The all American Pauper

Chapter one fine dining

Watching rich folk gorge on fine cuisine was a grim reminder that I was going to die.
A handful of dirty pennies jingled in my pocket, the pain in my stomach stronger than my will to go on.
The economy was bad, and a dirty ruffian like me only belonged in the kind of work that payed enough to shut you up, but not nearly enough to be well to do.
I've worked on a fishing boat or two, and sometimes found myself in the burning sun staplin' shingles to a rich mans house, on good days I'd be sleeping in a beat down motel, on bad days I'd find myself under a  thousand stars.
This week had been a particularly poor one, nobody lookin to hire, yet everybody lookin at me, like my ripped jeans and dirty trench coat was an insult to society.
Starin' into the windows of some fancy joint had me thinking, if I could afford to live like these folk, I damn sure wouldn't live like them.
A women, dressed like a French whore, glared at me intensely before fetching a waiter, the waiter looking irritated now, chest puffed up and arms crossed exits the restaurant to give me the business.

"You boy! You best be leaving before I call the police!"

I give a sarcastic salute and be on my way, wondering what home sweet dump I'll settle into tonight.
I walk down the street,  hands in my pockets, feeling the change between my callused fingers, the blistering cold embraces me, winters on its way, and I know I best find work, or go south before I'm found by the night patrol frozen solid like Walt Disney.
Men and women of different classes pass me left and right, I like to imagine their lives, do they have it easy? Do they struggle? What job are they working? Are they married or single?
I sit myself down on an iron park bench to people watch, I suppose this is what you would call a poor mans tv.
A women in a well ironed pant suit argues loudly on the phone, going on about last weeks reports and this weeks budget cuts, her hair is short yet feminine, I bet she works in a high end office, I bet the men in the office toy around with her, I bet she likes the attention.
Just as soon as she passes by, another spectacle comes into view, a middle aged man with a big grin and a little girl in tow, she giggles at his terrible jokes, and he kneels down to zip up her bright pink jacket, I forget to profile them, suddenly less interested in what job he's working, or who he is, all I could think about now was my dad, I hardly remember him, I was born in 2021, I heard he passed in a factory fire in 2023.
My mamma, when she was still alive, talked about how he was an honest hard working man, who seen the world with logic instead of compassion.
At some point in my life I wish I could've  known him.
The sky glows orange above me, I've procrastinated enough, it's time to find a bed for tonight, I move along, eyeing dumpsters and wooded areas, whats gonna be warm tonight.
I find a tight alley way, the ground littered with gravel and broken glass, but at least the walls surrounding it will block the wind, I lean myself against a dumpster and close my eyes.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I look up to see an old women, dressed in an faded red jacket and a pair of baggy blue jeans.

"This isn't where you're sleeping tonight is it?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

"Well, I live alone, and I have an empty room, still half furnished from my son, he's living in LA right now, and I just couldn't throw away his twin bed, in case he needs to come home, well anyway, I don't think a boy should be out on the streets with the weather getting so cold... it's chili night!"

In all the time I've been on the street, I've never seen a person so kind, most folk won't even spit in my direction, I hesitate at first, I'm not the type to take pity, but god damn hot chili and a bed sounds like heaven right now.

"Thank you ma'am." Lost, not sure of what to say, I climb up off the ground and reach my hand out to shake hers.
"My names Henry, Henry Boyd."
"Well that's a fine name, my names Sandra Lewis, but most folk call me Oma."
"It's a pleasure to meet you Oma."
And like that, I follow this saint, out of the cold, and into a tiny warm apartment.