thought I should write. That is what everyone wants me to do. But they don't like what they read when I'm done. Same story again and again.

Walking fast I past the store where I liked to buy food. It was closing down. Many stores ended in this town. It was a place with no money.

The calls of seagulls sounded and I found myself in Capitola. The beach was full of people and happy little stores lined the area. Unlike Santa Cruz, Capitola did not have a slum right in front of the best beach.

The walk around made me feel lost and lonely. Old houses and the theater looked like they were still in the past. I wondered if I would still be here if I went too close. Why I thought I belonged here I didn't know. No matter where I went I would always feel restless. I walked down Soquel and back to the clock tower. There I past the afternoon with a bunch of strangers who were as drunk as I was.

The idea of closing up the snake holes burned in my brain. Not even alcohol could cloud my mind enough to forget. I would need Sam to help me. Maybe if I asked the aunt, she might help. Unlike her family I think she was sort of decent.

Before I could pass out I walked down to the river and made a spot for myself to sleep. The air felt warm and I was feeling happy. They only way I could feel happy anymore was to get drunk. Warmth spread through my pants in a big wet circle. Soon after it turned to cold and the smell of urine filled the air. "Good night," the voice laughed down at me as I drifted into a blackout.

It felt like noon when I woke. The feeling of nausea went through my stomach in waves. The thought of food made me sick but I knew I needed to eat. My bag with my computer and other shit was still intact. At least I knew that the voice wouldn't steal from me. Stumbling I stood up and went over to the river to pee. The air was cold as it hit the skin on my legs and other areas. I noticed my clothes were soiled with human waste. I took them off and bathed naked in the muddy river as I washed off my clothes.

After I hung them up to dry I went into the tall grass to take a nap while my clothes were blowing in the breeze.

The day was almost done by the time I woke up. The clothes were damp, but I still put them on. I felt like eating but also like throwing up. Walking down toward the clock tower I had some dry heaves. I stopped at a store to get some chips and beer. The chips tasted good but made my stomach turn flip- flops. The beer felt good going down but made me throw up a little. Sometimes Vodka does this to me.

The group at the clock tower was younger than usual. A couple of girls were hanging around, they looked at least 18. They were smoking pot and I gave them each a beer and offered to show them something cool. Both were so high they would have done anything I asked.

I took the girls behind the bookstore and into the parking garage. Back toward the stairwell we walked until we were underneath it. One girl I pushed until she was in front of my shlong and the other I gave a beer to. Once the first one was finished I had the second one blow me. It was great and we left the parking lot laughing. Then I had to stop at a garbage can and throw up again.

The rest of the night I stayed up walking around. By the time I found myself at Natural Bridges I was pretty sober. There was a bench that I sat at and thought about myself. What a mess I was. Still, I could get a couple of dumb girls drunk enough to give me head. That must count for something. I watched the sun come up as I sat on the bench. It was going to be a beautiful day.

When I felt like it I started walking back toward the boardwalk. There were all kinds of people out. Dog walkers and skateboards moved in harmony as they made their way this way or that. Lots of sea birds were out making sounds and an occasional seal bark came from under the wharf.

Walking closer to the boardwalk I decided to go by the house where Candi's aunt lived. As I got closer I saw Candi walking with a slump leading Hank some place away from the house. They walked like a unit, like they belonged together. They were so entwined with each other that I had no hope for Candi. That thought made me sad.

Walking up to the house it looked empty. I decided to go in. The snake hole should be closed. Going around the back I found the door unlocked and I went in. The house was different from the living room and kitchen I had seen. There were five bedrooms upstairs that each had a mangy little kitchen. Four of the rooms were shabby conversions. They had been split from one room into two. Each had bunk beds in them. There was barely enough room to walk inside the crowded little living spaces.

The largest room had been left alone. It held belongings that must have been the aunt's. There was no bathroom upstairs and it smelled like urine and body odor. I went downstairs and found the one bathroom of the home. It had a little tub and some bath toys. I wondered how many people lived in this place.

Nothing interesting turned up and I left through the back door. As I was about to exit the back yard I spotted a cellar door. Most homes in Santa Cruz didn't have a cellar or a basement. I decided to see what was down there. The house had no signs of Candi or Hank, maybe they stayed deep down in the earth where they belonged. It was closer to hell.

The cellar had a very strong padlock on it, but the hinges were old and rusty. I broke one set of the hinges and threw the door open. The smell that came up from below belonged to Hank. This was one of his snake holes.

I walked down a set of rotten stairs until a pull string hit my face. I yanked it and turned on a light in the sorry little room. It was unfinished and the floor was dirt. There was a bed in a corner and trash all over the place. Pornos were everywhere. A sink, stove, and freezer were lined up against one wall. A painter's bucket was next to the stairway and contained what looked and smell like shit and pee. What a horrible little hole to live in.

Some of Candi's things were neatly stacked in a plastic container. Her clothes were very important to her. The sink looked like it belonged in a butcher shop and Hank probably stole it from one. The stove top was small and sat on top of a cabinet. Looking inside I found some pots and pans. Very domestic in a pathetic sort of way.

The freezer was full of food and had several large hams in it. They were wrapped up tight in butcher paper. One of them was very large and strangely shaped. Lifting it out of the freezer I pulled back the paper and found a face. It was the face I had been looking for.

Before I took the bundle I threw the contents of the shit bucket all over Candi's things. Lovingly I clutched my little boy and walked with him. I sang to him and rocked him as I walked until I came to the storage unit. Everything that matters to me is in there. Now my little angel is in a shiny little boxed sealed with duct tape. Safe forever and ever right next to his worthless grandma.

* * *

##  Dick's Kingdom

* * *

The days were getting longer but it was still cold at night. Because of the weather I had been in shelters for a while. There was a steep price to pay for that. Today was payday; I had to wait to see some kind of head-shrinker. If I played by their rules I would continue to have a warm place to stay. As the weather changed I cared less and less about this. The thought to leave the crappy little waiting room with the hippy receptionist came over me. As I was about to go the hippy called my name. I wondered if the hippy was a woman or a man.

Into a tiny little office I was taken. There was a small window that over-looked the back of the Pacific Garden Mall. In it there was a little desk and a few industrial chairs. The room was clean and the paint still gave off a smell. In a little pot sat a dying fern. Nice hippy touch. The guy at the desk had a large stack of files to either side of him and he frowned when he looked in mine, "Is this information correct?" He asked.

I had just put down a bunch of crap. "Yes," I lied.

"Sit down Steven, so how old are you? 25?"

"Yes," I was 40.

"And you were born in Santa Cruz? Do you have a birth certificate?"

I thought about this. The hospital I was born at was long gone. It had been gone longer than 25 years ago.

"I was born at home," many local hippies were, "I don't know if I have a birth certificate."

"How did you enroll in school?"

"I was home schooled," most homeless people lose the power of lying well so I knew he would just believe me. A good liar had to have a plausible answer for every question. Most people would have been talking nonsense by now. I was feeling good about this.

"Ok, so are you seeing things that other people can't? Is that right?"

"No," I said, "they can see everything. They are just lying about stuff so they won't get into trouble."

"So what is it that you see?"

"My friend. He wants me to keep him company so he sneaks in at night."

"What is your friend's name?"

"Randy," I said in a whisper.

"Why would anyone who saw him get in trouble?"

"Because he's dead," I started to cry.

"Let's try some tests," here we go.

Why this guy wanted to spend so much time on me I will never know. Question after stupid question he asked. On and on, most of this dribble was old to me.

"If I said, people whose heads were made out of butter shouldn't walk in the sun, what would that mean to you?" He asked.

This was one of my least favorite questions. It had been asked to me before and I never understood what the hell I was supposed to say, "Like if you have a butter head, then little black sambo could change you into a tiger, so if you have a butter head you should go out at night when he is asleep. Or if you want pancakes then you might want a butter headed tiger."

I knew that made no sense, and I was not sure what to say. The guy made some notes, how I hated that. Putting his pencil near his mouth he thought. Perhaps he kept extra brains in the eraser. Silence lasted so long I started tapping a rhythm out on the armrest of my chair. He quickly looked up with a disgruntled frown.

"Can you stop that," he said.

"Ok," I replied not knowing what to do. Sometimes I was spectacularly stupid.

On the testing went until he finally gave me the "I know what is going on with you" look. I stopped him from giving me a diagnoses and recommending a course of treatment and all that other crap.

"I'm schizophrenic. I don't give a fuck."

The look on his face was shock mixed with sadness. "There are things we should do. If you don't get on this, it is only going to get worse. I don't know how you are making it now, but eventually you won't be able to function at all. I could get you the services you need."

This was the do-gooder's favorite thing. Get services. Whether or not I wanted services were not important, what happened to me was secondary to appeasing their little egos. If I accepted then he could sleep well tonight. Nothing really to do with me and my well being, just making sure that the bad thoughts went away.

"Fuck you," I calmly said.

In fact I said that so nicely the doctor guy was taken aback by it.

"What?" He replied.

"I said fuck you. Fuck you and all your services," I should have thought first before I said that.

The weather was getting colder and I needed these assholes. That meant I needed to jump through their hoops and say what they wanted to hear me say. Like working at the phone company was this way for me.

"So, what do you want from me?" The guy had a pleading look and tone about him.

"I just want to stay warm," I answered.

"Why are you here? You think my time is worthless?" The look on his face was very bewildered.

"I am doing what I have to do to get through one more night. Nothing against you, this is just what I had to do to get a bed tonight."

The real truth came from my mouth and he stared at his wall. A long pause came after that. During this sickly silence I couldn't figure out what to do with my hands. First they were on the table. Then I slowly moved them in my pockets. Next I tried crossing my arms and letting my hands rest on them. Still no noise from him and my hands had any purpose.

After a long sigh the man finally spoke in a little boy way, "I could give you something that will help, and there is a group that you could join. I think AA would be good for you, but it is not going to work unless you get your disease under control. As you age this is going to be harder and harder to treat. Do you know what happens to people like you? When were you first diagnosed?"

"I was 15. The next time I was 18, first year in college. They both said what you are saying, but it never gets worse. I don't change."

"Are you sure? What about the thing you see at night? How long has that been going on? Since you were 15?" He looked at me intensely.

"What do you mean?" I was lost at what he was trying to say.

"There is no ghost at white lady's. No strange dead being. You are accelerating. These are delusions and hallucinations."

"How? They are real; I know that black Tony freed them to haunt me. You don't understand." I was near tears. My mind was getting tired and thoughts were not flowing as they normally do.

Into his desk went the prick's hand, doctors know all. Out he came with some medication sample. Seroquel, how I hate that stuff. Big pills, enough to make me sleep my life away. I would rather die under a bridge.

"Take these, take one, or two, and the bad thoughts will go away. If you don't do this, you are not going to be well enough to stay in a shelter. It gets cold at night. Think about it."

Taking the pills I smiled. The smile was a death grin. If I could have caused that smarter than you turds doctor to die, I would. Getting up from the chair I left the office. It felt like I had been imprisoned in there for days. I needed to get some money, I needed to get drunk. Really drunk. For a moment I thought about throwing the pills away, but then I thought again. Selling them to UCSC students would be easy.

So something happened although I wasn't sure what. The Seroquel was gone, and I had three beers and half a fifth of gin beside me when I woke up. It was late and I was near the river. Not too far up. Lights from the street streaked across the dark water and up into the forests. No one was around and my pants were full of my own waste. Shuffling broke the night silence. I tried to be as quiet as I could and hoped what was making the noise would pass me by. Instead it got louder and stopped beside me. Then I heard the grass rustle as it sat beside me. Fear paralyzed me. Then it spoke, "Hey, can I share a beer?"

The voice was so familiar. I hated for the doctor to be right, but it was the voice that had been following me. Looking toward it I saw a familiar face. It was darker than I remembered it, and the eyes were wrong. But that was my best friend, my dead friend. It was Randy.

The dead Randy looked a little different from the alive Randy. Dead Randy looked smart, and had a rosy hue to his face. The hands and neck were much plumper on him. In general he didn't look sick anymore, but he didn't look healthy either. Instead he was a gross stuffed piggy. With a crooked smile.

"Miss me?"

That was a thing Randy might say. Maybe this was him, I wasn't sure. But I knew that this was someone I knew. Someone dangerous.

"No, I wish you would go away. Why didn't you stay at white lady's?"

"There is a whole world to see, why stay there? It is a rotted out old house with only one intact wall. Gets cold, few visitors. Now I can spend more time with you, like in the good days."

"You look wrong. I don't want you around me," I choked out.

"No, you want me around, or I would be gone. You might wish I was gone, but deep down in your gut you can't let go of me. You need me. I am what makes you smart. Without me, you would be an idiot. And being an idiot is what you fear the most."

I left and he waved goodbye. A horrible feeling of dread came over me. It felt like I was high in a strange place and coming around without any clothes. Hearing voices getting louder. Not knowing what kind of thing was making the sounds. Thinking about all the bad things that a person could do to another that was lying around naked and not having control of their senses made me freak out a little. I knew it was wrong to talk to him. Walking around I found my way to a parking spot up West Cliff drive. No one I knew was around, and a lady hurried away with her children as I approached. There had been better days.

Watching the ocean left me feeling bad. The need for alcohol came over me. Someone sat next to me, it was another ghost from the past. Her name was Candi and she offered me a beer.

"You don't hate me?" I asked as I took the beer and popped it open.

"Yes. I hate you, and I love you. You want another one?"

I should not have taken anything from her, but I was hurting. So I downed the first beer fast and started the other one.

"What's going on with you? You still see Hank?" I should not have spoken to her, it always gets me in trouble.

Tears started to fall. That face of hers had aged and her body was less symmetrical every passing day. What had once been a hot chick now looked deformed. It was like her outsides were reflecting her insides. It would take many more beers before I would find her attractive again. Once I had been attractive too. I wondered how others looked at me now.

"Hank is around. My aunt kicked him out of her house and he bought a new one. A really big one. Someday he says I can live there with him," her tears got bigger and we both knew that was a lie.

"So where are you staying?" I asked, looking up at the sky.

"Well," tears started flowing, "I don't know. I stay with anyone I can. You know, guys."

Yes I knew. Candi had to trade sex for whatever she could get. Now that her face had been punched and her body started to lump in unusual places it was getting harder. The tone in her voice told me she wanted something, and I would do anything to get her to stop crying.

"You can get something from the social workers, they always helped you," I really didn't know how to make her stop crying.

"No, not now. Before I was pretty. People will do anything for you when you are pretty. Now look at me. Hank broke my nose, shattered my cheek bone. My body is, doing this. I just look like I belong in the streets. No one cares. No one wants me."

My brain was swimming in beer. Randy came and sat beside her. Looking at him I saw how ruddy his skin had become, and he flashed a perfect smile at me. Giggles came out of his mouth,

"Shut the Fuck up," I screamed at him.

"What?" Candi looked shocked, "What did I say? Do you know how I am hurting, how hungry I get? How cold? My stomach aches so bad I can't walk. My sides are pulling against each other," more tears.

