He carries a two by four. Swings  wildly. Talks to himself. Mumbles and shouts. Opens dumpsters while walking down alleys in South St. Louis. Looks on the ground for cigarette butts. His tee shirt says, Freedom Ain’t Free. A hawk soars above. Rats scurry.

Give me a twenty, the tall blonde kid asks the short fat black hooker hiding under the fire escape. Come on now, he threatens. I know you just got paid.

I ain’t giving you shit, she says as she swallows mouthwash. Go on. Get out of here. I’m trying to do business.

He laughs and unzips his shitstained pants. Go on. Take care of this business I got. He drops the two by four to his side.

Go on, Billy. Leave me alone.

Come on now. Give me a twenty. That’s all I want. I’m sure you got more than that, he shifts back and forth, side to side. What the fuck? I ain’t got all day.

What you got? A business lunch downtown? You a C.E.O. or something. Shit. Go on. The hooker begins to walk away.

Come back here, the junkie picks up his board. I said, come back here.

Fuck you.

You ain’t so important. You just like the rest of us out here, Billy yelled. He wants to run. Chase the girl down. But he’s too tired. Too weak.

More than you, she yells back. 

He spies an open dumpster across the alley. There’s no garbage in it. This will be his home for the night while whores walk Grand Avenue and cars drive by slowly.

There is music coming from the bars. All kinds of music. From hip-hop to soul and some old Lynyrd Skynyrd as well. Billy lies in the dumpster with his piece of wood. He sings along. Oooo that smell….Can’t you smell that smell…he closes his eyes and waits until morning.