The Fierce Wind Is Wearing Me Down

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I begin to cry and I’m hungry now as I begin to think about my current situation and that I haven’t eaten in two days so I retreat to my financial reserves which are pennies mostly stacked in little towers on the windowsill but I don’t have enough money even for a Coke and barely enough for some cheap candy and I remember how much weight I need to lose so I start doing jumping jacks stopping only once to take off my matching green sock and blue sock because the more I think about it the green sock should be on my right foot since green represents nature and balance and after testing my balance I am much more balanced on the right foot.

I really need a Coke, so I step out into the stale pink and silver hallway and hear that Crazy Indian Chief guy shouting war calls again and see the landlady pounding on his door threatening to call the police and I start down the stairs thinking to myself that Chicago is such a nice town if you have money and I begin to cry again when I reach the second floor and reflect on the fact that two is an oppositional number which perfectly matches the natural conflict within my mind . . . oh, crap! Did I lock my door? How did I ever end up in a halfway house?

I re-climb the steps and lock my door and descend again until I find my way down on the street. Everyone is looking at me as if they know all about me and my situation. The traffic is so loud. The noise is overwhelming. The crowds. The idea of riding the bus now that my car is gone. The thought of the crowded grocery store. Suddenly I’m tired. I can hear the overwhelming sound of the leaves cutting through the November air and scraping against the sidewalk. The fierce wind is wearing me down. It’s not like the wind at my mom’s house in Ohio. Everything is peaceful there. I miss home.

I try to shut out the calls of the late-night transvestite prostitutes and make my way to the ATM. I sift through my credit cards, one by one, and slip them in. One after another, they are denied.

I need answers and my mind races ahead in search of them. Maybe I can beg for two dollars for a Coke or maybe the guy at the all-night burger shop will give me one on credit since I’ve been a good customer or maybe my landlady will float me another 10 bucks and then I could get dinner too at the all-night Mexican restaurant on the corner.

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