"I wasn't talking to you," I said as I took a long swig of beer, "I was talking to him."

As she turned toward him Randy smiled and waved.

"There is no one there. I think you have had enough to drink."

She was so wrong; I didn't have enough by a long shot. Then she shook her head and got up. Quickly she left and looked back at me from time to time.

"You can thank me later," Randy said.

"Thank you for what?" I asked.

"For scaring off that leech. She wanted cash. And look at her. That looks like road kill. One time she was a nice piece, but now? Don't waste your time. She is a user."

"What are you?"

"I am your best friend, nothing can part us."

"Go away."

"No. You would leave me."

"What does that even mean? You are dead, go be dead. I need to do alive things."

Laughing, he walked off. I went to go do the work of the living. I walked toward the garden. When I arrived Black Tony was there.

In the garden Black Tony has a plot of land to work. As I started to help him weed his garden he started to mumble to St. Augustine. It was hard to make out what they were speaking about, or what language they were using. Maybe this was how it looked when I spoke to Randy. I wasn't sure. It made me nervous. Medicine would make Randy go away, sort of. The sun started to burn through the fog.

As we worked on the day got warmer and my skin started to burn. Black Tony didn't really see me as we worked together. Finally he noticed me and thought a bit before he spoke.

"That devil still following you? You come to this garden to get away? I grant you protection, but that will only take you so far."

"That devil is still following me. How do I get rid of him?"

"How you think?" Black Tony asked.

"Doctor thinks I should take some pills. I hate them though."

"Pills don't scare the devil. God scares the devil. You need to go find God. Fast, before the devil is all you see."

This made sense.

"Where do I find God?"

"God is everywhere. Anywhere you go looking, you will find Him."

We worked in silence for a while. As I pulled weeds he carefully piled them up to compost. Some well-meaning hippies walked by and smiled at us. It was clear from their hopeful smiles they thought we were getting better. Making us better was the order of the day in do-gooders land. I loved and loathed them.

The sun got higher in the sky and my skin burned. I decided to go find God. Off down Delaware I walked until it ran out. Soon I was on West Cliff Drive walking toward the light house. Crying, people gave me a wide berth. As I found a little place to watch the ocean a seagull landed on the railing next to me. Its wings grew and turned into black leather like a bats. Then it started to speak in Randy's voice.

"It's getting bad. Why don't you come and join me? I know you are lonely, you really want to spend time talking to Black Tony and Candi? We belong together. Follow me and be free."

Off the railing and over the rocks it flew. I wondered if I could fly too. It was a trick, I knew that. As the bird got smaller and smaller its wings shrank and turned back to white feathers. If I got really drunk, I would be free of this, at least for a while. Panic took me, and I couldn't breathe.

Waking up in the hospital I was drowsy and very calm. I knew this feeling, I hated it. I had been put on medication. It made the bad thoughts go away, but left me feeling tired and loopy. In order to keep out the demons they had to break my brain. Slowly breathing in and out I recognized where I was. It was the mental ward.

This had been moved over the years. Currently I was at Dominican. Sometimes they let people out because there was no insurance. This was my ticket out. A stay in the MP ward was worse than death. If you weren't nuts when you came in, you would leave that way.

A nurse came in wearing Birkenstocks. Ugly hippie shoes. She had wild curly blond hair. This one was a tweaker of some kind, her face looked like an overcooked potato and she was very thin. Some nurses are do-gooders, others like to be next to drugs. This one was the latter type. I actually like this kind of person better. It is difficult to talk to do-gooders. At least I can understand tweakers.

After a quick smile, she left. A lady came in and smiled wide. A do-gooder for sure.

"Hi, I'm Missy. Do you know where you are?"

"Nut house," she frowned hard at my response.

"We will not refer to this hospital that way," she said as I rolled my eyes.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Not really, but I want out. I know I have no insurance."

Quickly looking at the chart she studied it hard, "No, you have insurance. You have it through your next of kin, Rochelle Walkens."

Rochelle, well I knew she meant well. But there was nothing for me at this hell hole.

"I refuse medication," I said.

"Are you going to be my difficult guy?"

I started to hate her, "Are you going to be my difficult bitch?"

This set her off, "In this place you will refer to all staff members with respect. We have rules here. You need to straighten up, or else."

"Or else what? I'll have to go? I want to go, that really doesn't give me much incentive to eat any bullshit that you are serving."

With that she left, thumping her feet hard on the floor as she went. I turned to my side smugly and noticed that I had a roommate, "Hi," a weird nerdy guy with thick glasses, long unkempt beard, and a belly like Santa's said to me.

"Hi, I'm DJ," I said.

"Hi, I'm Daryl. Why are you here?" He said in a cheerful tone.

"I won't play nice with the man," I said.

"Oh? What man is that?" Daryl asked in an almost sing song voice.

"THE man. The one who runs everything."

"Is that Bill Gates?" Daryl was going to be one of those kind.

The kind that hung out at Atlantis Fantasy World all day was what Daryl was. I was sure that if I brought up comic books he would not be able to shut up, "Sure."

"It's really nice to have a roomie. I am so excited, you know what? I am going to be the first man to ever give birth. Any day now baby's coming," Daryl said patting his big pot belly, "Yes my precious baby, you are coming soon."

This was going to be hard. If I wanted to get out I would have to take my medicine. If I took my medication I would be so far gone they would have to keep me. A guy walked in, Birkenstocks on his feet, but his eyes meant business.

"Ok get up. You have 30 minutes and I want you two dressed and ready for group. You better be ready when I come back," the guy glared at me and left.

Not wanting to piss off the guy I got dressed. Daryl was worried about getting up because he thought his baby would fall out. It crossed my mind that the guy might take offense to both of us even if only one of us was not cooperating.

"I'll ask for a wheelchair, that ok Daryl?"

Daryl smile, "Oh that would be so nice. They do treat men who are with child so very different from women. It's discrimination."

"Ok," I asked for some help and the tweaker helped us get what we needed.

I decided that the tweaker was a good ally to have. This could be someone who would help me ditch my meds and resell them. Maybe not, I would have to go slow with her. It was too early to know how far to trust her.

Tweaker helped us find the room for group. It looked like every other room for group that I had been in. Cheesy metal and fabric chairs in a circle. Big windows and linoleum, filthy human smells overpowered by Lysol, the whole room looked and felt as it should. There were a few others in their seats when I wheeled in Daryl. The guy who would be running the thing did not like Daryl in a wheelchair. I could tell by his scrunched up rat face.

"Daryl, you are supposed to walk to group. Feeding this delusion is harmful for Daryl," the rat guy looked hard at me.

"I don't think so. No. And I don't give a fuck what you think either," I said.

All the others turned to me and few behind us gasped.

"What? If I wanted to follow some prick's rules I wouldn't be homeless. The only reason I am here is for Daryl. That and I have insurance. Right?" I said this looking hard at the rat guy.

Rat guy started to look intimidated. The others looked at Daryl. Then they looked at rat guy. It was rat guy's turn to speak.

"This group has rules," rat guy started controlling his anger, "and if you want to participate, you will need to be respectful."

"Oh, I don't want to participate, so fuck off. Daryl you want to stay or go with me?"

Before Daryl could get out a word rat guy blurted out, "You have to stay. This is not an option."

"Feels like Russia. Anyway, you make this conditional one minute, mandatory the next. What are your qualifications to lead this group?" I knew the guy wouldn't want to answer this.

"What? You can't come in here and disrupt our group," he was starting to get close to losing it.

"I disqualify the referee," this saying will take you places.

Most of the time you have the right to a real deal instead of what is known as a paraprofessional. Rat guy was not a real deal.

In a huff he breezed by me and Daryl. Calmly I sat down after placing Daryl's wheelchair next to me. I fat older woman eyed me like I had the plague.

"Oh, I hope we get someone nicer," said Daryl, "Vernon never understood me. He never took my condition serious."

"Ya? I doubt we will get anything better," I winked at the fat chick.

Clicking heels came closer and closer. Right through the door an angel in a lab coat and glasses walked in followed by rat guy. What a vision. Long blonde hair pulled back behind her thick black glasses. Long legs and a slight build. I decided to shut up.

"Well, I have a B.S. in psychology and I am finishing grad school. Will that do?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Finally, we get someone who knows a thing or two," an angry voice came from a man across from me.

"Great," angel seemed pleased, "Alright, DJ, you are new to group, can you tell us why you are here? Maybe a little about yourself?"

"Well, I sucked in a lot of air, "I am not sure what I did, but I am here because I have insurance. Somehow Rochelle tracked me down and insisted I get care. So I'm fucked."

Daryl spoke, "DJ is really nice. It is good to have someone around who understands. I feel like it could come out any day now."

The angel frowned, "Have you gone to the bathroom yet?" she asked Daryl.

"No. I don't want to lose my baby," Daryl answered.

"Daryl, you are not pregnant. That bump is from you not going. You must go to the bathroom. Everybody does," angel was interrupted by Daryl's crying.

"Why do you hate me? I just want me baby to be happy. Can't you just be happy for me?" Daryl went on.

"Daryl, if you don't go today you will be scheduled to take an enema. Please go to the bathroom.

There was more crying. The fat lady next to me started to talk, "I remember when I could just get on with them. Before they went and burn up. Damn demons and spirits, going to be having a thing soon. Mark me soon."

Then the man closest to the door stood up and started shaking, "And they shall come unto you and look for what they will. They take it, all that they see, all that we know. They are coming and they will take the ones who hide behind glass eyes first."

Angel had about all she could take, "Ok, group's over. You have a while before your next classes. I am sure Vernon will be back tomorrow."

Before I could do anything she grabbed Daryl and wheeled him away. Rat guy came in and told me I had alcohol addiction treatment next. Oh joy would this never end?

Alcohol addiction had about ten people in it. Most were not as fucked up as my group. We watched some films and then the guy who showed the films talked about how he gave up drinking. Then he started talking about how we could all say no to alcohol.

The way he talked about alcohol sounded like he was talking about a dear friend. On and on he went about change. You have to want to change, it is hard work. I guess I wasn't going to be free of beer anytime soon. Being new is like being fresh blood in the water, he asked me, "Are you an alcoholic DJ?"

I was surprised by this and said, "Yes."

"Do you want to change?" he asked.

"No. No I really don't," I said.

"Wouldn't you like to be free of that old demon that has you?"

"No, I would like to be free to leave this place," the others looked at me like I was going to get my head guillotined.

A person could cut the air with their pity. I knew I was in for it.

"You might think that is a smart thing to say, but it really is not. Alcohol is an ugly life disguised as a beautiful liquid. She looks good, tastes good, feels good, but leaves you in a pile of filth. Is it worth it? You really want to spend your whole life enslaved to beer? You know beer is liquid Satan in a can. You're drinking the devil, understand? DJ you are drinking the DEVIL!"

"That would explain why I see him at night I guess," I said.

With that the guy fainted. The rest of us shuffled out quietly hoping not to wake him up.

Lunch came at long tables. I sat next to many whack jobs, some in orange jumpsuits and chains. I scanned the room for Daryl. He was nowhere. The food had once again been detextured, colored, and the entirety of the flavor had been removed. This was gruel shaped like real food. Still no Daryl.

I went back to my room hoping to get out of my art therapy class. Daryl's things were being removed. "What's going on?"

Lucky for me it was the tweaker, "That poor guy. He wouldn't go to the bathroom because he thought his bowls being full was a baby. I knew we should have given him an enema days ago. But they kept saying he needed to go on his own, that would be best. Well, a little while ago his intestines burst and he died. What a waste. There was no reason for it. These doctors think they know everything. They don't."

That hit me hard. I was growing attached to Daryl. It was so wrong. This place wanted to kill me. I needed to get out. I needed to get out now. This was a casket for me. They didn't want me to ever get out. They wanted me to watch films and have my intestines blow up. I would be leaving tonight.

No matter what I did I couldn't avoid the art therapy. Randy showed up and sat in the window. This high pitched voiced woman droned on and on. Finally I went and got paper and paints. It took me a long time to get into the work and I absent mindedly swished around the colors. Most of the colors were red and black. Some yellow and blue here and there splash landed down on the paper.

The thin shape of a high pitched voice topped behind my shoulder and gasped. "What is that?" She spat at me.

"Randy," I said.

Looking down at what I had painted it looked like Satan. Red and terrible it was smiling. Not a happy smile, but a smile of satisfaction. It looked unholy. Horns twisted and hung about his face like branches. A douche bag beard and pirate earrings decorated his face.

"Looks like you have some issues with Randy, who is he?"

"He's my friend," I said.

"Friend? That's a fiend. Where is he?" She asked.

"He's dead. Died of aids," I said.

A look of aha came over her face.

"Do you think you might be HIV+?" She asked.

"No," I said to quick.

A smile came over her face and she left. Soon she came back with a chart. Sternly she looked it over.

"DJ, you had an HIV test on intake. You were negative. Why don't you paint me something else?" She asked.

A wave of relief washed over me. The next painting was of white and blue. Some green ended up on the paper. Looking over my shoulder she tapped my shoulder, "Looks like you are feeling better now."

This picture was of waves and water. I was feeling better. In that moment I felt like I liked the thin lady. Picking up my papers she set them on a wire rack to dry. "They are really powerful," she said as I left.

In my room Randy was sitting on Daryl's bed. Cloven hooves stuck out from a hospital gown. His horns had grown and twisted farther down and almost touched his shoulders. In a strange way he was beautiful.

"You didn't give me aids asshole," I said.

"I tried," he answered.

"You are the dumb asshole who died of aids. Trying to give it me failed. You failed. You are the one who died. You are the diseased one."

"No," said Randy, "I am disease. I'm not dead. I am what I always have been. No more, no less."

Then he smiled. That horrible smug smile. I hated him.

A knock came on my door, and a little black man in a Nation of Islam suit entered my room, "Is this a good time?" He asked.

Randy jumped back and hissed, "Tell that liar to go, I am warning you DJ. Make him leave or you will suffer."

I knew that this suit would be back. The fact was I was going to suffer no matter what. "Good as any," I said.

"Well hello, I'm Pastor Jones. Candice and Rochelle asked me to stop by. They told me what is going on and they want me to pray with you. Is that alright with you?"

Randy started pacing around the room, "Stupid middle aged nigger. Going to pray? Maybe he should pray not to think about having sex with every young woman he sees. Maybe he should pray his wife doesn't look at his computer. Hypocrite."

It pleased me that that asshole Randy was upset, "You know I'm glad you came. Sit, let's talk," I smiled and Randy fumed.

"Oh, very well. So how are you doing? This has got to be a difficult time for you son," I liked Jones' kind tone.

"Ya. It hasn't been easy. I hate it here. This is a waste of time. I can't wait to get out."

"You know, I can feel you are on the edge. You got two very strong and understanding women in your corner. I saw your room. There are not too many people who would stand for you. They are exquisite gifts that God has bestowed on you. Those three children of yours are pure joy in human forms. Why not work to get that back? Rochelle said you had a job for a while, a real good job. They would take you back. How about that?"

