It was a night so cold you had to piss while you were walking to keep from slipping on the ice. One might think the body gets used to the weather and the exposure, and it does to an extent. It never completely gets used to it, though. For instance, the hands and feet, the ears and the nose all remain incredibly sensitive to the temperature. If you ever meet a drifter/hobo with missing toes and fingers, chances are they lost them after getting a nasty case of frostbite with no medical attention (change doesn’t pay for much).

[Gloves, hats, socks and scarves are a necessity.]

This particular night was the first night I ever got my ass kicked. Rowdy sons of bitches with their daddy-complexes. You hear about it, and you think That’ll never happen to me. But, it does. I’m sure it’s happened to every one of us by now. The first I ever heard of such a thing was in my college days (That’s right. I used to show so much promise). My friends and I were headed to a local bar, when we were approached by a man with what looked to be a harmonica holder. I wish I never figured out it was anything else. 

“Excuse me, can I have a minute your time, please?” the ruffian said. It was such a  nice tone. “I’m from this area. I’m currently living in a refrigerator box behind this bar.” Inside my head I grinned at the stereotype not knowing I was destined for the same life. “I got my jaw broken when I was sleeping in the park two months ago.” That grin I had turned to a snarl. He was attacked a group of punks. (Probably, descended from the same overly aggressive mouth breathing barbarians the asshole that kicked my ass did.) These punks didn’t even give him a chance to get out of his sleeping bag, and they came prepared. They broke his jaw and left him to bleed and moan. Little fucks.

[I listen to every story the others tell me. It helps to learn from someone who has worn the shoes before you’ve walked in them.]

His jaw had healed by the time that I encountered him, but he still had the rods sticking out of his face. He had no money to have it removed. He claimed it was an angel that took him to the hospital. I didn’t tell him that I don’t believe in angels. Well, I didn’t. Now, I’ll believe anything.

You think to yourself, That’ll never happen to me. Meanwhile, you learn. You learn that anything can happen to anyone at any time for any reason, or for no reason at all. You figure it out when you’re getting a wake up call from what I’m guessing was the first thing those pricks saw as a weapon. I’m pretty sure one of them just had a large plastic spoon. However, on a night that cold that large plastic spoon still stings like hot needles on frozen skin. It hurt considerably less than the metal pipe, the chair leg or the other items which I had no time to make out. I remember the pipe because maybe I have an attention to detail when it comes to stereotypes working themselves out.

What I would like to tell you here is that I Charles Bronson’ed my way out of the situation. That I stopped the second swing of the pipe with my hand, hit the pissant in the throat and rolled to my feet, ready for the battle. That I dodged their following swings, disarming them with less than a breath taken out of me, complete with stoic look. That they ran off after that, scared into fearing the weak. But, what I’m able to tell you is I got the shit beat out of me. For what seemed to be forever. The only thing I could think ro do was cover the most important parts of my body. I couldn’t think to scream, or maybe I couldn’t scream because there was less than a breath left in me. It’s hard to be specific because as I said I got the shit beat out of me.

I woke up just as the drifter from before. In a hospital with no explanation as to how I got there. Probably, an angel. Probably, a good semaritan. It’s hard to give credit to man after seeing what evil man is truly capable of.  What do you call the scum that is scum to the scum of the world? 

[Scum]

That was the night it hit me. That night in April. I remember it was April. It was cold. Too cold for April. I didn’t have warm clothes, anymore. I was new to the drifter scene, and I figured travel would be easier without all the extra baggage. One would be surprised at how hard it was to separate with a smelly ass wool coat that built up enough filth and world to weigh down a small horse. Especially since that same filth and world kept you alive during January and February. What I would have done for that sheepskin then. Hell, what I would do for it now. It’s fucking cold. I’m fucking cold.

Really fucking cold. That night was colder. Cold enough to stay with me the following months. Like I said, I was new to it all. I was easily affected. Shit was scary to me then. I worried a lot about surviving. As it turns out, however, surviving is surprisingly easy. Once your body gets used to the lack of food and exposure. That can take a while. But, you’ll make it if you really want to make it. It’s not a lifestyle for the weak at heart. It’s not a lifestyle for anyone on that note. But, when life hands you lemons.

[Lemons. Keep lemons. They burn some wounds and leave you sticky, but they are great for masking the odors of the world. Also, easy to steal. Plus, no one really cares if you steal a lemon. It’s a lemon.]

That night. Back to that night. Having no one to talk to can affect your train of thought. That night. It hit me. April. Cold. Really. Fucking. Cold. What hit me? Oh yeah. As I looked for a safe place in this vermon-ridden town. I saw the first glimpse into my future. There before me. Jesus Christ! I never my life thought I would see anything so absurd in person. When I was ten years old, dreaming about being an X-man, I never once dreamed that I would see this. The thought that something like this would ever happen to me had never even pissed upcreek from any thoughts I was having. There before me.

Grappled near a flaming garbage can. Two obvious professional drifters grappled while two more searched a body that had apparently watched out from under the same rock these fuckers crawled out of. Three cigarettes. Someone was getting left out. A quarter no one saw. Socks. That’s what they were fighting about. Socks. Old socks at that. Probably newer the ones I have on now, but I had standards then. Rules, really. Tactics, even. 

[Clean feet are important.]

I was still hidden by the shadow that the fire birthed behind the peirs. I was brave then, too. I’m more cautious now, but I was young then. I just wanted to get by them without any trouble. I was still curious about who was getting the socks. I figured I could get a closer look. I also thought I was smooth enough to steal a belt which laid a couple feet away from the gentleman drying his cigarettes by the burning barrell of city waste. 

A damn glass bottle. Fucking stupid drunk hobos. These guys are starving for days for a single bottle of anything flammable. A single god damn glass bottle. That they will drop anywhere. Almost a hobo alarm system. 

I triggered the alarm. Probably loudest glass bottle I’ve ever broked. An icredibly weak bottle. Anyways, the hobos were alarmed.

With a mouth full of forearm, one of the grappling hobos drooled out, “Well, see if he’s got anything.”

They were no vowels. I don’t know how I understood it, to be honest. Natural survivor reflex, I guess. And, that’s when it hit me. Then. Not my first night sleeping on a bench. Not my first night getting my ass kicked. Not my first full week without eating. Not the hobo searching a dead body for cigarettes which he dried with garbage flame. It wasn’t even the hobo giving an attack order to his clan of hobos directed at me. 

It was the mouthful of forearm he had. These guys were beasts. Stripped down to their most primal motor skills. Sure the realization that the dead one had probably lost one of these sock scraps. These guys were serious about surviving. The guy didn’t even remove his teeth from his opponents flesh. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but I’m sure the look on his face would have kept me up at night. I, also, considered the possibility that maybe he didn’t release his bite because that was the closest thing to food he’d had for a while.

These guys were hungry. I could tell. I was actually pleasantly full. It was a good day downtown. People were generous. But, these poor starved souls were weak. That’s the only thing that saved me. Luckily, I had the energy to run that day. Good thing I got there when I did though. I can only assume that they later consumed that body. I haven’t been back there though. It’s a big world. There’s plenty to keep me away. 

I, eventually, found a place under some stairs at an abandoned motel. Camel Inn. I could have the name wrong. I see a lot of places on the streets. I’ve come to accept a lot, as well. I don’t know if I could go back to a steady life though. I mean, after you see a man chewing on another man’s arm over a pair of socks, you’re opinion on steady changes.