Guttersnipe
Page 4
The whole circle laughs, the flames of the fire dance wildly in all directions. Smoke blows and billows not knowing which direction to go.
“What are you gunna do? Kidnap someone? Blow something up? Kill someone?”
“No, no, there will be no violence. My means are nonviolent, but pack just as much of a punch. Our side will not partake in any violence.”
“Oh this is good. Let’s hear some of your world-changing ideas.” One of the bums around the fire says with the most sarcastic of tones. Roger notices this but decides to ignore it thinking what he will say next will sway them.
“Save-Mart is one of the main targets. What I was thinking was-”
“You’re a fucking loon!”
The group booms with laughter.
“Yea, get lost, quack!”
More laughter.
By now everyone in Dark Alley is looking at Roger. He’s befuddled beyond being able to talk. His eyes are darting all around the group of cackling bums.
Roger is embarrassed. His face flushes with anger.
Captains don’t get embarrassed. No god damn way. Captains get pissed and yell.
Here comes the captain in Roger.
“Loon?” he whispers not loud enough for anyone around the circle to hear him.
“Quack?” he says, a little louder.
“You think I’m a fucking loony? Huh? All of you?” everyone can hear him now.
He contortedly grins.
“Well I guess by majority, you’re all right. If me being crazy means I’m not associated with you fucking filthy piece of shit pushovers, then I’m loonier than god damn bugs bunny!”
The laughter has stopped.
“I’m mean, Christ! You’re all just like the rest of them. No, but worse than them. You’ve failed at what they do! You fucking bastards can’t even live wrongly in the right way!”
The fire snaps and crackles.
“Just look at you! I’ll bet every one of you cries before you go to sleep every night. You lie awake going over every mistake you’ve made in your lives and do nothing about it. The only thing you know is screwing up. The only thing you know is this sad circle therapy session that, at the most, gives you some sense of importance in that if you weren’t here, the circle would be a tiny bit smaller. This is exactly what I’m talking about! Useless lives with no direction and no purpose! To hell with the lot of you!!”
Chapter 19
Roger left before he got kicked out which probably would have only been a few short seconds later. For all he knows, they were probably right behind him.
One beating a week is more than enough.
He knows he can never go back there. No way, not with that kind of company. He wouldn’t want to even if he got an invitation. It’d probably be written on a god damn candy wrapper or toilet paper or something.
Sealed with chewed gum.
No, Roger’ll never go to Dark Alley again. Now that he knows what kind of things show up there.
What a waste of time.
And space.
And food, even if it is expired.
Chapter 20
It’s time to be alone for a while.
Hermit Bridge and a few cans of soup and ravioli.
A weekend getaway-from-everything-in-this-no-nature-caricature-of-the-devil’s-colon vacation.
Roger’s been here too much, though, and he knows it. This is the last time he will be out here for a long time. Just the thought of never being able to come back here already makes him feel like he should get going.
He needs this though.
Again.
Chapter 21
It’s been quiet.
Good quiet.
Think quiet.
How was that supposed to work, anyway? The more Roger thinks it over, the more he realizes how stupid the whole idea was.
An army of bums? Yea right. Especially those bums, those filthy-soulless-hum-dumb bums who can’t tell the difference between a daisy and dandelion. Roger should’ve known just by looking at them, by seeing their docile, weakened eyes. That should’ve been a dead give away to dead weight.
God damn bums.
There is a lesson to be learned from this whole shit-storm experience and that’s Roger is alone in this world. There’s not a single person he’s seen or met in his life to make him think otherwise.
It’s better that way, anyway.
Roger doesn’t need them. Any of them. The only thing they have to offer is an abundance of ignorance.
People poison.
Roger doesn’t want that dumbing disease. This isn’t just about the bums of Dark Alley anymore, either. This is about the whole lot of selfish consumers. Each and every one of them breeds stagnation. And when no one is going anywhere, and all their doing is screwing, soon there’ll be no room.
Let go already.
Let Roger be the guide. He’s never and will never be like those pompous pigs eating bacon. He’s never suckered another man just to gain a buck. He’s never bought a single commodity from Save-Mart or Happy-Mart or Discounts ‘R’ Us or any of those big-wig bastards.
That’s some reverse Robin Hood bullshit. Steal from the poor to make the rich richer.
He’s never even gave two shits about money.
Ugh, money.
The greatest mistake of man’s imagination is money.
In God we trust?
Someone’s fucking up.
Chapter 22
Roger stays at Hermit Bridge two days past his last can of food. That’s how bad Roger doesn’t want to go back. That’s how bad Roger doesn’t want to see anyone. That’s how bad Roger doesn’t want to have anything remind him of Dark Alley, of the polluted city, of anything accommodating.