"I am not going to work at the phone company again. They are more diseased than my brain could ever be. I just can't do it," I was starting to cry and Randy was laughing.

"What?" Jones asked.

"What they want, what you want. I can't. This is the best I can do, I need a drink. I want to go where I please. I want to be free," I really started sobbing, "I need to be left alone."

Randy chimed in, "Aw, poor baby. Poor, poor little Dickie. He just can't do anything. Just get drunk and fuck people."

This really angered me. There was a glass of water on the table next to the bed. I threw it at the damn abomination, "Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I screamed.

This took Jones by surprise, "Who you yelling at?"

"Nothing," I started to calm down.

"Well, DJ I think that you should really think about where you are. You know there is in this universe two opposing forces. I call the good things the infinite. The bad things are in the void. These things are like a Venn diagram," he took out a little notebook and drew two circles that overlapped a little.

"This overlap can confuse people. Make them think there is no good, no evil, that we just are. In truth that is not true. These forces have an intelligence to them. God and Satan. You seem like you are touching the void. That is bad. The void is empty, vast. It is a hopeless lifeless entity. Pain comes from there, pain and hatred. People can get addicted to the void, fall in love with the keys that open it to them. The keys are excess. Excess alcohol, drugs, sex, and food are the most common. Inflicting pain on other is another key. You need to give up this love of the void. That is the best way to find the infinite."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I am talking about healing. Finding God. The key to the infinite is denying yourself. Going without and doing for others. In you there is excess. It doesn't feel good, does it? Beating temptation is the answer. Touching the infinite is freedom. Try it, you will lose that pain."

"So," I said, "you think I should get out of this place and go to church?" I asked.

Jones let out a sigh and thought for a second, "You know there is this joke about this man who climbs to the top of his house during a flood. The man has faith, so he prays for God to save him. After a while a boat comes by and a guy in the boat tells him to get in. But the guy on the roof, he knows if he prays more that God will save him. So he waits and prays. Then another boat comes. But the man is faithful and waits for God. Another boat comes, and the man stays put. Finally a massive wave of water comes, smashed his house to bits and kills him dead."

After a quick cough Jones went on, "So the man goes up to heaven. He goes in front of God and wants to know why God didn't save him. He prayed and faith, why wasn't that enough. So God told the man He sent him three boats why didn't he get in one."

Randy was gone. Sometime during the story he had left. I thought about what Jones had said but I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"God sent you the whole coast guard DJ. Stay here, do what they say, and get better. Then get rid of all the excesses. Try to deny yourself. Really, you have ended up with next to nothing. Remember the Venn diagram. Call Candice, she is hurting. I think you can understand. Help others, it is a start."

Letting out a huge breath of air I sat there thinking about what he wanted from me. Sitting in silence Jones started to pray. I cried. What he wanted was too much. I knew I couldn't do it. Deep down I really didn't want to lose Randy. That thought sickened me.

Before he left we prayed again. Jones left swiftly and the door shut. As it shut I could see that Randy was standing behind it. "Thought that sickening jerk would never leave. Guess he had to leave in a hurry to meet some cheap prostitute," Randy hissed out.

I looked through him, but Randy knew I could see him. Medication would make him go away and make me sleep all day. Then I'd get really fat from it. Not to mention the constipation. Tweaker came in with my meds breaking my train of thought.

"Hey, is there a way to make this shit go away and get a beer instead?" I asked her.

"You know, you can come with me to the fire escape. I don't have any beer, but I think I know what you need," I knew she was alright.

Pocketing my pills she motioned for me to follow her. I did. With a key she opened a door that took us into some fresh air. It was nice to be outside. From her pocket she unrolled a little tinfoil that had a pill in it. In her other pocket was a lighter. After lighting the pill on fire she huffed in the fumes and taught me how. Not the same as a beer, but it was alright. The edge came off of me and I felt good.

Leading me through the corridors I made it just in time for the cardboard that passed for dinner. After smoking whatever we did the food didn't taste half bad.

Under the influence of whatever the tweaker helped me inhale I was in a good mood. Being wasted made this place seem not so bad. Mulling over Jones' words I was puzzled by the house thing. I really didn't understand his point. What I did know was that he wanted me to stay. So did the ladies. For them I would try to stay. At least for a while I would do what they wanted.

The group room was full of people watching TV. Tonight I was not in the mood. The art room had a few people. One of them was wearing the orange jumpsuit. That was what the convicts had to wear. This one was busy painting in the corner. A very small pretty girl with an intense look on her face was wearing the orange.

Walking closer I could see that the picture I had painted earlier was on the table next to her. Picking it up I sat next to her. The girl looked about 15. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and the paint she used stained her hands.

"What did you do?" I asked her.

"Prostitution," she said concentrating on her work.

"Do your parents know?" For some reason her answer shocked me.

"Yes, they know," she was annoyed.

"Sorry, you just look so young, what, are you 15?" I asked.

Letting out a sigh she said, "14. You going to lecture me?"

"No. Not at all. You do what you want," I aid.

Grabbing my painting from my hand she gave me a stern look, "Stop touching that."

"Why?" I asked.

"That is my father," she said.

"What are you painting?" I asked her.

"My mother," she dabbed more color on the paper.

The paper was filled with green swirls and blood red streaks. In the center were very detailed eyes. Evil eyes with an angry look glaring out into space cut into my brain. The perfect bride for Randy, the two paintings were a perfect pair.

The skill of the girl was masterful. The painting showed pain and was still beautiful. It made my work look pathetic. Like an angry child throwing paint around. What I did belonged on a refrigerator, while her work should be in a museum.

"You're really good," I said as she worked.

"Thank you. I want to be an artist. That's why I got into prostitution, so I could buy art supplies," the look on her face lightened up a little.

"Art supplies?" I asked.

"Yes, it can get expensive and I love to draw and paint. Sometimes if you want to create the profound sometimes you have to do something profane to pay for it," she was getting more lively.

"So your parents don't care? Too busy running hell?" I said.

"No," she laughed a little, "they don't want me to do what I have to do to get the things I need. They think I should spend all day at school instead of creating. They just want to control me. They think my art is making me sick. They think that selling sex is a big deal. I use condoms."

The tone of her voice got angry as she talked. The picture got wilder. It was clear her parents were wrong her art was special. It was not something I would want my children to do. It scared me.

Getting up I looked around and saw another younger person. It was a boy who was staring at the girl. Acne was making his face look like a topographical map. Compulsively he scratched at his skin. Maybe tomorrow I might talk to him. Right now I was tired and needed to head back to my room for the night.

My room was empty except for me. There were no visitors in the dark. No one was watching me. Perhaps smoking pills would be a way to rid myself of unwanted visits from Randy. This wouldn't be so bad.

When the morning came a nurse awoke me and instructed me it was time for group. My head was burning and I decided to go with the program. Nurse tweaker was not on duty today. Getting down the hall to the group room seemed like it took forever. Rat guy glared at me when I walked in, "I thought you were supposed to be helpful. You look hateful," I couldn't help myself.

As the others started to murmur rat guy realized that if he didn't look nice I was going to win. Sucking down his feelings he answered me, "You are welcome here. I have no hostility toward you. Would you like to start the conversation?"

For the first time I did. Questions about the conversation I had with Jones filled my mind.

"Sure, I have this conversation last night," as I started to speak rat guy interrupted me.

"DJ, can you please introduce yourself first?"

"Sure, I'm DJ, I'm homeless. Lived here in Santa Cruz all my life," I said.

"Ok, you can continue," the rat guy squeaked.

"So this guy tells me a story to help me, but I don't understand it. Something about God sending out boats for people who are stuck in floods. I really don't see why that means I need to stay here."

"That means you should stay because God wants you to," a slender man said.

"No, that means that God will destroy the earth in a flood unless we stop sinning," said another person.

"I don't believe in God," an angry woman said.

Rat guy tried to talk but arguments started growing. Group was out of control once again. The angel came in and had to disband the session because the topic had taken over.

I got some lecture then I was sent on to my individual therapy. This doctor was a crazy looking older guy who understood my question about the roof and boats. Instead of explaining that to me he told me why I couldn't understand it. My soul felt broken. I didn't know what to do and felt ashamed. Hopelessness turned me into a zombie for a few days. All I did for the next few weeks was take medicine, go to therapy, and sleep.

I was such a good boy they decided to send me on my way. Rochelle would be picking me up and driving me to my shiny new life. Everyone was happy about this except for the art therapist.

"Your art is not very therapeutic these days," she said collecting up a bland picture I drew.

"When I look at this I don't see someone making a break though. Making changes to get out and make everyone else happy won't last," she added in a worried tone.

"What else can I do? I am used up," I thought she would understand but the look on her face told me she didn't.

"You were looking at your emotions before. Casey still carries that painting you did with her. That said something. This is a tiny little poorly drawn flower. Why did you even choose that?" The art lady asked.

"I was thinking about some of the flowers Black Tony planted. They don't move, they don't cause trouble. In return everyone takes care of them. That is what is happening to me," I explained.

"Oh, I see. Well I hope you will be ok," she said walking away.

A nurse came for me. Then I was walking toward a strange door. I had never been in this area before. I moved through a few doors and was standing in front of Rochelle and Candice. They hugged me and prayed for me. The children were not around. Most likely they were staying with one of the legions of relatives the ladies had that hated me. I didn't like them either, but I didn't blame them for their opinions. Really I did deserve my reputation.

After an endless delay we left the doors of the MP ward. They were heavy metal and made to contain the crazy. It felt good to be on the other side when they shut. We went to the parking look through the big front entrance. A large cross cast its shadow on the ground. I had to walk through the shadow to get to the parking area. This made a shrill tingling go up my spine.

Once in the car we started the drive to San Francisco. I didn't want to go. The feeling of defeat engulfed me in the back seat. The ladies noticed.

"It won't be bad. You be back to normal for shiz," Candice said.

"You know, I got a good job lines up for you, It is gonna be fine. You'll see," chimed in Rochelle.

They were trying their best. I didn't tell them much about what was going on. In fact I didn't acknowledge even to myself what was happening.

"Where are the kids?" I asked.

The two passed looks between themselves that told me who the kids were with. Candice's mother. How I hated that woman. If we stopped to pick them up and she saw me then she would back a big deal. The drama queen wouldn't let me forget how much she disapproved of me.

"Do we have to stop at your mother's?" I asked.

"No," Rochelle said, "we are leaving them for a few days. Let you settle in. Get back into the rhythm."

One thing that made me feel hopeful was the fact that there would be wine at the house. It would be rationed out but at this point I didn't care. I just wanted a drink. One little drink would do. The rest of the ride home I just started out the window at all the things I hadn't seen in a long time.

Along the way home we hit a drive through. This was the first time in a while my taste buds had any activity. It was wonderful. The smell, the taste, and the color of food seemed brand knew. It felt like the first time I had eaten in a long time. The last fry entered my mouth as we pulled into the garage.

The house was as beautiful as always. A few toys were hiding in the corners but other than that the place reeked of good taste. The first stop was the kitchen. Candice pulled out a pie and Rochelle grabbed a bottle of wine. Each of us had a glass and a piece of pie. It was a great day.

After being locked up I really wanted to go somewhere. A short while passed and I went outside for a walk. I didn't go far but I really felt free. It was the first time in a long time I felt joy. Then Randy showed up.

Walking fast I bumped into someone. It was Randy. There was no way to get away from him. The twisted face looked longer and the horns were starting to split at the ends. Candice came riding up on her scooter. No words were spoken as the three of us went home.

When I arrived at home I went into the kitchen and drank another glass of wine before Rochelle took it away. Jones would be coming over for dinner tomorrow. The children would stay on at Candice's mothers for further brainwashing by the old bitch. It was clear that the two of them had an outpatient plan for me to follow. There would be headshrinkers and job training. AA meetings and good nutrition. No one asked me what I thought of the plan. It felt that I was being thrown into a very pretty prison. It would be easier for the ladies. They know what's best. At least it felt that way the more wine I had to drink.

I did love them in a way. Not a sexual way, although I did end up doing that with them now and then. There probably wouldn't be any right now. They were done having kids.

No one knew my secret. I hoped they wouldn't find out. For this reason I didn't want to see anymore shrinks. The idea of Jones visiting made me happy. That man seemed to have information that I wanted to know.

"So," Rochelle started in on me, "about this storage locker."

"What about it?" My heart sunk.

"Well, the place changed managers. There have been some complaints about it. I think they are going to ask us to move. So?"

I couldn't move my stuff. Crying I buried my face in my hands. Randy laughed like he heard the funniest joke ever. What was happening to me, what about my stuff?

"Complaints? It's my storage, did someone go in?" I asked.

"No, no one has gone in. It's just that, well, they say it smells. What do you want to do with the stuff?" Rochelle really felt for me.

"I need to think. I don't want to lose my stuff. I don't want to move it either. I don't know," I cried harder. Everything was falling apart.

"Don't worry too much. We will get that done. One way or another, we will take care of you," Rochelle said.

This was the lowest I had felt in a long time. Losing my son was bad, but losing my storage locker was losing myself. It had my memories. If it was emptied I'd be dead. Candice walked in carrying a plate of cookies. They smelled good but it didn't matter. On and on I cried.

That night I crawled into my special and comfy bed. I decided I would stay to talk to Jones. Then I would go home. Randy perched on the footboard of my bed and watched me. The evil presence kept me awake for hours. Finally, sleep came long after midnight did.

That day I watched TV. All Rochelle could talk about was getting me back to work. They had appoints for this and that to get me worthy of living in their world. I felt like a very special project.

Jones came over and I just stayed quiet throughout dinner. Fried chicken from KFC, pie from who knows where, and wine were on the table. It seemed like I was being watched. Randy was nowhere to be found and that was alright with me.

"So," Jones said to me, "I see you listened to me. That made me wonder why. What did I say that got you doing what you need to do."

"It wasn't what you said," I answered.

"What then?" Asked Jones.

"Religious people and churches are hiding the truth. They don't really know what it is. They get it, then they bury under piles of conditional shit. They bury it so much that after time they can't find it anymore. I am not sure exactly what you mean, but I know that you are honest. I think I want that. I know I like it."

Jones looked surprised, "Well, that is pretty much how I felt. That was why I started studying the Bible. I got tired of having people tell me what it meant. Telling me what they wanted me to believe. Like they had any business controlling God. That was what moved me, the search for the truth. And I found it, you know where?"

"No, where?" Asked Candice.

"It is inside me. I think it is inside everyone. God wants us to think for ourselves. Getting to the truth is hard. Following orders and just doing what you are told won't set your soul free. The answers are inside."

"Folks find themselves at church looking for answers, looking for a way. Church teaches, helps you look for the truth. Once you find God you can stare into Him. It's like looking at a mirror in a way. You see the truth was there all along inside God and inside you."

