No Money & No Favors
November 03, 2007
Not a red cent. I worked in Denver for a little less than a year, living cheap and working hard. I made a little more than twice what I needed to live, and payed everything I made into rent for the months to come. I wasn't planning on being homeless mind you – but a traveler. There's a difference. Well towards the end of the time in Denver, around spring time with a year of rent pre-paid, I took a bus out here to Long Beach, CA and got off. After a brief jaunt on the light rail and local transit system, I was staring over a span of parking lots at the Pacific. Two huge, man sized pipes jutted out of the sand and into the water, a trickle of waste carried into the ocean. Yuck. Four toothbrushes, ten spools of dental floss, and a wholesale sized gallon and a half of antiseptic mouthwash. That's what I got at a Korean grocery mart. So here I am. A bunch of dental supplies, a big knife, a magnifying glass lens in a velvet looking case, a compass, a huge bottle of vitamin C tablets, a wool blanket, some socks, a sleeping bag, two standard issue canvas shelter halves with poles, a water bottle with a filter built into it, and a steel pan. That's what's in the backpack. It's pretty big, and heavy. I eat a big Mexican lunch for breakfast at a little dive the size of two walk in closets holding hands, I'm actually pretty surprised it's open this early. I walk out to the beach, past a public restroom. Two guys are sitting on the concrete leaning against one of the exterior bathroom walls. It looks like these two they haven't slept in a week. In fact, it looks like if I wasn't in the process of obviously re-seating a knife the size of an oar in my backpack, they'd be wondering how much money I have in my wallet. It's about nine in the morning and there's still an air of peace about everything. There's a real old brown skinned guy sitting next to his osteoporosis afflicted skeleton of a bike in the sand. There's a sleeping bag next to the bike, not even rolled up yet. A kite is tied to the seat post and it's fluttering fifty yards out and a hundred up – clearly an American flag even though it's barely a twinkle from here. I wonder if the kite has been up in the sky all night – or even all week. A cardboard sign sits next to him propped up against his shoulder. It's hard to tell what's leaning on what between the two of them. The sign reads, “God Bless“ and has little dollar and cent icons intermixed with some crucifixes and some native American looking symbols. I suppose this thing is to loose change what a dream catcher is to nightmares. I walk right up to him and he looks up at me, a bit intimidated at first. Kneeling down on one knee I pull out my wallet and I hand it to him. More like drop it in his lap actually, as he fails to reach for it after a few seconds. About seventy five dollars give or take, my state ID, an old student ID, an expired debit card, and a Denver, CO library card. None of that's mine anymore. The guy looks pretty reluctant to accept what's happening, and he still hasn't said anything. My eyes dart to his sign for a second, and re-read it. I stand up and turn around to face the sun, still coming up from the other side of the country. I smell tobacco. I turn around for a second. The old guy has lit a cigarette, my wallet is still sitting in his lap. I'm looking east again. I'm going to walk to New York. I'm leaving right now, and I'm gonna do it cheap. Really cheap actually. No money, and no favors. Not a red cent. I get about two steps back towards the parking lots when I hear a throat clearing noise behind me and turn around again. The old guy is looking at me from behind a cloud of brown-yellow smoke, he's got my wallet in his hand. “God Bless“ he says, I smile big, and start walking east.
Tags for this piece: fiction story travel walking