It’s good and it’s quiet out here.
Nice quiet.
Think quiet.
So quiet that Roger can hear his stomach growl and echo off of the stones of the bridge.
It’s time to head back. He’s been here too long already. He should have gone back when the food ran out. But who in their right mind willingly walks toward an environment of torture?
Chapter 23
What day is it?
Roger can’t remember.
Tuesday. Maybe.
Tuesday it is then.
Tuesday’s mean fruit. Fruit from some organic foods store. There’s usually different types of nuts, too. Stale, of course. Still nutritional. Roger could care less about taste, anyway.
Roger could use some nutrients, though.
He needs it. He started shaking about a day ago. A normal side effect of not eating.
He’s used to it. But it’s been a while since he was this hungry. Just like riding a bike though. Roger has gone five days without food once.
The food store isn’t too far from the river. Something like 33rd and Waygon Ave. Maybe a mile, maybe a little more.
Roger’s stomach groans.
It’s pretty early in the afternoon yet. The store doesn’t close for at least two hours. Roger’ll have to check for something along the way. There might be something on the way there.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Maybe someone will chuck a cheeseburger out the window. Luck isn’t that nice.
But maybe.
Probably not.
A few more blocks and Roger can rest and wait for the store to close. There’s a nice stoop that sits out front of a boarded up door where Roger can relax for a bit. It’s out of sight in the alley near the dumpster where the stale nuts and overripe fruit gets tossed.
It’s quiet there.
Not as quiet as Hermit Bridge, but quiet enough. There’s always the buzz of the gas sucking, bumbling cars, but that’s everywhere in the city. The steady hum of the tune of pollution. Everyone rebels against their parents at some point in their life. Sorry, mother nature.
Roger goes around the corner which leads into the alley. He’s expecting a place to relax, a place to have quiet, a place to wait for food.
Maynard and his shopping cart.
“What are you doing here, Maynard?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m eating.” He tosses a few nuts into his mouth. “You look hungry.” Maynard nods.
“Piss off, Maynard, this is my spot.”
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I’m glad. Now piss off.”
“But I like it here. It’s quiet.” Maynard crunches hard on the stale nuts.
“God damn it, Maynard, where did you get those?”
“What?” He eats some more.
“The nuts, Maynard.”
“Oh, over there. Someone just brought them out about twenty minutes ago.”
Roger’s face flushes red. He almost faints because of how hungry and how angry he is, but instead he just stumbles a little.
“Whoa, you don’t look so good.”
Roger turns around and starts walking.
Fucking-god-damn-hell-shitting-bastard.
“Hey! Wait up!”
Not this again.
“Did you see the t-shirt I’m wearing? It’s the one I showed you. The one with my name on it. Do you remember?”
No response.
“Hey, what happened at Dark Alley? Jay said you had a moment, said you flipped out on everyone. Is that true? They don’t like you anymore, you know?”
“Piss off, Maynard.”
“Hey, I just want to know what happened.”
“Nothing.” Roger is still walking. His whole body is trembling from lack of food and an excess of anger.
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is.”
“How about this? I give you the nuts and you tell me what happened.”
“Roger’s stomach yells. He stops and takes a deep, shaky breath.
Maynard grins and offers the rest of the nuts to Roger.
Roger grabs them and starts walking again.
“Hey! What about the deal?”
“I didn’t make any deal.”
Maynard stops. Roger keeps walking and eating handfuls of nuts.
God damn it. Roger can feel Maynard’s sad, weak, kid eyes watching him walk away.
God shitting damn it.
Roger stops, sighs and turns around. “Are you coming, or what?” The words taste like fried crap.
Maynard smiles and gallops up to Roger. “So what happened?”
“I’m eating first.”
They walk for a while as Roger eats. The food tastes so good despite their being stale and old. The bag empties quickly.
“So?”
“So those bums are idiots. That’s it”
“Aww, come on.”
“I asked them to help me with something and they didn’t.”
“What?”
“You get three more questions.”
“Why?”
“Because now you have two.”
“Okay, okay. What did you ask them?”
“I asked them if they would help me start a war against corporate America. I asked them to stand up for mother Earth. I asked them to see nature as it was intended. I asked them to be men, but they pissed themselves behind beaten faces. That’s what I asked them.”
“Well that doesn’t seem that loony.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Maynard.”
“Alright, alright. They just said you were a crazy lunatic that did too many drugs or something like that.”
“Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I should just hop the fence to sanity so I can be like the rest of those pathetic, ignorant bastards.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
No response.
“I just don’t think it was a very smart thing to do, asking a bunch of bums like that.”
Silence.
“I’ll help you.”
“You can’t.”
“Why? I can do it.”
“Because I’m not going to do it.” And Roger walks away from Maynard.