Jones went on, "Deep inside we are all reflections of God. Imperfect versions of the Holy. Suffering and pain are how we forge that reflection into something closer to the original. Sometimes we end up with a grotesque mistake. That is all good. It is part of the great search for the truth."

"Amen," the ladies said in unison.

"Does Momma Kady Like you?" I asked.

The glances between the ladies told me no. I hoped they didn't get along. Jones was all right and Mamma Kady was not a favorite of mine. Nor was I a favorite of hers. That woman was Candice's mother and a very strict Baptist. There was a lot of hate in her life. She hated me, Rochelle, and the fact that Candice was a lesbian. Right now she was brainwashing the children. I hoped she didn't like Jones.

"Well, we have our differences," said Jones.

At this point Randy walked in. Moving in shadows he flitted in the corners until he made his way under the table. I had a glass of wine. It felt good, but I really wanted more.

"Are you going to stay?" Asked Jones.

Taking in a deep breath I decided to lie, "Yes. I am staying."

The ladies smiled big deep smiles. Their white teeth beamed and blinded my eyes. Laughter came from Randy. Obviously he enjoyed my lies.

The rest of the night passed very easily. Once I had said I would stay everyone felt at ease. Like their jobs were finished. Jones was a good person who Randy ranted about. Ignoring him I listened to what I could. As the night wore on Randy got louder and more obnoxious he became.

Excusing myself for bed Randy followed me thudding up the stairs almost touching me. My room was empty and I covered my head as I went to bed. As I lay there I could feel eyes on me. Pulling down the covers I saw Randy sitting in the corner smiling. Rochelle checked on me and said good night.

Looking at the corner I saw nothing. Randy was not there. I looked to my right and there he was a little closer than before. I closed my eyes and opened them, Randy was inches away from my face. Holding back a scream I let my eyes close again. Feeling Randy's hot rancid breath on my face I couldn't sleep for a long time

Morning came and I went out. Walking back to Santa Cruz would not be easy. I had no money and if I did have it I knew I would buy some vodka instead of using it for a bus ride.

I took a walk. Down 19 th avenue I went away from the Golden Gate. Today was gray and cold. The wind blew through my clothes and chilled every bit of me. It took me several hours to get to Burlingame. That was not a place that was nice to my kind so I decided not to stop even though my feet were throbbing. Finding El Camino Real I found a little store to hide behind. It was cold but it felt good to stay in a place where I was free.

The walk to San Jose took the better part of the next day. I hated San Jose it was like walking around an arm pit. The traffic was thick and the air was full of ozone. It was like a piece of Detroit had been planted in between two beautiful bays and this grew from it. The way home was really hard to walk. People in San Jose didn't give freely like in SF or Santa Cruz. I was in a hurry to get home so I decided that walking was the only way.

I really needed a drink. I found the trail that went to Lexington Dam and found a place to sleep in a park. It was early when the rangers woke me and told me to move. I made it to summit road and then found my way to the back of Nisene Marks. It would take me to Aptos.

By the time I started out it was getting late and cold. Finding a place to shelter for the night among the trees I covered myself with pine needles. Pigs walked by me. Birds made noise and then came bats. The night was cold and I woke many times. Fear of what my body heat might attract freaked me out. Finally I dozed off.

A few black snakes had curled up next to me. It was icky but harmless. Getting up I made my way down the paved road that ran through the park. It would be all downhill. That I was glad about.

This place was full of bicyclists. They parked where I came from and went way too fast down the road. It looked fun. Hikers past me on the way to find other trails. I just wanted to be free of the trees. Once at the town I could find someone to get money from. It wouldn't take long to get a bus and then get some beer.

Walking was killing my knees and my feet. I stopped and sat on a rock. The water looked so clear and I was so thirsty. Drinking it would make me sick. My tongue felt like leather and my lips were splitting like they were turning into sand. As I sat my vision dimmed. A biker stopped and asked me if I was alright. He gave me a water bottle and stayed with me until I got up again. It would be a long walk still.

Walking on I soon needed more water. The road came to a place where I had to cross over the creek in order to go on. I took off my shoes and let them feel the coolness slip alongside them. It was so relaxing. The rough rocks bruised and cut my feet. Once across I waited a moment before I put on my shoes. Tying my shoes was impossible because my feet were so swollen. Moving slowly I made it to the parking lot. Only a few miles into town and I could then rest my feet.

A guy who was loading up some bikes in the back of his truck offered me a ride. It was great and he took me all the way to Capitola. There a cop gave me bus fare and walked me to the nearest express to Santa Cruz. Sometimes it was good to not be wanted around.

Getting off at the metro center I felt home. The Pacific Garden Mall was buzzing with activity as the sun started to set. Begging for a few bucks earned me about 15 bucks. Soon I had a six pack and a sandwich. It took all the energy I had in me to make it to River Street and find a good spot under the bridge. Eating my sandwich and guzzling my beer I watched the dirty water flow out toward the sea. A duck landed by me and a seagull flew overhead. Sleep hit me in the dark.

Waking up I felt a bottle in my pocket. Stiff and freezing I could barely move. It was still dark and I knew I might die if I didn't get up. I still had a few bucks and Denny's was close by. If I made it there I would be ok.

The levee usually wasn't that hard to climb. My body was so drained that it felt like I was climbing a mountain. It took me over an hour to get to Denny's. Normally it would be half that time or less. I sat at the counter and ordered a coffee. Instead of waiting for it to cool I drank half of it and burned my mouth. Dumping in cream and sugar I realized how hungry I was. The waitress brought me a slice of pie, on the house. I must have had five cups of coffee or maybe more. Pain was making me shake. I took the bottle of pills from my pocket and through them in the trash on my way out of the place. I was going to be on my own. Home had no room for those pills.

The clock tower wasn't far and I needed to rest. No one was sitting there and the sun was just coming out. There was one thing I really needed and that was a beer. Or vodka, rum, anything that was alcohol would do. There were no people out yet so there was no way to get money. But I knew I had some left in my storage locker. Too bad that I couldn't get into there until later. Right now I was too tired to walk anywhere right now. I had a feeling I looked rougher than I felt. That was bad.

There had been no sign of Randy for a while. I wondered if I kept moving maybe he wouldn't be able to find me. Maybe I could rid myself of my demon without the medication. Living on the road always one step ahead of him.

As the day became warmer and people started going about their business I started to feel better. Drinking all that coffee made me need to pee really bad. There was no way for me to make it anywhere so I relieved myself on the wall near the clock tower.

Walking toward Soquel Avenue I started to feel less pain. My stomach was rolling and surging trying to find something to eat. Aches ran through my torso and I felt a little light headed. The more I walked the better I felt. Soon I was at the locker.

Looking through the inventory I found a few bucks. I took some and left the rest. It was true that the smell had gotten horrible. There was no way to deal with it. I knew that I was going to have to part with my locker. What would become of the body of my son and the ashes of my mother?

I made it to a liquor store and bought a fifth of gin. Drinking it on the sidewalk and making my way toward Twin Lakes I felt like a new man. I felt no pain. In fact I didn't feel anything at all.

The harbor was full of seagulls. I found my way to the railroad tracks and just went walking. Even though my feet and legs were against it I was so restless. It didn't feel like home for some reason. Usually falling back into this way of life feels so easy and comfortable.

Don't misunderstand me I hate my life. Being homeless brings me no joy at all. But of all the things I have tried this is the least objectionable. It feels like I belong to the streets and all the other places where trash isn't seen. The uneasy feeling that I didn't belong was one of the things in my life I could not stand. Fuck, even the gin didn't help me relax. Things were burning in my mind.

Walking down to the River I saw a man washing in the filthy water. The guy was too thin and ripped with muscles. Long curly blond hair waved in the breeze. It was bleached a dirty blond by the sun. Watching he brought feelings to my body. I really wanted him. This thought disgusted me. I was not gay.

Walking back to the road I spent the day walking to the surfer statue. Sean was not there. Sitting on a bench I decided to wait until he showed up. As the sun started to get lower than fence line there was still no Sean. Maybe he didn't park here anymore.

Just as I was about to get up and leave the familiar beat up pickup pulled into park. It was Sean. His face lit up when he saw me. Something looked wrong. It was unusual for Sean to look this dirty. His face had the leathery look of being out of doors too much and his cheeks had gray dirt caked on it.

Today I had some moments of truth. The way I felt when I saw the guy in the river and the inability to understand some things hit me at once. Usually I didn't have so many things confront me at once. Really I had always known I was gay. The only person I had ever really loved was Randy. The totality of my bad situation had hit me in the face.

That reality haunted me and I wanted to forget some of it by hanging around Sean. Seeing him was such a relief. It wasn't easy thinking about anything right now. I wanted to get drunk and I wanted to have something to fill my mind up with. Sean was happy to see me and had some candy bars and soda in the car.

Driving over to a liquor store Sean bought me all the alcohol that I wanted. It was comforting to hear Sean's droning on about all sorts of crap. The drunker I got the more sense Sean made.

Drinking and eating I passed out in the back of Sean's extended cab. A cat climbed on me during the night and I woke up to the matted smelly creature on my chest. It was an ugly cat but it was so affectionate.

Sean was sleeping in the front seat with his head back and his mouth wide open. Snoring noises filled the truck. The harsh sun beat in through the front window. It heated the cab to an unbearable and stale level. I reached to the front seat and rolled down the window. The air outside was cold and fresh. The cat backed away from the cold breeze. Next to Sean was his other cat. That one didn't look well. It was just as matted and dirty as the one next to me but it didn't move much. I felt sorry for the cats.

The cats were how Sean took his mind off of his truths. The whole gay thing was bothering me. It was nice hanging out with Sean but I really wanted to talk to someone. I really didn't know who I was and I was starting to think that I didn't belong here. I really felt uncomfortable.

Sean had to drive to Pebble Beach for some extra work. Before he left he asked if I wanted to come along but I needed to find something more. Many things were going to change and there was no way for me to stop anything. I was gay, powerless, mental, and homeless. Probably something about me could offend anyone. Instead of just aimlessly walking around I headed to San Lorenzo Park. I wanted to see the dragon.

The sun was bright and high in the sky. It burned my scalp through my hair. Feeling the top of my head I could feel that my hair was thinning. That made me feel so sad. Walking down behind the courthouse I saw the children running around and playing. Many kites were flying and it looked like a rainbow had landed on the ground. There on a bench was the black man with the blue eyes.

As I walked closer the black man's eyes fixed on me. They didn't blink. Walking over toward his bench I sat on the grass. His gaze didn't leave me and he didn't say a word. The look he gave me was hard. It was an approving scowl that made me feel ashamed.

From my pocket I took out a beer and drank it. Not moving his stare he shook his head. Then I laid in the grass and relaxed. Still he watched on. His eyes were so accusatory. Like he understood me.

"So I'm gay," I said.

The looking didn't stop. The cold gray stare just hung on his face.

"Sometimes I like girls, I don't know," I said looking away from him, "But the only way I can be with them is to degrade them. I am so upset, can't you say one fucking thing old man?"

I threw my can at him and it missed. The black man shook his head as he stared.

"What am I going to do? My brain surely has holes in it, the only love I have ever had is tormenting me, and I don't even know how to live anymore," I started to cry, "and my things are being taken away. My storage locker is being taken away. Everything about me is wrong."

"Why are you fucking staring at me? What is your fucking problem? Why are you such a stupid fuck?"

The guy just smiled at me. Didn't look away, didn't frown, he just smiled at me and didn't move. I really didn't know what to do.

Instead of talking he pointed to a man looking down at the ground. The guy looked really sad. I wasn't sure what the black guy wanted but I walked over to the sad guy.

"What is your deal?" I asked the guy.

He was about 30 and had not shaved in a few days. After I asked him what was going on he looked at me. The puffy red eyes told me that he had been crying.

"What?" He said.

"What is your problem, you ok?" I said.

"No. No I'm not ok. My whole family just disowned me. My father told me he wished I'd never been born. My mother told me that she was so ashamed of me that she understood why people stoned their kids to death. Life really sucks right now."

"Why? What did you do?" I asked.

"I'm gay. I told them. I thought they would just accept me how I am. No. They despise me. I feel like the whole world must hate me."

"It's hard being gay. At least you can admit it to yourself. Some people can't," I was trying to just leave. This was cutting close to home.

"What would you even know?" He said through a flood of tears.

"I know. I never told anyone. Now my love is dead and I never told him. I never told him how I felt. In fact I told him when we had sex it was nothing. Just feeding a need. That I was only using him until I could get pussy. Guess what? I didn't want the pussy. Now I don't know."

The guy stopped crying. He hugged me. I hugged him back. It felt good. We walked along the river and shared stories. I left out a lot of the worst things. The guy probably did as well. It turned out the he was a computer programmer for Seagate. Everything about him seemed pretty normal except for his boyfriend. Everyone encouraged him to come out. Now he had no family. It hurt him. I felt hurt hearing his story.

Randy flew overhead and landed by him. The rest of our walk it was hard to hear the guy through Randy's loud mocking. After we hit the tennis courts we parted ways. The rest of my night I spent at the mall begging for money. I really needed a drink.

My memory is fuzzy about the rest of the night. Waking up I had a bottle of Jack cuddled up next to me, unopened. What a great feeling to have a full bottle to drown the day in. I really felt out of place. The landscape didn't suit me anymore.

Walking down River Street I started to make my way to White Lady's. The road was more bizarre than I remembered. The disjointed walk ended with me in front of a cleared plot of land that once was White Lady's. Even her old walls didn't belong here anymore. Something had changed. I felt like bad food that was being expelled from a belly.

Spring was coming to town. There was no room for me. No room for ghosts and what they had left behind. Not that I had any place that I did belong. The thought that I was gay kept creeping into my mind. I decided that Jack could keep me from worrying about that anymore.

The place where Black Tony gardened was open and I saw him pulling weeds in his plot. I waved at him. The look he gave me told me I'd better move on. I decided to go to Natural Bridges and hang out in the high dunes.

It was easy to hide in the brush. I drank and drank until the back of my throat burned. There was not much I could think to do. I felt restless and passed out under the eucalyptus trees.

When I woke up a full moon was out. Sitting up I watched the silver light of the moon dance on the white caps of the waves. It was a beautiful sight. I was hungry and I really needed to eat anything.

A large grocery store wasn't that far down Mission Street. I decided to walk there and check out the dumpster. They threw out a bounty of food. There was enough to make a Pilgrim blush on Thanksgiving. I needed real food or I might do something that would land me back in the psych ward. That wasn't going to happen.

The dumpsters were brimming with food and there were a few other people looking for dinner. One of the people had a kid. That was good. It was unlikely the workers would ask us to leave with a kid.

There was day old bread, rotting fruit, and expired milk. It felt like I had never had such good food before. Each of us took what we could carry and didn't linger too long. Down Mission I went toward my clock tower. It would be a long walk.

As I made my way down Mission Hill I could see that there were a few people at the tower. I stopped and ate all I could before I got to the others. I didn't want to share.

