6 Years Ago
The streets of Washington are silent right now, colder than the few nights when I was stuck sleeping at the river.
I hate sleeping at that fucking place.
My feet are paining as I walk down toward the club this whore Patricia sent me to.
Bitch better not be wasting my time. I just turned sixteen with no education, no damn job.
I'm living on the streets with no warm clothes, no food, fuck, I don't even know when is the last time I brushed my teeth before today. The mechanism should be foreign to me by now. It would if I didn't go to school when I was younger, made it to the sixth grade before life turned fucked up and my mother died of cancer.
At twelve I was thrown in the system like the nobody's kid I became.
I told the social worker I didn't want to go, but what other choice did I have- none, that was what they thought.
I shut my mouth and took the burned hand I was dealt and stuck it out for a few weeks.
Got stuck with a group of the meanest kids I have ever known. I thought the grubby ones at school were bad.
Janet, who was my social worker at the time, an African American woman who probably ate for three every day proved that wrong the day she took me to that house.
Except for Ally, poor kid, I sometimes wonder how she's doing, where she ended.
The other kids in the house were a bunch of fucked up teenagers.
Luke was already selling pot. Gill was expelled at just thirteen for stabbing his teacher in his hand, but even they were fucking angels compared to the foster father, David Fucking Dale.
Asshole took from me, he raped me on the kitchen counter.
a tin opener and
was a good feeling as I left the fucker bleeding
ran, I didn't stop running until I
here I am, sixteen, still a beggar.
I have started the
all over town these last few weeks, looking in every place I can
need a house address so I used one from the nicer parts of Washington hoping that would change their
me about this gig at this club called Bulls-Eye, so here I am walking
food in my stomach, no water to help
armpits are already sweaty even in
best I could get. No way was I walking to
bad memories of stations. Bad memories of
river water was fucking freezing, and I got frostbite on my ass. Never-mind that the old man sleeping
is a sense of peace
then again my
forced ones she
I am used to as
men in their three piece
those men are bad people.
is one of
hunted him down, it was the first time I
I hope not
the door, the Italian bald-headed man is tall and broody. It's a long wait for my turn
job,” I say in
looks down at my card and then