“Hey!” Maynard chases after. “I’ve still got one question left!”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t. You asked me why, what I asked them and why.”
“Come on, that’s not fair!”
Should’ve been more careful.”
Maynard stops.
This time Roger keeps walking.There’s no reason for him to feel bad this time, he held up his end of the deal. His stomach is full and Maynard’s questions have been answered.
End of conversation.
Chapter 24
Roger stays in the city tonight. He hasn’t for a while.
It feels good knowing that his beloved spot is safely unknown to anyone.
Roger stays near the river, under one of the bridges he likes. It’s not very quiet, but it reminds him very slightly of Hermit Bridge.
His face looks better now that it’s healed. His body feels better too. There’s a permanent crook in his nose now though. Roger doesn’t care. If anything, it adds character. Let the world see him and think what they want.
There’s another bum that’s always at this bridge, at least, every time Roger’s been here. This bum is always smiling, no-teeth smiling. He has no teeth at all and is old as a tortoise shell.
He’s here now, smiling.
What’s there to smile at? There’s nothing nice or pleasing about this shit hole. How can he always be smiling? And at what? The cars driving by, polluting the air? The plagued lifestyles? The overwhelming-impossible-to-fight-corporate-political-religious-ridiculous madness?
What?
Nothing. Not a thing.
The river? What good is a flower that’s surrounded by shit?” What good is good in a bad world?
Nothing to smile at.
Now there’s a crazy. A burnt out meth-head crazy.
That explains the no teeth. And the incapacity to talk.
Chapter 25
Morning comes.
Roger is pissed more now than yesterday.
Who likes waking up to this filth?
‘Ooo! I made a thousand dollars while I was sleeping! Thank you, Investments!’
‘I’m going to buy a lovely house with my lovely wife today.’
‘I feel good about exploiting people.’
‘I can’t control my need for control.’
‘More.’
‘More.’
‘More.’
More-whores. Shit bricks to a building of sadness.
Roger is hungry.
Wednesday. Wednesday used to mean Dark Alley grille-out, the best meal of the week, that is to say, the most sustaining.
Now Wednesday means Wednesday. Now it means either go without food or find another business that throws stuff out on this day. It sure as hell doesn’t mean go back to Dark Alley with an apologetic, half-regurgitated lump in the throat and a tail between the legs.
No way.
They weren’t his friends. Roger doesn’t have anyone he would call a friend. There’s nobody to have as a friend. Roger doesn’t need anyone.
The closest thing to a friend would be the river. Or one of the rabbits out at Hermit Bridge. He hasn’t seen them for a while, though.
They’re probably dead.
Chapter 26
Time for food.
Time to search for food.
Roger is ready for failure though. He doesn’t have to eat everyday. He knows this. The last time he ate was that bag of stale nuts.
That was yesterday. That was the only meal in the past three days.
He’s done better than that.
But he’s hungry now.
It’s time for food.
It’s been a while since he went out to find another spot. He used to have a nice routine down on where to be to find food. But that’s over with.
North.
Roger hasn’t been north in a
long time. Roger hasn’t really had any reason to go that way. There’s not much up there. Residential, mainly. No tall buildings, less restaurants.
Not much.
Maybe there’s still that grocery store.
Gary’s Grocery or Marty’s Market or something dumb and catchy like that.
He’ll have to stay up there. It’ll take a third of the day to walk up there. Which means a third of the day to walk back.
That’s not enough time to find food and get back.
Roger’ll have to find a place to sleep, but that’s the easy part.
Anywhere.
Chapter 27
Just outside of the middle of the city, not quite the northern part, is the richest of the rich neighborhood.
Garages with three doors.
Prim hedges.
Red bricks.
White Greek columns.
Garages for boats. For boats.
Guest houses.
Guest’s guest houses.
Pools.
Automatic sprinkler systems.
Security systems.
Green, green, green lawns. Greener than grass should be.
Helicopter pads.
God damn helicopter pads.
Zoot suit nut cases carrying indirect death in their briefcases.
Cell phones.
These are the homes of the richest of the rich.
Roger obviously doesn’t fit in as he walks through He sticks out like crap on a birthday cake.
Worse than that, like Shaq in Hong Kong.
Worse than that, like pornography in a church.
Somehow it’s always sunny here to. Even on cloudy days. It’s like one of the residents bought a sun for themselves. It always stinks like disinfectant. Roger wouldn’t be surprised to see some lady with a bottle of chemical going around spraying and wiping off the plants. Of course it’d be some hired maid, not the actual homeowners. That’s just absurd. They are all out squeezing poor people for every last penny. Then they are never in their grand homes. It isn’t even about what the money can buy with these people, it’s just about the money.