After I chugged the Jack I felt really bad. I doubled over and threw up all my precious alcohol. Crying I sat in my vomit and just didn't do a thing. Lights from a vehicle landed on me and stopped. Hoping it wasn't a cop I shielded my eyes and looked toward the lights. A big fat woman walked over to me. It was Rochelle. I got in the car with her and drove off.

"You been ok? We all be worried. Stupid me, I thought Jones got through to you, why the fuck you want to come back to this shit?" Rochelle was trying not to yell.

"I can't do it, I just don't know. Even this place is repelling me. I don't think I belong anywhere," I cried.

"Ok. What's in the storage locker? We need to get it cleaned up. They are sending notices to the house," Rochelle was very serious.

"I found Zu-Zu," I whispered.

Slamming on the brakes Rochelle stopped dead in the street, "You WHAT! DJ, you don't go and tell me that you gots that baby in that locker. Oh Lord, please help me."

"I do. I found him. I need to take care of him," I was crying.

"Anyone else up in there?" Rochelle was not happy.

"My mother. I got her ashes away from her vault at White Lady's."

Cars were honking and Rochelle was holding her forehead. Finally she took a deep breath and moved the car.

"Ok, Ok, let me think. We need to give the baby a proper burial. Ok. We can keep ashes. It's ok. We just need to get the baby to a cremation place and then we'll go from there. Holy Mother of God. I need to call Friendly's," Rochelle said.

Friendly was a strange person. Rochelle and Candice called him from time to time. I didn't know much about him. Apparently from what I overheard, getting a baby cremated wasn't too big of a deal. We drove to the storage locker and waited for him.

When Friendly showed up it was late. Waiting in the dark like a snake in his hole I watched Rochelle give him money. Friendly's head nodded up and down. Then he looked around and opened my locker. It felt like I was being paraded naked for the world to judge. Slithering from the shadows I went to see what they were doing.

Looking in the locker I saw Randy. Looking so pleased he lay on top of my boxes. Feeling hot tears run down my face I pointed to where the baby was. I didn't want my son disturbed, or treated the wrong way. Moving close to the mini fridge where my son lay I opened the door and gently picked up my boy.

The baby looked perfect. The plump little face hadn't changed at all. You would think he had been dipped in water from Lourdes. Weeping I handed him to Friendly.

"It's gonna be fine," Friendly said to me, "I gonna take this baby and make sure that he is taken care of proper. Leave it all to Friendly, man,"

"I don't want to let him go, I want him to stay with my mother," I said pointing to the urn with that bitch's remains.

"No problem, no problem at all. We gonna do the same to the baby. You can keep both of them, but not here. This is no place for even the dead," Friendly answered.

Crying I watched as Friendly took the baby, my mother, and some other things that I had in the locker. Most of what I had he left.

"They cut you in pieces," Randy laughed.

Randy was right. It felt like I had been torn apart and scattered to the four corners of the earth. Rochelle put an arm around me and said, "That Zu-Zu was still beautiful. Just like a saint. We will keep him where he belongs. It will make Candice feel better to be close to him."

"You coming?" Rochelle asked me.

"I can't, I need some time," I said.

"Here, I got you something," Rochelle went to the trunk of her car and brought out a shoulder bag.

"It is another computer," she said, "I know you didn't use the last one. Please think about writing. They will let you use it in the library, and some coffee places. Just try."

Friendly slowly exited the storage and Rochelle got in her car right afterward. I walked over to her car window, "Hey, what about my other stuff? What should I do?"

Rochelle looked into my eyes, "It has got to go. I didn't pay past this month. I think they might go in sooner. You don't need that stuff. Friendly is going to take everything savable back home. It is gonna be in your room. Just let the rest go."

Nodding I backed up. Randy was standing right next to me. "It is going to go. People like you aren't allowed to own things. By Rochelle, thanks for nothing," he snarled.

Leaving the storage place I felt so utterly defeated. Part of my stuff was in a car with a guy I hardly knew, I had a computer I didn't know how to use, and all of my other stuff was going to be lost.

Walking down to the old Catholic cemetery I stopped there to find a place to sleep. The gate had been busted off of an old mausoleum and at least the walls kept out the wind. The hole I slept in was never used. The cemetery was in ruins. But it didn't scare me like White Lady's. That was a place I would never be able to sleep at.

Randy perched on top of a broken cross that was directly in front of my tomb. I tried to act like I was asleep but Randy knew.

"You like it in there?" Randy hissed at me.

"Not really, but it will do,: I said.

"If you were to die that is the way it would be from now on. It's really not too bad. Think about it. If you died then you would be with me forever. Eventually you will die anyway, why wait any longer?"

The crypt gave me a strange mood and I began to have a dream of walking to another cemetery. Walking down to where highway one intersects highway nine I went down the road to white lady's. The sky was churning like boiling pea soup. The road was rock like it hadn't been repaired in many years. The house that seemed so odd lay in ruins like a forest fire had run through.

Then I got to the spot. As before it was cleansed of all the ruin and rubble. The ground being prepared for life anew. I passed the lot and thought how small it looked. The trees had fooled me into thinking that the plot of land went on forever. Everything was gone. So I turned around to leave. Just as I made the first movement I knew something was going to be wrong. And there it was.

Taller than I thought possible was the last standing wall of the house. It was still in disrepair and it stood up on black legs. It blocked my way down the road so I ran straight to the graveyard on the other side of the street.

As I ran through the soft manicured grass I felt the earthquake and roll. Then a hand came out of the ground in front of me. People started emerging in a crowd from the mausoleum. The crack of dry dirt being disturbed and of old things moving filled the air. I ran faster as the huge cemetery started to fill with living residents.

Behind me was the house. It towered and shook the earth with its movements. Riding in the top window was Randy. Laughing and singing he pointed at me. The house was under his spell. A little girl tripped me and I fell.

The girl looked at me with hollows for eyes. Then she hummed as the wall of the house came closer. The black leg of the house lifted over me as the girl looked up at it. As the child sang an old Flintstone tune the leg started to come down. While shadow overtook me I heard the child sing, "Just open up your heart and let the sun shine in."

Then I woke up. I needed to go someplace safe and just think. I decided to head up to my favorite swimming hole. The walk up San Lorenzo wasn't too long and the water wouldn't be freezing. At least not until dark. When I climbed out of the hole there was no Randy or a sign of anyone else. Birds flew above me and I left to find some peace.

The walk was peaceful. Sometimes the journey is the most important part of life. Maybe that is why I hate being expected to do things. I need to move. When I got to the pool it was just after midday. Sitting on a rock by the river was Randy. He was smoking a hookah and playing odd music on his guitar.

Closing my eyes I wished him away. Laughter echoed all around me. Then I recited Psalm 23 in my head. Then came Randy's slick voice through the trees.

"Your cup stopped running over a long time ago. The rod and the staff you through away, and why should you fear any evil in the shadows? When, after all, you bring the evil to the shadows. Stop playing games. Bible verses are to comfort fools."

A sigh came out of my mouth. While I was thinking about the words he did stop laughing. Part of what he said did ring true, but I knew he was being deceptive with facts.

"You remember the Flintstones?" I asked him.

"Stupid show," he muttered.

"Do you remember that song Pebbles sang?"

"Listen closer. That is what I am playing on my guitar," Randy smiled.

"Why? I wouldn't think you would like it," I said.

"Of course I like it. It's true. He will never ever leave you if your heart is filled with gloom. Don't let the sun shine in. Let the devil win. Frowners always lose, and smilers never win. Don't let the sun shine in. Let the devil win. Smoke a lot of pot and let the devil win," he sang along to his weird off key version of the song.

"That is not how it goes," I said.

"I enhanced it," Randy said with a smile.

"Why?" I said.

"Because that is the kind of guy I am. I live to improve things. The human condition is appalling. Suffering is running amok, Children going hungry, and old people die alone. I want to give the masses comfort. And I want company," Randy said.

"That sounds nice," I thought that was odd coming from the devil, "like something God would do."

"God? What does He care if you are rich or poor? All He wants is to better your soul. If you suffer than it is for your own good. I think He believes in the ends justifying the means. I offer those who follow me all the comfort of the material world," Randy explained.

"So you want to make people happy?" I asked.

"Happiness is an illusion. It is a thought, not a state of being. Perception is up to the individual," Randy said.

"I came here to clear my thoughts. Not argue with you. I just want peace."

"Well," said Randy, "why don't you kill yourself? That will end all your problems. Then we can be together and you can accept yourself. It is really easy. Just go into the deep water and pull that big rock down on top of you. Then you will drown and not be a trouble to anyone or be troubled anymore."

It actually looked easy and sounded like a good plan. I was thinking about this as I saw a young girl walking down from the road. Greeting me she started to take off her clothes to go swimming. I looked at her and asked her a question.

"Hey chick, why shouldn't I kill myself?"

That startled her and quickly she replied as she climbed out of the swimming hole, "because death sucks."

Quickly she left without dressing. I thought that she was correct. Death would suck. Randy would have to wait for me. This place was not going to give me the peace I wanted so I followed the river back into town and made a bed for myself under the River Street Bridge. Tonight I made a spot for Randy. It stayed empty all night long as Randy watched me from the bridge above.

The next day I was walking around just checking out the beach. I found Sean parked by the lighthouse. The guy was coughing and having a hard time breathing. It was clear something was wrong, but Sean didn't want to go to the doctor. Sean didn't have insurance and was too proud to take charity. This gave me an idea.

It was not something I could explain to Sean. One of the most honest people in the world was Sean. That guy would rather die than lie. I talked Sean into getting us a hotel for the night and buying me some clothes. To pull this off I would need to be clean.

Sean had a few days off so I convinced him to stay in the hotel. It was hard for him to not send every last dime he made to his brother, Sam, but I knew how to boss Sean around.

Setting off for downtown I made my way to the phone company. When I was a little kid my Grandpop had taken me here when he paid the bill. The people would always give me a little phone keychain. I must have had a thousand of them. These days it wasn't as easy to get in the front door, but I knocked and someone came to talk to me.

These people were not the happy gentle folk who my Grandpop paid the bills to. These were a bunch of frightened sheeple who fainted at their own shadow. I came in strong and told them I was sent by the fourth level to increase productivity and I lost my badge.

After a load of my bullshit the first level was too scared to call the fourth level and confirm anything. He didn't want to look stupid. They issued me a badge and I explained that we were on a pilot project.

On I went about all the bathroom break issues that we tracked in San Francisco. Then I told them that since the most productive person took the longest bathroom breaks we were going to mandate longer bathroom breaks. Then we would track how these breaks impacted productivity. Just like the emperor's new clothes. Only the phone company would make sure all the little boys who pointed out the obvious were fired.

Then I added Sean on my insurance as a domestic partner. They gave me a temporary card, and all I needed was a good story to explain this to Sean. Another thing I needed was a drink. I was getting shaky.

The first level's name was Bob. Bob liked to drink a lot too. As I was thinking about how I would find money to get some booze, Bob came and offered to take me out to dinner. On the company's expense account.

We went to the Crow's Nest and had some food that I don't remember and many drinks. Bob matched me shot for shot and beer for beer. This was my kind of boss. After I got the insurance card I had decided to never return. But after dinner I thought this might be a good way to live. Make up bullshit and then get drunk.

I passed the card on to Sean and told him that I got it from an undercover job I was on. This was top secret and so I couldn't explain more. The next few weeks I wasn't in touch with Sean much. Days I spent tracking bathroom time and fixing numbers to make my data look good. I pinpointed that 23 minutes was the idea break. This was just bogus, but still, a companywide memo went out about taking 23 minute bathroom breaks/

After work I went some place with Bob and got stinking drunk. The company gave us bonuses. I don't know how long I would have gone on like this but then I got the news. Some slack jawed moron at corporate decided to promote me. It was almost June so I decided to live under a bridge instead of move to Texas.

Not that there is anything wrong with Texas. I just didn't want to keep up the act. Besides, there were all these rumors about Bob getting surplused.

There may not be endless dinner drinks offered over in Texas. San Francisco didn't have this going on. It was possible that Bob wasn't unique, but I was pretty sure he was. Especially with everyone talking about him leaving the minute I was gone. They said he was going to have to locate a new job and that could be anywhere in the system.

So I just stopped showing up for work. Walking down by lighthouse field I saw Sam. Walking over I sat down and next to him.

"Hey," I said in a friendly way, but I noticed Sam was in a somber mood.

"Hey," said Sam choking back some tears.

"What's going on," I said looking for Sean.

"Sean has cancer. They took his cats, and I don't know where he is car is."

"Cancer? Where is he?" I asked.

"They sent him to Stanford/ He's not coming back," Sam said looking up at the sky.

"Shit," I said.

Then we just sat in silence. It was hard to think of anything to say. Something passed between us. I couldn't tell you want exactly it was, but I had found some peace. Sam was not as lucky.

Then I left. More lost than I had been in a long time. Randy wasn't even around. Where I was going I didn't know. Then from nowhere she showed up. Candi.

The rest of the day I spent with her. It was like old times, before I beat her up. The new place she was staying was nice. A baby crib was in the living room. It was empty and I didn't want to know why it was there. After a few beers I started to tell her all about my troubles.

I'm not sure exactly how but during the night she got me to tell her about my storage locker. At first I was furious with myself but then I realized the truth. The contents of the locker were lost to me. What did I care if Candi had access to the locker? My son and mother were gone. There were no more pictures, and none of my keepsakes. Friendly had made sure that only the boxes of my treasure were left. It was the least I could give Candi.

That night I slept with Candi and in the morning I started drifting around. Candi came looking for me. When she found me she was driving a truck that she rented. The reason she needed me was to help unload the storage locker. It hurt, but I went with her.

As we opened the roll up door Candi seemed excited. Then the smell hit her. In she went and out she came in a millisecond.

"What the fuck DJ? What the fuck is in there?"

"My stuff," I said upset.

Breathing hard she went back in. Opening a box she screamed, "This is a bunch of shit! A big box of shit!"

She tossed the box on the floor and the poo spilled all over. Box after box of my poo she opened and spilled. Then she started throwing my shit like a rhesus monkey. It hurt so much to see my precious body thrown about. Crying I pulled at my hair and backed away. Candi kept screaming and the police showed up. They took Candi out of the locker. Covered in shit and spitting, the cops asked me whose locker it was.

All I could explain was, "I gave it her, she, she did this."

I noticed that some of me was dry and hard, the newer boxes were still wet and soft. How dare she treat me in this way? Watching her being put in the backseat of the cop car covered in my shit I asked if I could make a phone call. I called Rochelle and she told me to wait and she would pick me up.

Now that I saw my essence covering Candi I thought that she now was part of me. This was my creation. It was a marriage, our flesh was one. Wanting to save her but not knowing how I just waited. Alone I sat and not even Randy bothered to be with me now.

Rochelle drove up. I was rocking back and forth on the curb. Holding me she tried to sooth me and then led me into the car. There were so many things going through my mind. I didn't want to go back to Frisco. There was no place for me. Being the kind of person she was, Rochelle drove me out to the beach and gave me some beer. That was just what I needed.

