“Where’d you stay last night, John?” Jake sided up near John on the stark, white paint-peeled bench around the corner from the back door. A thorny December gust whipping from the north was proving to be a tough match for Jake’s brass Zippo. “Godamnit!” A flame finally connected.
“You get it?”
“I think so.” Jake puffed until the Marlboro burned even.
“The L-Star.”
“What?”
“That’s where I stayed last night. At the L-Star.” John flipped his butt into the air, and watched the wind smash it into the green block wall, spreading orange ash like fireworks. “Up there on Main.”
“Oh, ‘s that right here in town?”
“Yeah, just a couple blocks up near uh…what’s the bar…” John upturned his sharp-cut chin and squinted into the sun. His face glinted with specks of red in his mostly grey stubble. “…Bit o’ Joy. Anyway, it was only forty a night for a room. A real fuckin’ shithole.”
“Better ‘n the Lamp Lighter?”
“Huh uh. Same kinda place.” He turned toward Jake, half-grinning some sort of meek, shrug-your-shoulders expression. “And the owner, or the staff, or whoever the fuck it was, is mentally deranged, man, Jesus. Just as bad as the clientele.”
Jake lifted his left steel toe boot up and over, straddling the bench to also let the mid-morning sun bathe his face, as he took two deep drags from his cigarette, and exhaled a great white plume that vanished as soon as it crossed his mouth. “You staying there tonight?”
John let out a hard-boiled growl and rested his face in cracked palms. “Nope, I gotta face the music at the shelter. See what they have to say.”
They sat in rough silence with the sun being the sun, and the wind howling. A half-witted argument in Spanish broke on the other side of the fence in the parking lot. Jake dry spat just to pad the tension, then snuffed his butt on the bench space between him and John, leaving a well-worn black char groove where hundreds of his cigarettes had been ground out before. “Whaddaya do up there all day? At the shelter I mean.”
“Ah shit. Well, they kick us out in the morning, so they can clean and do whatever else they need to do to get it ready again for the next night.” He coughed hard, snorted up a thick ball of mucus, “Can’t get rid of this damn cold,” and bent down, careful to spit low so the current wouldn’t carry it. “So I just hole up all day in my truck and hide. Read books. Try and stay warm.”
“Well hell, man, the library’s right there. It’s nice. You oughta hang out there, and read all the books you want. Stay warm, and piss when you want in clean restrooms…”
“Nah. That fuckin’ place is full of bums.” John winced as he slugged a too-hot mouthful from his coffee. “I got guilt sitting in that place.”
“Whaddaya mean, guilt?”
“You know, ‘cause I’m a bum, too. I’m just like all of ‘em, and I don’t wanna be a part of it.”
Jake let it hang, not knowing what to say, so he just waited, lit another Marlboro, and stared at the worn patch on the right knee of his denim dungarees. They sat there like that for some time, and the sun inched a little higher in wide blue abyss. Finally, “I don’t have a way to get a hold of you, do I, John?”
“No, sir. Not really.” He hacked another heavy one between his black, almost grey, logger boots. “I mean, you can always call the shelter in an emergency, but…”
“Nah man, ain’t no emergency, just… ya know? Shit.” Jake felt foolish showing that he gave a care, flipped his smoke like it was contagious against the concrete, and automatically pulled another from his pack.
“Yeah…” Jack bit at a hangnail. “Well, I’ll be up here again next week. I’ll make it.” He threw his narrow shoulders back, and stretched his lean branch arms out like crucifixion, slowly extending a crooked middle finger inches from Jake’s face—topped with his usual ‘fuck you’ smile.
Jake sniffed, hung his head, and let out a chuckled grunt. “Cool, man. That sounds all right.” Two squirrels tangled overhead in the thrashing tops of an oak. “It was real good to see you. I mean it.” He cocked his head and strained to watch the squirrels.
“Absolutely, sir. Absolutely. Didn’t want you guys wonderin’ I was dead in a ditch or something out on 52.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, thanks for coming by, and not just to help out.” He lit his cig, raised his brows toward nothing in particular, and went on, “We’ve all been thinking about you, and how you’re doing and all that shit.”
“For sure. Been thinking about you guys, too. You, Ryser, Lenny… Just been trying to get it together, ya know?” John pulled the hood of his heavy tan Carhartt over his head, and stood out of the sun, tall and thin, but curved, like a tired phone pole. “Well, fuck, guess I’m gonna skedaddle. Got an appointment with my case manager at twelve-thirty.”
Jake rose, short compared to John, at about three quarters, and gave him a screw-tight handshake and unceremonious hug. “All right, man. Be safe.”
John put a carefully guarded Bic flame to a fresh Pall Mall. “You too, buddy. And get some rest. You look like shit.”
“Sure, I’ll try.” He watched John’s back as he stalked off against the blank sky—all the trees naked and leaning south. “See ya next week, man!”
Jake’s words were swept away by angry blasts of numb air, as John rounded the corner, leaving only a twisting ghost of smoke.
words by jay halsey
