THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)

10 - NO LOVE

It was at this moment I realized it wasn't actually night. I was ahead of myself. The sun was going down, and doing that harsh shit it does when it knows all is lost for another day. Why had I been so convinced it was night? Something related to my own over inflated sense of drama. If I was so confused about that, and about people knowing my name, was I even drunker than I thought?

Not that any of it mattered. Everything was the same. Things happened. I got anxious. I got drunk, so as not to be as anxious. Things got worse.

I turned to LaLa, who was wiping sunburned and chapped hands against the sides of a miniskirt that resembled a never cleaned oven mitt. "He didn't come on me," She said. "He can't come when he's that high. He just likes his dick played with."

"Man's gotta have something," I mumbled.

"Speaking of which..."

I gave her the rest of my money, about twenty-nine bucks. Unlike most, I was still pretty good at budgeting, at least with respects to booze, which isn't available in food pantries. I also gave her the bottle, and LaLa swigged about half and handed it back.

Lala said, "You look like one of those ghouls, one of those masks you see on Halloween?"

I suppose was squinting and baring my teeth against the sun. "I'm the Skid Row Creature," I told her. "I'm upside down, I think."

"You got any money?"

I was about to explain how I'd just given her all my money, but this wouldn't have accomplished much. She was more fucked up than I was, LaLa saying, "I gotta make some money in this motherfucking heat. You know me."

She spun around and marched off, bony hips, strong legs, her undersized argyle sweater chafing against sores orbiting her lower back. Lala had soft brown hair teased up and sprayed stiff, and her posture was still strong. She wasn't done in yet, like most, like me.

It was the last time I ever saw her.

The last time before that, I'd paid her ten dollars. Not to fuck her in the ass, or any kind of sex (any whore I could afford would most likely have HIV, and suicidal or not, that's not something I wanted to deal with, plus I don't pay for sex - it seems rude). No, I paid Lala ten dollars so I could hold her. I'd seen her dipping in and out of the alleys, and there was something about her I wanted to be kind, and if that was the case it meant I'd never get near it. I took her into my room and put my arms around her and felt her stiffly hold me back. Just to be sure, I asked her if she wanted to rest in my room, on my couch, while I stayed guard on my chair. She got soft and quiet for a moment and told me she'd like that, and was gone when I'd turned around to snag a new beer.

I stood there in the alley and thought about Lala, and how I'd just proved my point again – I was alone. If I didn't kill myself quick I'd turn into Johnny Bobo, there'd be no denying it.

I dramatically chugged the rest of the Blue Nuts bottle, spilling a good bit down the sides of my cheeks. Now I felt frustrated. The truth was I was mad at myself for not being able to pay for sex like any other normal person. If I could then I'd take Lala back to my place and negotiate and then fuck her inthe ass. Then I could kill myself with more dignity. I'd fuck her in her ass and then kill myself. If I wasn't such a complete loser I could have gotten that ass. Another reason to kill myself.

Now she was gone, and even if she wasn't she was to me. Like everything else.

What ridiculous shit is all of this, I thought. Time to die, I told myself. Time to die.

As luck would have it at that moment a city bus was charging down seventh street.