After a few beers I could explain the situation. Rochelle shook her head.

"You want to go to see your friend?" She asked.

"I am not sure where Candi will be," I said.

"No, honey, I meant your friend Sean. Do you want to go and see him before he passes on," Rochelle hugged me as she talked.

In truth I didn't want to see Sean at all. The Sean I knew was going to leave forever. His state would be sad and sick. That is not how I wanted to remember him. In fact I wanted to pretend he never died and was fine. If I visited him that illusion would be destroyed.

"You think if we gave Friendly enough money he could get Sean fixed?" I asked.

Rochelle laughed, "No. I don't think Friendly could help with that. Not that he wouldn't try if the price was right."

"You going to take me back to San Francisco?" I asked.

"No. I can't. You hurt Candice, you hurt her bad. It was hard for her to find out you had Zu-Zu. Real hard. And then her mama started in on you. She gonna need some time to heal. I don't think you two would do each other any good right now," Rochelle said.

"Good. I don't want to go there," I said.

"Where do you want to go DJ?"

"Right now I just don't think there is a place for me. No one wants me and I don't belong anywhere. I don't know what to do," I started crying.

"Why don't you try rehab?" Asked Rochelle.

"They put people like me in mental wards. Rehabs are not equipped for the mentally ill," I recited from memory.

"There must be a place for you, some place where you can get better. Clear up your head. You know?" She said.

"I've done some bad things," I said.

"What kind of bad things?" Asked Rochelle.

"Me and some guys blinded the guy who had Zu-Zu taken. I lie all the time. I drink and I don't want to see my dying friend. And worst of all," I took a deep breath, "I'm gay."

Rochelle looked at me strangely, "DJ, you know Candice and I are gay. That I made clear from the start. So what if you're gay?"

"You two are lesbians. Lesbians don't do, you know, things like gays do. I have done all those things. And I miss Randy," I started to cry, "Oh no, I really am so damn gay. I can get off with girls, so I thought, maybe. You know? But I'm a fag, a dirty little fag."

Rochelle looked at me hard, "Lordy, Lord. What are we gonna do with you?"

For a few days Rochelle stayed with me in a motel. Then she took me back to the mental ward. This time it was in San Francisco. Instead of leaving me in my home and hoping I would get better Rochelle wanted to track my progress.

Pacific Medical Center took me in and I got a room with a view. Another guy was already in the room and his name was Norm. From the moment I arrived I knew I would hate Norm. During intake Rochelle listed all my problems and spoke to the staff. It seemed like she knew me better than I did.

Morning came and I felt so odd. Being institutionalized was demeaning. After I got up I noticed that asshole Norm staring at me. Just looking at me, not saying a word, Norm breathed and seethed inside. It was obvious that he was dangerous. So I needed to let him understand that I was dangerous too.

"What you here for?" I asked him.

No answer came and I kept my glare on him.

"You gotta sleep sometimes," Norm said.

"So do you. You look like you can't stay up that long. You got soft skin, hair cut. Where the fuck you think I'm from? A troll like me eats pussies like you," I said.

"That's not the way I hear it," he sneered.

"Ya? What does that mean?" I asked.

"You know what that means you fucking queer. You better stay away from me. I will fuck you up," he was twisting.

"You are not my type at all. I fuck attractive guys. At least in the sexual sense of the word fuck," I was calm.

This agitated Norm. Lying on his back he started breathing hard. Too bad for him I knew this game. Walking outside I found the dumbest looking orderly I could find and told them that Norm was threatening to kill himself by eating his bed sheets. Soon Norm was in a special room with special constraints. No clothes allowed. I was sure he got the idea that messing with me was like trying to squish a hot coal in your bare hands.

They gave me some cookies for "helping" Norm. The idea of being in league with the staff appealed to me. Group was first thing in the morning and I decided to try and be good. Walking into the group room was strange. There were only three other guys and a facilitator.

One of the guys was a kid, maybe 19. He was wearing lots of eyeliner and had an emo look to him. Then the other two were regular looking guys about my age. Very generic men who didn't look like they were suffering from mental illness. Then there was me; the Norm slayer.

Word was passing around that I had Norm for a roommate and that Norm was now in a padded place where he couldn't harm himself. It had been less than 10 minutes since the incident and I already had power from it.

"Welcome to the group, I'm Chuck. I am the leader of this group. We deal with special issues that homosexual men face in recovery. Everyone in this group also suffers from a mental challenge. So let's introduce ourselves. Scotty why don't you start?" The shirt and tie said.

"Ok, my name is Scotty and I have a drinking problem. I have been identified as being Bipolar and I have not admitted to anyone else that I am gay," one of the normal guys said.

"Ok my name is Fahbian," the kid said, "I am a transgender person. I like to use meth and I am here because I tried to cut my dick off."

"My name is Earl," the last guy said, "I am fine. I really don't like doing it with other men at all. This is a big misunderstanding. The only thing I was doing was showing some boys how to jack off, I mean we all need to learn? It was nothing."

Then they all looked at me, "My name is DJ. I guess I have schizophrenia. They gave me a shot when I came in here that makes me feel really sleepy and makes it hard to think. I know I drink too much, and all I really want is beer right now. There is no way I am gay because I have had sex with women."

"Ok," said Chuck, "didn't you tell your friend you were gay?"

Chuck was staring at me.

"I don't know, I was probably drunk at the time."

"Well," said Fahbian the weenie chopper, "have you ever been with a guy? Do you think about guys?"

"I was raped a few times," as I uttered that Chuck's pencil started flying on his paper pad, "and I had sex with a couple of guys. But not real sex, just, you know, I needed sex and they were around."

"Did you have relationships with these guys?" Asked Scotty.

"I mean," Scotty went on, "was it more intimate with the women or with the men?"

Taking a breath I tried to answer honestly, "I have only been close to one woman. And I never loved her. I loved both men."

"You are a fag then," said Earl, "but I am not."

"Ok Earl, we do not call each other names in the group," said Chuck, "this is about coming to terms with our sexuality. This is not about shame or blame. We need to accept who we are, heal, and learn to express our sexuality in a healthy way."

"I don't belong here," Earl said, "I do express my sexuality in a normal way. I am married, I have kids in college, and there is nothing wrong with me other than I like to drink a beer or two on a Saturday night."

Letting out a sigh Fahbian said, "Ah, didn't you have over twenty pictures of you and small boys naked? Didn't you have your hand on their little privates? That is not healthy. You damaged people."

"I did no damage at all. I showed them how to make their anatomy work and just took a few pictures FOR THEM. THEY WERE NOT FOR ME!" Earl was an asshole.

I wondered how Earl could look so normal and be so evil. Why did I have to have a jerk like this in group? I thought the other guys were ok.

"DJ, did you want to say something? You look like you have something going on in your mind. Say whatever, just don't call names and try to keep it civil," Chuck said frowning at Earl.

"I find Earl offensive," was all I had to say.

"We all do," said Scotty.

"I am offensive?" Shouted Earl.

"You are the fags, not me."

"I am not gay. At least I don't feel gay and I don't act gay," I said.

"What is being gay? What does that mean to you?," Chuck asked me.

"You know, acting like a girl. Being weak, not a real man," I said.

Fahbian shook his head and Scotty looked down. The only one who seemed to like my answer was Earl. That told me I was in trouble.

"So," said Chuck, "Do you find men attractive? Because all I think that being gay means is that you are attracted to other men sexually."

Earl rolled his eyes, "No. Queers can't do man things. That is a proven fact."

Not wanting to ever agree with Earl I said, "I guess you are right Chuck. I don't know. I do find other men attractive. More than I find women attractive. But I don't know."

"It is hard to come to terms with that attraction," Scotty said, "I was married. I thought if I tried to be normal and did normal things that I would change. I hurt so many people living a lie. Now I can't stop drinking."

"Well. I never could deny myself who I was," added Faybian, "But I wanted to just be normal too. I thought if I got rid of my cock then I would be ok. But I am all boy. Really I am gay. And I don't care about much else."

Chuck looked at me, "What are you feeling DJ?"

"I don't think I am like Earl."

"I don't either," said Chuck.

"What is Earl?" I asked.

"Earl is a pedophile. The reason he is here is because, like the rest of you, Earl is in denial about his sexuality," as Chuck talked Earl turned red, "and what we are here to do is have you face what attracts you and then move toward building healthy intimate relationships."

Group finally ended and it was time for my individual therapy. Chuck told me where to go. My doctor was M.J. Lystermen in room 6. Getting to room 6 took a long time. The walls and the halls all looked crooked and the same. I was trapped in a hall of mirrors once again. Finally I made it to the room. Santa Claus greeted me.

"Welcome DJ, I'm Dr. Lystermen, but you can call me Frank," grabbing my hand he shook hard, "We are going to get you out of this nut house very soon."

I wanted to hear that. When we talked I told him things that I needed to say. The guy listened. It was like visiting Santa in the mall and telling him what you wanted for Christmas. Frank was thoughtful and smiled at me. This was nice. For the first time I enjoyed therapy.

"You know something DJ," Frank said as our time was winding down, "I don't think you are ready for this yet. Why don't you give the medicine you are taking a few weeks to get really working and then we will start rehab and working on your other issues. You need a clear mind before you can even think about all the work you need to do."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, we can't really talk about Candi until the medicine gives you a clear enough perspective to think about what poop really is. And then there is Herve. If you tried to contact him now I think that might be a disaster. But you can wait and in a while maybe rekindle your relationship with him."

With that I left. Confused I walked toward my room. I hadn't thought about Herve for so long. My feelings for him were not clear. We did have sex, and that is something I had never told anyone before. I looked forward to seeing Frank tomorrow.

Days turned into weeks. Time went by so slow I thought a lifetime had gone by. There were no visitors allowed for me. Santa Frank thought I might need extra observation. That Frank was so clever, he knew I wouldn't follow through with aftercare and he was right. Right then I felt so numb. The medicine took away Randy and left me empty. I didn't like being empty and didn't know how to fill the abyss. One thing I knew was that my soul was full of holes.

The discharge day came and went without much fanfare. Instead of going to the usual rooms and making plans for life on the outside there was just Frank to walk me out.

"Well DJ, good luck. Come back when you are ready," he said.

"That's it? No setting times with shrinks, no meds?" I was in shock.

"If you want medication, I would give it to you, but I think that would be just wasting pills. This was someone else's idea. You don't want to get better. This is all about you, not Rochelle," Frank said.

"Yah, you're right," I agreed.

"Why do you want to stay homeless? What draws you to it?" Frank asked.

"Living on my own terms, being free. It used to be comfortable, at least not as bad as the other alternatives. Right now even that feels wrong. I don't know how to get through the day anymore."

"Come back if you need to. My guess is that you are going to find alcohol the minute you leave," Frank showed me the exit.

The doors offered relief and Frank was right. Before an hour had past I was drinking in the park. Being dressed nicely I decided not to get drunk. Instead I headed out to Herve's apartment.

Herve lived downtown in a small studio. The room was very functional and hip. It looked like a gay person lived there. Knocking on the door I wondered how long it had been. Herve answered the door and through the opening I could see he had a friend over. Excusing himself Herve slipped into the___14 hall to talk to me.

"DJ," he hugged me, "where have you been? You look so tired, I would invite you in, but I have a guest."

"Can I come back tomorrow?" I asked.

"Come back in an hour, then we can talk," Herve was happy to see me.

"Sure," I said.

Walking around I saw a couple of guys sitting on the streets. San Francisco had a different kind of hobo crowd. They were more raw and in your face. It was a very aggressive atmosphere. Then there was this one guy talking to his imaginary friend. The talk turned passionate. That guy reminded me of myself and I wondered if he was talking to Randy.

It had been awhile since I had taken medicine. When would Randy return? Worse, what if he was gone forever and now was with that guy. The thought of being dumped hurt me.

Walking the hall to Herve's I saw him waiting for me. Hugging me he kissed my cheek. This kind of affection I didn't deserve. Herve was a wonderful man and I was a lowlife bum hobo. I was the one who broke our embrace and he took me into his home.

For hours we talked about us. The things we used to do and the things that Herve loved. On and on we talked as he updated me on the newest hot artists and what shows he planned to see next. It felt nice and natural to speak with him. Art was Herve's great passion in life and it was something I knew little about. The night past without me noticing. Time moved different on the outside.

It is hard to explain sex with Herve. Being with him was different than being with anyone else. The fact that he was gay was well understood. What I was haunted me. When I was with Randy it was ok because both of us slept with chicks. We pretended not to care about the sex we had. But it was so much more than sex. The way I felt about Herve scared me. It was like being with Randy.

All night Herve made love to me. It was beautiful and wrong. This was not sex as a release. This was not because I couldn't find a woman. This was exactly what I wanted. It was perfect and felt like more than just physical. When we came together it felt like we were one. Afterward I felt so confused.

"Herve?" I softly called out in the night.

"Yes?" He answered.

"Do you think I'm gay?" I asked him.

"Yes, why do you ask?" He questioned me.

"Because I don't act gay. I can get off with a girl. I don't know," I turned my back to him.

"Why worry so much about your sexuality? Be glad you are capable of having sex. Gay is just a word, I use it to describe me. I don't need it to define me. Call yourself what you want, in the end it changes nothing unless you allow the word to have more power than it should," this was waking Herve up.

"God hates gays," I said.

"God? I never heard you talk about God before," Herve was really awake now.

"God hates me. Randy loves me," I said crying.

"Why do you think God hates you? God loves everything he makes, even cockroaches. Who is this Randy?" Herve said quietly.

"A dead friend, and I think Satan," I said.

"Ok, well, I think you should not worry so much about God and the Devil. I find that the people are the ones who hate gays, not the Holy and the damned."

Herve then kissed me good night. It felt good to be with him. In fact I didn't feel like a waste of human flesh. Feeling good about being with a gay man made me feel ashamed. I didn't want to be gay. Nothing anyone would say would make me feel right about that.

Morning came and Herve made eggs and bacon. It was nice to sit and talk about little things. Today was Saturday and we decided to go to Crissy field and fly kites even though I thought that would seem very homosexual. None of my friends would ever know though.

The things that I wanted to do with Herve seemed wrong. Going out for ice cream with a guy just felt wrong. Buying fresh flowers and picking out fresh seafood at the wharf was not something I would ever think to do. This was the best day of my life. Walking amongst the fish I realized that this was the life I was supposed to be living. I had found where I belonged in the world.

All of the other times I spent with Herve were just like this. And just as I had done before I left right before I told him that I loved him. Facing what I am was harder than living on the streets. No matter how I felt I just couldn't face the truth. I took the bus back to Santa Cruz.

It was a long ride and it gave me some time to think. When we stopped at San Jose the guy from San Lorenzo Park sat next to me. It was that black guy with the blue eyes. As he sat and stared at me I remembered riding the bus home with him a long time ago. The whole way home he had just stared at me. The last time I tried to talk to him in the park was a disaster. This was going to be a long ride back to the metro station.

