it’s good to be back home…

used to place everything in a book-bag and take off in the middle of the night…few clothes…some toothpaste…deodorant…a copy of, Tropic Of Capricorn…Ulysses…notepads and pens…coupons for free Big Mac’s…pictures of Paris…

and I’d get onna a Greyhound headin’ east…over the Ohio line..stops in Toledo…Cleveland…Youngstown… through Pennsylvania…eatin’ bags of pretzels inside the Pittsburgh bus terminal…sleepin’ with my head ‘gainst the window on the PA Turnpike and on into New York…lookin’ at that skyline as the bus approached the Lincoln Tunnel…walkin’ The Port Authority lookin’ at other bums stumblin’ ’round a building with it’s own zip code…

strollin’ down 8th Avenue at two in the mornin’…askin’ strangers for directions…nobody knows where they’re goin’ or how to get there…cups held out with signs sayin’, WILL WORK FOR FOOD…HELP A VET…ANYTHING WILL DO…bearded dreadlocked men mumbling to themselves…old women pushing grocery carts…coats bein’ worn in July…the mass of humanity crossin’ streets…buck slices sold on the corners…drunken Midwestern tourists singing out into the night…

in alcoves people sleep under dirty blankets…newspapers…discarded food placed before them…subway singers collectin’ cash for top forty renditions of old songs…a saxophone wails…and trains rush by…filled with graveyard shift workers…nightowls…hawks prayin’ on the few…the unlucky few…

I’d ride the train all night…from the Bronx to Brooklyn…seated next to hustlers…whores…insurance salesmen…con men…ex-cons…ex-husbands down on their luck…waitresses reading Dean Koontz novels…James Patterson books…The Post…earplugs in young black boys ears…Puerto Rican girls talkin’ smack…a junkie nodding off on my shoulder…

this town…it kicks your ass and tells you to leave on the next bus day after day after day…but you stick with it…sleeping in drop-in centers…on folding chairs…Catholic Church basements…soup lines at Apostle’s…the occasional intake at Bellevue…I know the 12th floor well…

there are those that stay and those who move-on to more peacful places…Upstate New York…Vermont…the farmlands of the Midwest…Sunday afternoon naps in rented rooms…a 99 cents slushie at the Speedway gas station…smaller piece…smaller piece…

it’s good to be back home…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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