Craig said, “Yeah so one time I’s in there with Face and Danny. We got picked up by the park, all wasted and shit. They put us in nearby cells.” He came back over, zipping his pants. “They hooked it up with them bologna sandwiches, man. Tellin you. Face ate like six them bitches and fell right asleep. Fucking Danny, he used the bread to wipe his ass.”
We all laughed.
Craig said, “The cops cleared us and shit, but then they’s like, something about staying a while longer because it was raining out. We all like, ‘Hell no.’ Didn’t even wait for our shoelaces, man. Was only drizzling out too.”
Troy said, “Aw man, at reminds me. Danny was around the other day, man. I’n’t tell you.”
“Aw shit,” Craig said, smiling. “How is he?”
“Doin good, doin good,” Troy said. “Heece walkin now. Came around and said what’s up, gave us ten dollars for some beers. Run it. Still stayin with his pops and stepmom. Got a big belly now, big beard. Lookin good, man.”
“Hell yeah,” I said.
“Hell yeah,” Troy said. “Run it.”
We were quiet for a while.
The sun returned.
The heat and humidity increased.
Craig sniffed a few times and made a face, put his shirt over his nose. “Man. Smell like dookie and piss back here, Troy. The fuck.”
Troy said, “What? Nah.”
“Yeah, Troy. This shit bad. You fucked up.”
“Nah, I clean up back here every week.”
“Nah Troy, nah,” Craig said. “Smell like dookie and piss.” He turned to me, making eye contact with his shirt still over his nose. “Dookie and piss?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Aw, f’real?” Troy said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Right when he said it, I smelled it.”
Troy got up and walked around. “It does,” he said. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m lazy. I’ll clean up soon. Sorry guys. Only started making my bed once I became homeless, hah. Been in a house, been married, never made my bed. Now, I make my bed.”
Nobody said anything for a little bit.
Troy apologized numerous times.
Said he was going to get the hose and bucket from the little co-op he worked at so he could clean his place.
He promised.
“I do the windows over here for these guys once a week and I’ll just take the hose out here and spray it all down real good. Geez. I’m sorry guys. I’m lazy. Haven’t even made a bed until I was homeless, hah.”
Craig said, “That’s on you, T.”
This guy came around the corner, pushing a shopping cart full of cans and metallic garbage.
“Yo, Scrappy!” Craig said.
Scrappy parked his shopping cart and went behind the dumpsters.
Troy got up and arranged a different dumpster — one on wheels — to shield him some more.
“Hi, I’m Martin,” he said to me, only part of his face visible behind the dumpster.
He was wearing a Bears hat pushed back on his head.
He had a very quiet and muted voice and he didn’t blink at all.
“Am I gonna be cool?” he said to Troy, taking out a crackpipe.
Troy said, “Yeah yeah, don’t worry. Save me a hit too.”
Martin plunged his crackpipe with a small screwdriver and talked about making a lot of money off aluminum cans from this recent street festival in K-Town.
He packed the crackpipe and smoked, rotating the pipe and watching with his eyes crossed.
He exhaled and put his hand over his face.
I said I was going to get more beer, asked what people wanted.
Craig said, “I’ll split a King Cobra with Troy.”
Troy said, “Yeah man, anks.”
I asked Martin if he wanted anything.
“No, I don’t drink,” he said. “But maybe like, a 7-Up or something, sure.”
I went and bought two King Cobras, a cinnamon bun, and a can of 7-Up.
I ate the cinnamon bun in three bites before I even crossed the street.
Back at Troy’s, Martin was still sitting behind the dumpster, mumbling quietly and staring.
Troy had taken off his hoody, wearing a tanktop with an American flag in the middle, the words “The United States of America” above the flag, then beneath it, “Winner of back to back World Wars.”
He sat on the edge of his bed holding the crackpipe.
He loaded a rock and took a hit, tilting his head back and raising the pipe.
Craig said, “Damn man, don’t advertise.”
Troy exhaled.
He looked at Craig. “So how you feelin man?”
Craig smiled and winked. “Wimma hands, man.”
“Feel this with your hands,” Troy said, motioning like he was going to unzip his pants.
“Fuckatta here, Troy,” Craig said, laughing. “Kill you.”
“No, whatta y’think,” Troy said. “Issa, we can go to Boystown and make a quick 40 bucks. Handjobs. Anyone wanna go with?”
“You nasty,” Craig said, shaking his head.
Troy said, “No, but ey, sometimes they just wissa, wanna watch you jack off. Easy money, man. Come on. Anybody?”
Craig said, “You fucked up, Troy. Fuckin dumbass.”
Martin stood up from behind Troy’s bed and got his shopping cart and left without saying anything, adjusting his hat as he walked away.
“Later Scrappy,” Craig said.
Martin held up his hand.
Clouds had dimmed things a little.
Troy and Craig leaned on the dumpster and I sat on an overturned bucket.
We finished our beers.
A station wagon pulled into the alley and parked by us.
Three guys exited.
One of them knew Troy.
They worked for a church in the neighborhood.
They were delivering food in tied-off plastic shopping bags.
Troy got three bags off them and also a pair of pants.
“Anks so much, guys,” Troy said, holding the pants up. “Great.” He folded the pants over his arm. “So, where else you guys at tonight then?”
One guy said, “Just came to swing by here, then uh, think we’re going down by the bridge and”—he looked at another guy.
The other guy said, “Yeah, I think that’s it.”
Troy told them about another place to go to drop off food, under a bridge by the river.
“Oh thanks, thank you,” said a church employee. “So, you guys good tonight? Everything good?”
“Yeah,” Troy said.
“Yeah,” I said, waving my fist a little, like ‘Hell yeah, man.’
Troy said, “Ey, really, anks for the food and everything. Real sorry, like, we been boozin and everything.”
One of the church guys said, “No, don’t worry about it.”
Troy said, “Ey, come on, let’s have a prayer before you guys leave. Here.”
We all held hands in the alley.
On one side I was holding Craig’s hand and on the other side I was holding one of the church guy’s hands, on a dumpster lid.
A church employee started the prayer with, “Lord our Father, please continue to love and guide us. We thank you for the food you have given us to share.”
Nobody said anything for a little bit.
The guy who started the prayer said, “Troy, you wanna—”
Troy cleared his throat. “Lord Jesus, thank you for wakin me up today.”
There was a long pause.
A guy from the church said, “In Christ’s name.”
People said amen.
“Alright, later guys,” said one of the guys from the church.
We all hugged before they got back in the car and drove off.
Craig squatted with his back against a dumpster, opening his bag.
Troy sat on his bed, opening a bag.
He picked up the unopened bag and handed it to me.
“Here man, have at it,” he said.
“Oh, thanks,” I said.
Each bag had two sandwiches, beef jerky, an apple, a juicebox, chips, and a bottle of water.