Thoughts and Random Things

Jazz Pipes (edited af)

"Spare change?" I muttered, holding a raggedy shoe out as busy New Yorkers passed by. I repeated the line, over and over. Three hours later, I checked to see how much I had collected.

An ABC wad of gum, an "admit one" ticket, and fifty-one cents.

I sighed. As a homeless man in New York, no one trusted or liked me. Collectively, we all had quite a terrible reputation. Even the innocent ones.

I tried again. "Spare change?" I asked, grasping and waving the worn shoe in hopes of grabbing any sort of attention.

A little girl, who looked to be about ten or eleven years old, tapped at her mother's side. "Mommy, we should give some change to that man," she said, pointing to me. I smiled wearily at the two of them and sat up, trying to make myself the slightest bit more presentable. The mom looked me up and down, her expression shifting to one of disgust as her eyes crept over the sight of me. I couldn't blame her.

"Ugh," spat the mother, guiding her daughter away. "I don't want a person like that to be rubbing off on you, Samantha. Just keep walking past."

The little girl Samantha looked over her shoulder at me and shot me a sad and empathetic glance as her mother, tightly grasping her hand, walked away with her.

Can't say it's the first time that's happened. I shrug internally. Whatever.

My home was really just this one specific alley. That place took care of me just as well as I took care of it. I kept it as tidy as I possibly could-- a corner for trash, a different corner for bathroom, alongside the left building when I ate, and alongside the right building for all other duties. It was a narrow, rectangular slice of darkness and coziness that I could call my own.

Right across from that alleyway of mine was a vintage-looking store accentuated with flaking white paint around the windowsills and Bauman's Music Store in flickering neon. I had always wanted to go inside-- it looked like the perfect sort of place for me, even though I hadn't taken an interest in music since I was a teenager. As I stared across the street, wondering about the music store, I saw the very same girl and mother from before, on the other side of the street this time. They were still holding hands as they walked into Bauman's. They didn't come out for a very long time.

I blinked, and five years passed by so quickly it felt more like five minutes. Time had become a blur to me. Life had had its ups and downs, its good points and its bad, but I was still homeless as ever. I remained in the same alleyway, purely because of my uncanny fascination with Bauman's Music Store. I didn't know why I was so charmed by it, but until I figured out why, I wasn't going anywhere. Samantha and her mom had gradually started going there more and more frequently; soon, they started spending most of their time there. I could tell Samantha had school during the week, but she went to Bauman's after school each day. Sometimes, she would bring a boy with her. I don't know why, but situations like that would always make my stomach stir. I wasn't sure I liked her hanging around boys.

Samantha grew to be beautiful. I admired her; not in a romantic or perverted way, but, rather, in a way that could be compared to how a child looks up to a rock-star. She awed me. Her hair was an inviting blend of blond and brown, she was fresh-faced and clear-skinned, but my favorite thing about her was her laugh. Sometimes, as she was walking into the shop with some sort of companion, the tagalong would make a joke, and Samantha would laugh and laugh and laugh, snorting and crying. Her laugh was loud and deep and hearty and full, and it reminded me of cathedral bells. I liked seeing her laugh. I liked seeing her happy.

But just because I felt I had found some unfocused sort of purpose, it didn't make me any less homeless. I struggled to afford even a bag of chips. I had to stop buying deodorant at one point-- it was too much of an investment. At some points, it felt like Samantha from Bauman's was the only thing keeping me going.