The Beginning of the End

It was an unusually dark morning around 5 a.m. and the street lamps were dimly lit. It was going to be a hot and humid day. Birds were chirping loudly, how I hated the sounds of the birds chirping in the morning. The street sweeper was loud and obnoxious to my already pounding head. I'd been up for over a week with no thought of sleeping. As I walked through the bug infested, woody path I came upon a vagrant sitting in what seemed an outdoor living room there was a chair, one of those seventies kitchen chairs with the plastic permanently affixed. All four legs were missing so it literally sat in the dirt. The love seat that "Mr. who ever he was" sat on was black from dirt and shredded from stray cats and then there was this crate, all of which sat under a brush of trees so low that when you walked through you had to duck down.

Billy Sunday and wife (LOC)

Sunday Prayers

English: Series of air conditioners at UNC-CH.

The vagrant was someone like me looking for relief from that devils candy. I sat for a moment on the dirty crate under that low tree and grabbed a smoke on the ducked out cigarette butt that I stuck in my shoe. The bugs were eating me alive and the vagrant was talking to me. My head was so cloudy that I could not quiet my brain enough to listen; blah, blah, blah is all I heard. The air had a pungent smell of urine; it seemed to be literally sinking deep into my sweaty flesh. In the distance you could hear the loud screeching sounds of cars seemingly hitting their brakes; I briefly wondered was there an accident in between thoughts of when I was going to be able to get another...