You’ll see the tirelessness in my eyes and voice from the ceaseless talking in my head. I would just like to know what its like to not care. I’m the one who’s always from the bottom looking up. Too much despair makes me a very dull person and I am growing sick of wanting, wanting, wanting.

“I want to get away from here and go down dark,” I asked the man with the drugs in his breast pocket and pills in his pant’s pocket. He pointed out the way to a place where other losers were using his just sold mind pearls. He lead me to a “barn” where the others held lit matches that I needed, laid passed out, drooling and gone dreaming. Once I went in and found an old futon mattress to make my high real, Fredrick slapped me on the bottom like the boys in the locker room congratulating me for the game winning home run. How is there a slap of congratulations due a person who just bought shit for their veins or in the idea that I was making a good choice to take my pills with others, I don’t know, but I did take the pills acting like I was overdue on that home run. I was under the influence and passed out half-naked and stinky under another roof based solely on time.

Unfortunately, I woke up. I went down to the church to cross the yard to get home. It was two days later and I had been to many-colored-places during that nightmare on the futon. My hair was matted with mattress stuffing in it and my face reflected the misery of my life and the destruction of the poor quality pills Fredrick sold me. Still I tramped home to see Father Russo outside weeding the yard, waved to him while cutting through to my weedy yard. It’s not right to trespass, but it saves me a block.

When I arrived I went to the front door although I did not make it being stopped by dizziness and eyes popping. It was here. The For Sale sign, the lock box on the front door, the “No Trespassing” sign with the fine print announcing this house has been seized, or abandoned. I stumbled and swayed thinking I had not been around when they came. Probably fronted by my brother who said he owned it now that he paid the bill and he was authorized to sell it. Or was it the Marshall’s that came, while I was away, not here to stop them, or grab my stuff.

At least it didn’t go to the bank, I thought, as I entered the bedroom window. I knew just how to open it, climbing through it since I was thirteen. I took exactly what I needed, my back pack, and left everything else. I had no where to go except back to Fredrick’s barn where I could not bring valuables knowing that they would get ransacked or stolen. I left most of it behind. What I did not leave was my memories, matches, pipes, the camera and the last of the camera film. Feeling it was dignified to leave proudly out the front door, I did that. I turned my back to the last sight of it and I refused to cry.