A broom and dustpan leaning against a wall. Shattered glass on the floor. Broken windows.

He examines the scene. Looks at stones in the corner of the living room. Stares at the broken window. Somebody did this, he says. Sonofabitch. Can’t have anything nice.

A cat meows. The house is drafty. Rooms down the hall with no doors. She sleeps in one of them on an old mattress they found in a dumpster. He walks down the hall to check on her. She’s out. Snoring. Nothing wakes her.

Meg, he says. Wake up, Meg. He wants to shake her but remembers the rule; no touching.

Come on now, Ben says in a loud tone. She continues to sleep and rolls over on her side. He quietly walks back to the front room. All that glass waiting to be swept. She should help, he mumbles. She should help.

Ben begins sweeping the glass into a pile. He tries to bend over to sweep all of it into the dustpan. He catches his breath. The fat man can’t bend. He sits in a torn, easy chair facing a radio. He sighs.

You’d think people would leave us well enough alone, he says.

The front door opens. Its a young man, Frank. He’s been up all night on a crack high. Running around the city, collecting food in trashcans along Seventh Avenue and other streets where restaurants throw away leftovers from patrons, scraps of steaks, rolls half eaten, wilting Caesar salads.

Did you score? Ben asks.

Yeah. Got all kinds of shit.

Did you smoke all the crack?

Well….

You did, or you didn’t.  Which is it?

I did, he says.

Sonofabitch. Get out of here. Get out.

What?

There’s a price to pay for being here.

That price is crack?

In this case, yes.

I got food. Look. He opens a plastic bag with his stash inside of it. Ben examines the goods and grabs a half eaten  loaf  of French bread.

Got any butter? he asks.

No.

What’s bread without butter?

Be happy with what you have. I always say.

Ben grabs the bag from Frank. He sits back in the easy chair. Eating the three course meal.

Is she here?

Yeah.

I don’t have any money.

No money. No crack. She’s not going to be happy.

What if I just lay next to her? Feel her beside me. Hear her breathing.

That’s gonna cost you.

You’ll get your crack when I wake up.

How? You got no money.

I have ways. I have ways.

Right. We all do.

Frank lays beside the thin woman on the dirty mattress. He holds Meg and hears Ben humming a song by Lou Reed. Ben mumbles the words. Sweet Jane….sweet Jane….till he dozes off.

The morning breeze blows through broken windows.