When 880 turned into 17 I looked over at him. As I thought he was staring me down with unblinking eyes. Those eyes looked like he took them from a taxidermist and popped them in his head. Like glass they shown at my soul. The long twists of highway 17 started as we passed the cats. The old redwood forest smell started to drift into the bus. As we passed Lexington Dam I grew tired of the old man's judgment.

"What the hell is your problem?" I asked him.

Quietly he stared. Not saying a word, not blinking he just sat there looking at me.

"You senile? Why won't you talk? Can you speak English?" I was getting loud and people were turning their heads.

With a great sigh the man spoke, "I really have nothing to say to you."

It was so strange to hear him speak and it took me by surprise. Then he spoke again.

"You keep asking me dumb questions. You want me to answer you, then ask something you don't already know the answer to."

Tall trees lined the road and I could see the man-made rocks well from my high seat. It was a long ride into town as I thought about my life. When the bus finally stopped at the metro station I got off and walked toward the water. As I crossed the railroad tracks I realized that someone was following me. I turned to find Randy standing behind me.

This time Randy was looking more like Satan. His horns had grown and his hands looked like a cross between a hooves and fingers. The skin on his face was a darker red and his eyes were solid black. Instead of wearing Randy clothes we were in a long dress and were wearing makeup. I thought I could almost smell him.

"Where are we going?" Randy asked.

"I just want to see the waves. I need to think about things," I said.

"You don't want to fly kites with me?" Randy said in a mocking voice.

"If you want to, I would," I started to cry.

Then I saw her. It was Candi walking toward me fast. There was no one with her and I knew that she had been looking for me. The connection that we shared was now strong. Our flesh was one. Yet I didn't love her and I doubt she loved me. This needed to be fixed.

"You fucking slime," Candi said through clenched teeth.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi? Hi is what you say to me? You left me with that mess, shit everywhere. Do you know what they did to me? I went to the psych ward for three days and now I am in trouble for toxic dumping, vandalism, and resisting arrest. You know I am going to end up going to jail. They think all that shit was mine."

"Is it gone now?" I was very concerned about what they had done with that part of me.

"Of course it is gone, no one keeps shit DJ. It isn't ok. That is why I got a 51/50. That should have been you that went, not me," she was pretty mad.

"I know. You are right. But we have a problem. Now that we are like this there is something you should know. I'm gay. I don't love you Candi, we need to break up somehow," I was trying to be cool and Randy was laughing somewhere down on the beach.

"You are fucking gay? You fuck guys? I could have aids?" She looked really surprised.

"I guess so. I don't know. Hank fucks guys, he could have aids," I said.

Crying and upset Candi said, "Liar! Hank is not having sex with guys. You don't know what you are saying. You don't know Hank."

"Hank raped me. Many times. That is why I hate him so much. I think that is why I don't want to be gay," it was an epiphany.

"That is a lie. If I have aids it is from you, not Hank," Candi was screaming and people were rushing their children away.

The thought of why being gay repulsed me so resonated throughout my body. I wasn't worried about Candi.

"Hank, me, and you we are all just human garbage. Nothing more, we are nothing," I wasn't sure why I said that.

It calmed Candi down and she was sniveling, "I'm not nothing. I'm not garbage. I'm a good girl, and not trash like the others."

"You are trash. You had sex with Randy, right? You know he died of aids. You could have caught it from him," I was enjoying taunting her.

Then her face turned into a gray mask. The once pretty face no looked so hideous. The fresh brown color was the least attractive thing about it and now that was gone.

"Randy died of aids? No, that can't be," she said.

"I was with him when he died. He had a bottle of pills. Aids pills," I said.

"How about you? You sure you don't have aids?" Candi asked.

"I got a negative test a while back. What about you?" I asked her.

"I don't need a test because I know I don't have it," she said her face looking worse with each word she spoke.

"Afraid?" I asked.

Randy came into view. Dancing around he clearly was enjoying Candi's misery.

Turning from me Candi started to walk off, "I'm not trash," I heard her say as she left.

"I'm not trash," she yelled.

"We are trash," I said so low that only I could hear it.

Then Randy put his arm around me and off we went. Once we got to Sean's favorite parking place I paused. There was a white minivan there full of kids. The sun was bright and Randy sat on the rail of the fence next to the cliff. It occurred to me that I had no place to go. At least I wasn't lopsided like Candi.

The idea of becoming separated from her made me cringe. While I did want to be free from her, she had taken on my flesh. It didn't seem right to leave her now. Agitated I sat on the bench and watched the surfers and the sea birds. My locker was cleaned out. That was what connected me to this place and now it was gone. Everything taken from me. Even my friends were gone. I really wanted to see Sean one last time but I had no way to get to him.

Then I heard a voice. It was Hank. Blind he walked with a cane and I knew that he could sense me. Randy hissed at him. For some reason Hank just walked by. Leaving me with a rush of memories.

The first time I met him I thought he was ok. Randy liked him and he gave us weed. It seemed awesome at first. Then he was on top of me. While he raped me Randy just laughed. Hank left me in pain, tied my hands and gagged my mouth. What he did to Randy was much worse. I watched as Randy begged me to help him. That was how I lost my virginity.

When I started to fuck Randy the image of Hank was always there. The visions left and I noticed that Hank had turned around and was coming back. Turning my head I saw Candi coming back. They were looking for each other.

I left. Walking toward lighthouse field I got lost in the driftwood and tall grass. They walked toward the lighthouse. From my hiding spot I watched them. Candi held his arm and guided Hank along the sidewalk. An indignant look was on Hank's face and Candi's had a gentle quality that made her look somewhat attractive. Still she looked so old for her years.

They gathered many pitiful looks and reveled in them. The two played their parts. The miserable unfortunates who walk around the beach. Both were so deserving of their fates. Passersbys didn't know that though.

As they left from my view I walked toward my bridge. It was hard to know where to go. Before I always knew that I belonged in Santa Cruz. That was where my storage locker was. Now I had no anchor. It felt like I was adrift with no port to call home. Randy was sitting on the train trestle as I passed by. He waved.

The day was getting late and the sun wasn't going to be staying long. Maybe an hour and the sky would go dim. Maybe I had a little more time. The wind was already icy. The warmth of the day was leaving. It would be a cold early June night. Fog was coming.

I found what I needed as I passed by the clock tower and made my way to River Street. Cars hummed above my head as I fixed cardboard into a little shelter. Taking out my bottle of gin I sat right outside and watched birds fly toward the sea. The light had turned golden and soon the sky would glow red. Then the day would end. Staring at the bottle I wondered where it came from.

It had been a while since I had anything other than beer. While I was drinking I hadn't gotten drunk since I left the nut house. That place had been of a higher quality than the psych ward here. Above me a man sat on the ledge of the bridge. Looking up I saw it was Randy.

How I wished I could rid myself of him. And yet in that same instance I was glad he was still with me. Then I thought about Herve. I knew that Herve could not only take Randy's place, but that Herve was a good person. The idea that a fag could be a good person didn't sit well with me. Lesbians could be good people, but not fags.

There were no shakes, no impending need to drink. On I started at the label and how I longed to have the fiery smooth liquid hit the back of my throat. Since I had not eaten in a while I knew the feeling that would ball in my stomach. Then the warmth and the haze would come over me. Everything would feel ok. The chill of tonight wouldn't bother me. It would be like pouring a blanket inside me that no one could pull away.

Randy looked down on me and laughed. Drinking from a bottle just like mine he seemed so happy. In the old days before he died we drank together almost every night. Those were sweet days. They were filled with sex, pot, and alcohol. It was all gone now. The locker was gone. Hank was blind and I was lost even though I was sleeping under the same bridge I called home for many years.

So as the pinpoints of light started to come out and the night got blacker I went inside my shelter and tried to get comfortable. The ground was hard and cold. In the morning I would be stiff. The wind would not leave me alone. I broke the seal on the bottle. My blanket would help keep me safe through the night/

The rustling sound of something woke me during the night, but I soon feel back into alcohol charged dreams. The morning came and there was movement, a slinky motion by my leg. Looking down I saw a black snake by my leg. I knew it was not poisonous so I just moved away. Then I saw the rest. My box was swarming with black snakes. I bolted upright and threw pieces of cardboard everywhere. Running from my spot I stepped on a few snakes as I got far away from the shadow cast by the bridge and into the sunlit path by the river. The snakes slithered this was and that. Soon they had all disappeared into the grass. From above Randy laughed at my plight. The bottle of gin was gone. I ached to be someplace where I belonged.

Along the path a short man ambled my way. As he got closer I could see that it was Sam. Wondering if he was looking for me or not I walked in the opposite direction. I didn't want to hear bad news about Sean.

"DJ wait," Sam yelled for me.

Turning I tried hard not to cry. In the past few years I had seen horrible things happen to people I cared about. Candi had become disfigured, partly due to what I had done to her, Randy had died, and I lost my beautiful boy. The thought of losing Sean was too much for me. Walking faster Sam called for me again.

"DJ," Sam was running toward me.

I knew that I couldn't get away from it. Whatever Sam had to say I would have to hear. I turned and waited for him to catch up to me.

In that minute I noticed all the lilac in bloom. Pink and purple it grew wild by the river. The water moved so gracefully and butterflies touched all the flowers. Trees in the distance outlined where the forest and the mountains began their ascent and the fog marked the territory of the beach. It was all so beautiful and I was so ugly.

"Hey DJ, I have been looking for you," Sam said as he caught me.

"Yah? How are you?" I asked.

"Good, really good. Sean is out of Stanford. He lost all his hair, but he is doing ok. I got some work. Sean would really love to see you," it felt like Sam didn't know where to start or how to get all the information out that he wanted to share.

"I don't know, I have a lot to do, tell him hi," I said.

"Well he's ok. You can see him anytime. He's over at the old community hospital, you know where that is at? Looks like he might be able to leave in a few weeks," Sam said.

"Is he going to make it?" I asked.

"For now things look ok. But who knows?" Sam said with a tear in his eye, "You know how to get there?"

"Yah," of course I knew. That was where I was born.

"Great. You want to get something to eat?" Sam said.

I decided to go and get some sandwiches with Sam. For once he was buying and all he could talk about was how great it was that I got Sean insurance. All these years I thought that Sam didn't care about Sean and just used him. Now I knew that their brotherly love ran deep. Too bad Sam was such a fuck up. He really brought Sean down.

While we ate I realized how much Sam was like me. Neither of us had friends but we both had people who cared for us. Sam had Sean, and I had Rochelle and Candice. The picture of another face came to me.

"You have a you know, a special person?" I asked Sam.

"No. I stay free," he answered.

"You ever have one? Someone who haunts you?" I asked.

"Yes, there was one. Her name was Tamika. That was a long time ago," he said.

"What happened?" Love occupied my mind today.

"Well it was seventh grade. I had Tamika in a couple of classes. The way she looked was like a goddess. You know the Venus statue that is really old and has a German name?" Sam said.

I nodded. There was something familiar about his description of the statue. A picture of a very fat figure with a large head and no face popped in my head.

"That was her. So perfect, she looked like your woman a little. I had never seen anything like her before. So much flesh to touch, and her boobs were so big. She was my first. Then people started talking. Calling us names, and I think she just wanted someone who was taller. I got dumped. After the best three weeks of my life, she dumped me. Never again. No, it was just too painful," tears poured from Sam's eyes.

"So that was in seventh grade? You ever wonder about her? Think about what she is doing?" I asked.

Pulling out his wallet Sam showed me a picture and said, "That is her. She is a single mom and worked at Lipton before they closed. Those kids are hers. All three have a different dad. None of the dads stayed around. Sometimes I think I should talk to her. Offer her a life with me, but you know. I just don't want to be hurt again. If I had her again and lost her I couldn't go on. You going to finish those chips?"

"Take them," I said.

"You want to go see Sean?" He asked.

I really didn't want to, but I went anyway. There off Soquel Avenue was the old place. Babies were no longer born there and it smelled like old people. Going through the doors I could vaguely remember this place from long ago when my brother was born.

"You ok?" Sam asked as I hesitated at the door.

"Just thinking, I was born here," I said.

"So was I, and Sean. Now we can come here to die," Sam said.

"Yah, I guess so. Is Sean dying?" I asked.

"No one will say. I don't think that they know," Sam answered me,

Walking down the halls the place seemed deserted. It was full of long corridors and closed doors. We got to Sean's room and I really didn't want to go in. Sean was lying on his side in a nest of tubes and wires. Mouth open and eyes closed Sean didn't look like he moved much. Then there was that sound. Like a howling wind whistling through a pit Sean's breathing filled the room. The lights were bright but the atmosphere was dark.

When Sam started talking Sean smiled. It was hard to watch and I wanted to run away. I didn't say much while we were there and Sean frowned hard when we left. Dying and being alone was scary. Better to go out like Randy, sleeping next to the one you love.

Leaving the hospital left me feeling lost and scared. Was that somehow a sacred place, one to come in and leave at? I wasn't sure. But it felt like a void that was separate from the living and far from the dead.

The next few weeks were a blur. Drinking crept its way back into my life. It was late one night when I came out of my fog. Randy was drinking next to me and there was a soft glow in the sky behind him. The thought that I was dead crossed my mind.

Between us there was a chess board. Randy looked at me like it was my move. The horse was the piece I chose. It was my favorite piece. For hours we played. Just sitting around not noticing if I was hungry or not I stayed and played chess with Randy. The golden pieces picked up flecks of light and sparkled for a fleeting second here and there. Maybe this was how I would spend my life out. Playing chess with Randy under our bridge.

The alcohol just kept coming. The days past in a blur of chess; golden pieces moving in silence through the dim light. I knew I was hungry and sick. At this point I didn't care. That was all I did. Then things went black.

But I didn't die. I woke up in another hospital bed. This would be the last one I told myself. The way my head felt and no Randy in sight told me that I was full of evil medicine. Why bother if it had to be like this?

Desperate for relief I asked for Jones. It took the hospital a long time to find him. But they did find him and he came to see me.

Jones came to my room. This time was different than the other involuntary holds. Being too sick to move about they waited for me to get better until they started therapy. The look of shock on Jones face when he entered told me that I wasn't doing well.

"So, why did you want to see me?" Jones asked.

"I need to know something," I answered him.

"What?" He asked me.

"How do you feel about gay people?" I asked him.

"I don't agree with it, and I don't understand it. Candice and Rochelle are a few of my gay parishioners. Usually I just don't ask or discuss it. I think they could figure that one out with God."

"But you think it is wrong?" I asked.

"I try not to speak for God. His opinion on the subject is not really clear to me. I think you shouldn't worry about the girls' sexuality. That is their business."

"I am not worried about them, I'm worried about me," I said.

"Why?" Jones was puzzled.

"Because I'm gay," I said.

"You're family doesn't approve?" Jones looked surprised.

"My family doesn't care. I care," I said.

"You don't want to be gay?" Jones asked.

