ARKEN

On the Street

Tobias was woken by the sound of a man speaking to him. He wasn't sure if it was a dream, but it came to him quickly. "Sir. Sir." Tobias opened his eyes to a police officer standing over him, looking down at him flatly. He was less immediately aggressive than most of the officers who bothered Tobias.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" Tobias uttered groggily. He rubbed his temples, which throbbed badly. The officer pointed to his improvised bed, "This is a public bench. You can't sleep here."

"Oh," was his only reply. He sat up straight and stretched his arms. The officer was still waiting on him. "If you need a place to sleep, there's a shelter over on South Drexel and East 82nd Street."

Tobias stood up, grabbing his burlap bag which held what few belongings he had. He took the plastic sheet he used as a blanket and held it under the crook of his arm. Attempting to walk, he stumbled, a combination of the booze the night before and getting up too fast. The officer called after him. "Sir, are you intoxicated?"

"Nope."

Tobias left the bench, glancing back to see if the officer was still watching him, but he'd already headed on his way. That wasn't the first time Tobias had been awakened by someone telling him to scram. People didn't want to see a smelly homeless man sleeping in plain view on a bench right on the street, never mind that homeless people slept everywhere but benches in this town. In this present day, an old hobo lying under a bus stop bench or behind a dumpster was as common a sight as a street pole or a crosswalk.

Tobias walked for around thirty minutes until he found a nice secluded alleyway, not something he found often in Chicago. He walked down it, scanning for other destitute souls like himself, but finding none.

He did find evidence that another had been there at least somewhat recently and probably still lived there, a lean-to tucked between two dumpsters, a small tarp was pinned up above the space between them and draped down to cover the place from onlookers and weather.

Tobias pulled back the tarp and found a dirty pile of flattened cardboard boxes with a blanket on top. He considered it, but most homeless didn't take kindly to guests of the uninvited variety, or the invited variety for that matter.

He walked further down the alley, looking for a good spot. Noticing a noise coming from down the way behind two more dumpsters. He carefully approached the cheap tent behind the dumpster and a large pile of trash bags and opened the flap.

Two homeless people were undressed inside and taking advantage of each other's company. Tobias apologized and abruptly left while they shouted angrily at him. This alley was a bust, there were simply too many people back there, Tobias needed more seclusion.

As he passed another large pile of garbage on the way to the sidewalk, he wondered briefly if this would be the day he stooped that low. He'd considered the idea of it some nights, nights when he lay on whatever surface he could find and gazed up at whatever passed for a roof, only to be kept awake by the incessant rumbling and growling of his stomach. He was hungry, but not that hungry.

He emerged back onto the streets where he immediately didn't belong. Not that everyone who walked in Chicago had such high standards of appearance, but Tobias's dirty locks and patchy facial hair coupled with his stained and tattered shirt, jeans, and coat contrasted heavily with everyone else.

He was wearing shoes he'd bought from a shopping cart vendor in the South Side for the price of ten dollars, a steep one for any vagrant, but worth it, as walking around barefoot in Illinois in March wasn't much of an option. They were decent shoes, only a little worn and they fit Tobias well, they were probably the nicest article of clothing he had.