California

I sit at the kitchen table. Drinking coffee. Looking through books and instructions for various gadgets; an emergency light for a car, a handwarmer made by Zippo. There’s a small cactus garden in a pot. Prickly, dying. A Ball jar is also on the table next to a pack of American Sprit cigarettes. There’s nothing more American than cigarettes.

The coffee has gone cold. It smells of hazelnut and cream. There are stains on the cup from my lips. I take another drink.

This is a daily routine. I wait for the sun. Soon life will begin again. That is the woke life. The aware life. No daydreaming though afternoon naps. Just the confrontations of everyday. Do I dare go outside? Or, am I pleased to be alone with coffee and dying cactus?

In my medicine cabinet there are bottles upon bottles of prescription drugs. Some of the bottles are empty; too lazy to throw away. And, others are half filled. I look at the different drugs. Metraformin, Lamictal,Welbutrin, Vraylar, pills for an under active thyroid, pills for high blood pressure, cholesterol concerns. What happened to me over the years. The body and the spirit are broken. And, pills will not help. Questions run through my mind. These are thoughts best discussed with a professional. Then again, maybe a priest. Or, perhaps a friend. But, like throwing empty bottles away, I’m too lazy to do anything with these questions.

Suddenly, a wave of energy hits me. I open the remaining bottles and pour the drugs down the toilet( therefore ruining our ecosystem even more) and flush. All gone. No more cures. I can breathe.

There is $300 in my bank account. The sun is shining. It’s a good day for travel. I pack my bag. Underwear, khakis, couple of shirts, a toothbrush and toothpaste; I am ready.

I step out the door. January’s wind hits my face. The train whistles. And, I catch a freight car. It is cold. Other bums huddle for heat. Where’s this train heading? I ask a fellow traveler. He tells me west. West. All the way out to California. I nod my head. I sit with my legs up in my chest; rocking back and forth.

Soon I will be 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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