"My first time, it wasn't right. I hate that. The memory of being raped," I started to cry, "The thought of this guy I loved watching me get raped, laughing. It's so hard."

"Well, you are never simple to deal with. I don't know how I could possibly help you with this. That sounds like a very difficult problem," Jones looked uneasy.

"Do you think I am bad? Do you think God let Hank rape me because I am gay?" I asked.

"No. We all do bad things, I doubt you were raped because you are gay. You need to separate your sexuality from getting raped. It was not your fault that you got raped."

"He gave us drugs. I just took them not even thinking he would hurt me. I didn't know him. The guy has raped me so many times. He even set up this dead animal and put my name on it. The way the thing's butt looked I knew that Hank was practicing. He wants to hurt me," my whole body shook as I spoke.

Jones sat back and sucked in as much oxygen as he could. Then his head started shaking.

"That is awful. This guy still after you?" Jones said.

"I think so. If he could harm me he would. That guy had Zu-Zu killed. I know it. We left him blind, but I think he is still dangerous," I said.

"You know I'm going to call the police. This needs to be reported," Jones said.

"That will make things worse," I said.

"No. I don't think so. We need to bring this man to justice," Jones said.

"There is no such thing as justice," I cried loud, "The world is an unfair and ugly place."

"The world is unfair at times, but it is just. Things might take time, but justice happens. This is important for you. I doubt you can make peace with your sexuality if this guy is not brought to justice. You won't be made whole, no. But you will be at a place where you can heal. All those years of pain need to come to an end. It's time for justice."

All I wanted to do was go back to the river and play chess until the angel of death came for me. Once I saw her. The lady was so beautiful and pure. Light radiated from her being and she wanted me to go with her. Randy wanted me to wait, wait until he took me to his home. My love for him kept me living that day. But I wanted to have another chance to take her hand and go to the place where soft light devoured my flesh until I was freed. Falling back asleep I didn't wake until the detective came.

The lady was small and wore regular clothes. Hardly what a cop should look like, she looked so harmless. The way she smiled was nice and warm. I felt comfortable with her.

"Hello, I'm detective Laguara. You can call me Rosa. I am here to talk to you about some crimes that were reported by your pastor. I understand that you were raped a long time ago, but I checked some of your history and you were taken to the hospital a few years ago for an anall injury. Was that a rape?"

I just nodded and choked back tears.

"Was it the same guy?"

Again I could just nod.

"Ok, and this guy had something to do with your son's kidnapping?"

Once again all I could do was move my head up and down. My voice was gone.

"I am going to need to know what happened in your own words," she said bringing out a tape recorder.

The whole thing spilled out. Not only did I detail the first time and the last time, but the whole details of all the rapes I could remember. What did I have to lose? There was nothing left to protect. My existence had crumbled down to playing chess in twilight. There was no one for me to protect. Although I did leave out Sam, Sean, and Sudeep from my story. They didn't need to be involved in this again.

When she left I felt that Rosa took a part of me with her. Jones was right, now I thought I could heal. This festering wound had been cleaned out with the confession. I was glad to be rid of the thing that clung to Rosa on the way out. Being gay didn't seem so abhorrent any more.

I liked Jones. This felt like freedom. Telling Rosa my story was not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. How I wished I could go and walk around until I found Hank. It wouldn't cost any silver for me to kiss his cheek. Now was a time to heal and rest.

News came in a few days. Rosa came and told me that they arrested Hank. Unfortunately everyone thought I was too big a mess to be useful against him. My day in court would never come. But they had a star witness against him, Candi. And she had sent a message for me. Sealed in an envelope that Rosa gave me.

Opening it I unfolded a piece of paper that just said "I am not trash."

Maybe she wasn't. Then again, maybe she was doing this to have herself. It was hard to tell.

Candice came to visit me alone. It had been so long since we talked just us two. That perfect smile hit her incredibly dark face and it looked like her teeth were glowing. Somehow she looked more attractive. Having babies softened her face and made the gorilla disappear.

"They gonna lock up the one who killed my baby boy. Finally, I am going to sleep at night without getting the shakes. I been worried about the other children so bad. Thank you DJ. That needed to happen," she said.

"It was hard, I really loved him. Did they take him away?" I asked.

"No, he be right next to your mom in the living room. They high up so no one can touch them. I was hurting inside for so long wondering about him. Now I know it feels better, not right, but better," she said.

"Hank is going to trial?" I asked.

"No. They give him a plea. I don't even know all he did. It was a lot of heavy duty things though, I know that. So much evidence against him, weird stuff too. The police promised me he will never get out. That's all I cares about. If I know he is put away then I can start sleeping at night again."

"Me too," I said.

"You gonna be alright?" Candice asked me.

"I don't know," I answered her.

"They told me you gonna get the physical therapy. Probably you gonna be ok. But if you go back to the streets they say you gonna die. Really couldn't have that, no. The kids need a man in their lives. They will be talking soon, asking about where's daddy. What you want me to say? He dead under some bridge?" Candice was near tears.

"I don't know what to do. I hate this medication. I don't feel like I belong anywhere. There is nowhere that I can rest or find peace," I said.

"Why don't you try a different medication?" She asked.

That had never occurred to me. Once I started to experiment with the medication I learned one thing. They all sucked, some didn't suck as bad as other though.

Physical therapy started and I was surprised at how difficult it was to just get out of bed. While a part of me just wanted to stay laying forever I knew the only way out of the hospital was to get up. Staying in the hospital was not an option. The thought of this froze my soul. I needed to escape.

Jones visited regularly and Randy was kept out by the medication. I was becoming more lucid and yet was barely able to wipe my own butt. Thoughts of drinking haunted me and became almost a solid figure. It was very hard to explain to anyone.

Languishing in bed most of the day made me feel hopeless. My constant companion was Oprah. Now though she was interviewing vapid celebrities who were only there to suck a few minutes of attention from the world they couldn't see or feel. Then she had her book club selections. Candice would bring them to me but I never read them. It seemed that what she liked to read was very two dimensional.

After a week I was stronger. Getting up and walking around for a few minutes became easier. What had I done to myself playing chess with Randy? This was a long stay in the hospital and the usual therapies were too much for me.

It had actually been a long time since I had read a book. Boredom got deep inside my brain and TV wasn't enough to make me think. I wanted to read something more. Rochelle understood that I wasn't reading the Oprah picks, so she brought me something to read something odd. It was called 98 Wounds. The first pages were hard to understand. While I was "lucid" my brain still was in a fog. After a few minutes I had to stop reading, but I kept at it once I got my mind focused again.

At first I couldn't picture what I was reading in my mind, so I started skipping my medication. Swallowing the water I kept the pills in my cheek. These nurses didn't watch for that sort of thing. It was easy to get my mind back. The little vignettes of camping and licking cum off the floor didn't seem to go together. There must be some connection that I didn't get.

But my mind wasn't the only thing that came back. Randy came back, and this time he was mad at me. He wanted to go, but I was too messed up. Waiting around made him angrier still. There was not much for me to do other than listen to his tirades. Sleeping became harder with all the noise he made. I did my best to act normal so I could get Randy on the outside where he wanted to go.

It started to be stressful just to read. Staying in bed made me feel so agitated. Randy pacing the floor of my room creeped me out. I needed a way to escape this. Medication was my only hope. So that night I swallowed all my pills.

As I expected I woke up in a fog. I cried, not sure what I might possibly do. The hospital felt like a box. The box had no windows or doors. It had no soul and wanted mine. Panic came over me and I ended up in the same kind of room I sent that Norm guy to.

They put me in hell's mouth. There were other lost wanderers here. Not being able to be where I wanted to live was insulting. I was not good enough to live in Santa Cruz or SF. Stuck in a rotten smelly land with acid air to breath I hated even walking anywhere in San Jose. This place was my last stop before I was put in White Lady's.

They gave me a bed in a room with two other guys. That and a little set of drawers to keep my things in was all I had. 98 Wounds was the only book in the room. It took a long time to get to the halfway point in the book. Reading it reminded me of all the things I used to be.

One of the thoughts that dominated my mind was if the others knew I was gay. They all seemed so broken I wasn't sure that they would care about much of anything at all. None of us talked about much and I hoped that I would die. There was an old man that played chess with me. Neither of us was good, but we knew the truth. The war was over and we both had lost. Now this was left of what had been and what might have been.

"Why do you read that book?" One of the guys asked me.

"Because it has a lot of duality. It makes me think about how things are inflamed by choices, and how something can have different outcomes. It is harder to understand and makes me think."

"You like to think?" The guy pried on into my business.

"Sometimes," I said.

"You should read the Bible. It comforts me," he went on.

"Why? How does God punishing Job with plagues for being good comfort you?" I asked.

"Because God cares enough to pay attention and send the word. He cares. No matter what happened, God knows, and He cares, that is all I need," the guy said.

"So what? You think that God cares because He watches the spectacle called your life? How does that comfort you?" I asked.

"Because I am so insignificant to most. People won't look at me, they send me here so they don't have to think about me. God knows me. And he isn't going to look away. It makes me feel good to know that at least I matter to Him," then the guy got up for food.

Maybe waiting for God to fix things is where most people go wrong. It gives power where it doesn't belong. God cares, nothing can change that. That might be all there is. Maybe that is enough. Comfort in a harsh experience, a caring soul to guide us.

But I have Randy and Randy is not of God. All that is the void is Randy. A beast that can speak after death. Poison for my soul to drown it so he might find company. A little comfort for himself. Fuck.

Every day we could go out of the group home if we chose to. Each of us got $50 a month to spend as we wished. After a few weeks I decided to go out and get some McDonalds which turned into Jack Daniels.

The minute I walked in the door they were all over me. Tomorrow they would have a talk. Talks usually were something that the theys of the world thought were very serious. These were usually not important to me at all. Most of the time it started out with the rules. These were always the same rules that I couldn't follow before. I guess the theys thought that I was a changed person. Maybe pixie dust and the power of friendship made it possible for me to become like them.

The bottom line was always if the theys couldn't control me then I would have to go. This was what I wanted to do in the first place. This would be one of a long string of last chances. In fact I was sure that the talk would start off with a mention of that fact. This was the same last chance talk that I had heard a thousand times in the past and was certain I would be hearing until I died.

In the morning first thing it started, "Blah, blah, blah. Your last chance, must follow the rules, ba blah, ba blah blah blah."

It reminded me of why the term barbarians came about. They sounded like bar, bar, bar when they talked. Looking out the window I say some tiny birds. The droning went on. Then I caught something about me being lucky.

Lucky? How could I be lucky? I was a homeless drunken gay schizophrenic. If I were a hand of cards that was dealt to someone they would not think this was their lucky day. No, if I was dealt to someone that would be the last time they placed a bet.

For a split second I did think about answering that lucky comment. Still, I realized that I was talking to the lucky. They would not understand and they thought they knew what was best for me. Blah blah blah was fading farther away from my consciousness as I watched the clouds drift by the window.

After the talk I went out again. It was hard to get money in San Jose. It took hours to get enough for just some beer, and I needed vodka. One of the rules was about reeking of alcohol and drinking vodka left no smell behind. It was time to go home and all I had was just under ten bucks. No booze for me. Tonight would be hard.

I had stopped taking my medication. For a while I seemed ok. The reason I stopped was so I could read. Randy knew that if he came back too soon I would start taking the pills that drove him away. Instead of just returning he stayed on a bus stop bench that I could see from my window. There he sat calling for me to come. Day and night he just sat there and waited. I waited as well. I waited to have enough money for vodka.

The day came when they didn't know what to do about me. It was the first of the month so I asked for my money and I slipped away into the night. Walking to downtown San Jose I got on the Greyhound with Randy. We were going to leave this industrial purgatory and go home.

Once we hit Lexington I could smell the forest. All I wanted was to get drunk and feel some waves on my feet. The thought reminded me how I was missing part of one toe. The discomfort of the thought couldn't negate that feeling of going home. Randy rested his head on my shoulder and I knew things were as they should be.

For a short time I was ok. A very short time. Randy and I spent our days out in the public and slept under a bridge. Then one day Rochelle found me and that was when it started.

At first Randy just suggested doing pranks, like tripping Rochelle. It seemed harmless. But every time Rochelle came Randy got angry and bolder. Then it was spill something on her and that changed to spill something hot on her. From there he started to order me around.

Randy was quiet one day as Rochelle talked to me about going into a local group home. Trying to explain why that was a bad idea I heard Randy softly say, "Kill her."

That was the day the magic pixie dust fell on me. I knew he would get louder until I killed Rochelle. It was that or go on medication. For the love I had toward Rochelle I went back to see Frank. That guy was the only one who would understand what I needed.

So I started taking medicine regularly, but not a full dose. Enough so that I could have control over Randy but not so much that I couldn't understand what I was reading. Then the problem arose. What was I to do with myself sober?

Rochelle brought me the laptop. Where it came from I wasn't sure but she gave it to me at the library. Plugging it in I sat and stared at it.

"Look DJ," Rochelle started, "You can come here and spend all day looking busy. You can't really get a library card right now, but you can read anything you want while you are here. They have free internet at McDonald's if you need a change of atmosphere. San Jose isn't that bad. You can keep in touch with us through email. We can have family time when you are doing ok. Maybe we will find a bed for you in Santa Cruz. Just do what you are supposed to do, it will be ok."

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked her.

"Why not write that novel you started? The one about the blue dolphin. At least it would be there for the children one day," Rochelle answered me.

"I started that over thirty years ago. I don't even remember what the point of the thing was," I looked out the window and watched the traffic go by the behemoth glass and steel library.

"Ok. Just surf the net. There are things to do. Write email, just keep busy. Try. Come home if you need to, we are there for you, always," she said.

Watching her walk away I felt so cold and alone. From behind a shelf I could make out Randy's silhouette. Sitting at the computer I looked up Hank. Instead of taking a plea he opted for a trail. It was in the news. They made Candi sound like a saint and demonized Hank. That must have been a living hell for someone who committed his crimes from the shadows. Win or lose the trail didn't really matter. Hank was exposed. They might as well have cut off his penis.

I looked around the room. No matter how much time passes a library looks like a library. The same smells that I experienced in the old Carnegie Building in Watsonville still filled this new place. Old books and binding always have a presence that takes over all the senses. On one of the tables someone had left out a book. It was one I had liked.

There was a time when I read a great deal. Most of it was pure shit. Those who write are so similar that might as well have been written by the same person. But this book was written by a girl who had no business being a writer. The images of the low class kid came to my mind and I read as much of it as I could stand.

Opening the word processor I just went blank. What kind of story could I possibly write now? The idea of writing about freedom from a dolphin's perspective was old and I had moved past it. I wanted to write about being gay and crazy, but I really didn't know much about myself, I stared at the blank screen for a while. Then I typed.

I am a liar.
  1. HOBOnov
  2. The Ugly Story
  3. The Ugly Story
  4. By Dick Murphy-Scott
    1. The HOBO
    2. Son of Dick
    3. Dick's Kingdom

