It's cold out this morning.
Not just cold, but the wind in whipping, making it colder. I wonder about my brother then and how he fared in this cold weather. He told me that one of his buddies that he sleeps with gave up the other night and left the streets, probably to go to the subway, which was my favorite place to go when I was outside. If you're careful, and don't fall over on the seat, you'll manage to survive the police sweeps and the thieves. If you go to the last stop, then it's all about luck. Nine times out of ten you will be busted.
I used to belittle shelts like me when it came to cold weather. I used to call them 'bitches' and 'pussies' because they couldn't take the cold. And here I was, being a little bitch about the chill morning. I shake my head. My how much things can change in a year. I make my way to Starbucks and set up my seat in the Eye of God and sit down to watch people in my 'living room'. There is an old Black man standing at the condiments stand, talking to anyone who comes by that will listen. He just stands there for about a half an hour, trying to hold a meaningful conversation until another skek rolls by and starts to make coffee. There must be a hierarchy here too, because he caused the old man to depart with his presence.
How does he make coffee? He reaches into the trash bin, and pulls out a Vente cup, which in Starbucks lingo means: the largest cup that they have. He then stands there with it and waits until patrons, whose cups are too full of coffee to add milk, come and pour out a little in the trash. He intercepts them from their tasks, and asks that they instead pour their excess into his cup. In no time he fills his Vente cup, adds milk and sugar and departs for one of the tables. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a sandwich. He is happy now.I marvel at his ingenuity. Skeks are fantastic in their ability to survive. We take for granted their sheer skill sometimes.
Suddenly my brother, OBSIDIAN appears. He broke his normal routine to hang out at Starbucks and read. We converse and drink coffee till the day wears out. We play 2142 together and read newspapers, and I go online to surf and blog. It is a great morning through afternoon for us. As we snack on sunflower seeds and Sardines, Olympia Dukkakis sits near us. I don't know why it is, but like I said, I have a certain radar for this kind of shit. I'll spot any star anywhere...except maybe if he or she is a basketball star. Olympia is enjoying a conversation with some younger dude, her hair is jet white, and her skin is ruddy, without makeup. My brother and I talk amongst ourselves about her, but neither of us goes up and asks her for her autograph. I mean, what would we have her sign? Our napkins?
We went to the SHOUT OUT and boy was it a blast. We had a nice, healthy crowd of people, a rousing feature and lively acts. What more could a Co-host ask for? It was an uphill battle to get to the SHOUT OUT for me. It always is. It's the last place that you want to be. You want to be doing something else on your Saturday, and you wonder just how it will be if you didn't show. But then you go anyhow, and before you know it, you have some kind of spiritual awakening. Your spirits are lifted and you feel good about yourself and how you spent your day. I work my way through the reading and it actually becomes a helluvah lot of fun. I've stayed at the shelter before and found myself miserable all day long. But after the SHOUT OUT I've always felt like I've touched the face of God or something.
Even with the crisis of time, which we have every week, where the waitress comes in late, and wants us out on time, did not bother me much. My brother doesn't take to this kindly and we end up staying our two hours, but you know how I must fret over it, especially when she comes to me to work out our departure time, and I have to play monkey in the middle. She has grown fearful of my brother, so she avoids him at all costs. Especially when it comes to our leaving time.
We end a half hour later than usual, and clear out before the bands come in. The audience is overjoyed, especially after a moving reading by Bill Pyles, who literally brings the house down with his song, Voodoo Skoodoo.We stagger out into the dark. Night is falling faster in the city. The streetlamps are burning, neon is flashing, the sidewalk is busy and cool. Oz, Demetrius and I station ourselves before the Palm Reading establishment. D2theL, my brother, our feature Vincent Quatroche and his friend are closer to the curb, with the new-newcomer, Gregory, a tall, lanky young man from Adelphi College who's doing a paper on the spoken word.
We head down the street after awhile of chatting, breaking off, one by one on each occurring corner until it's just myself, D2theL, OBSIDIAN and Gregory left. We say our respective goodbyes on Lafayette and 14th street and break apart, going our separate ways. I head back to the Box. The Box, which is quieter than normal. Everyone that I meet tells me that they stayed indoors all day long, not leaving the confines of the Dorm. That's kind of harsh to me. I wonder what these walls do to a man after a day of seeing nothing but skeks all day? I wonder what would have happened to me if the same held true?
I'm too tired to write. The SHOUT OUT had taken more from me than I thought. I'm too tired to blog. I close my laptop early. Very early, around Nine, and crawl into bed. My entire body aches. I put my headsets on, stow away my gear and close my eyes, wondering if I will go to sleep this early.I am fast to sleep before I finish the thought.
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