Surrounded by strangers, with an income that could provide necessary toiletries and tobacco, I pursued my recovery and made a pledge to ingest the medications, prescribed by doctors, that would restore my sanity and refrain from the self prescribed medications that had led to my near demise.
Transitioning to shelter life is a hard road, and what's worse about being sheltered is that for most of the morning until afternoon, you aren't sheltered at all and are exposed to the elements of your environment. Shoes protect your feet, a jacket keeps you warm, but what protects you from the deviants who have years of experience in this life compared to your complete lack of knowledge?
The people who are first in line to befriend you are the people you've needed to worry about most. If you were treated with indifference, it meant that you had nothing worth taking. If you are approached, it is by a predator or predators who have seen something you own and are completely motivated in the mission of making sure you don't own it for long. You have a choice. You can share your belongings willingly, or watch as they are carted away. By dispensing cigarettes, you are really guaranteeing that you get to keep some of them. The ones you give away insure your safety and you're accepted into the group, making it easier to sleep at night with your possessions under your bed, your wallet in your pillowcase and your shoes under your head, with the false sense of security that they will surely be there when you wake up. Originally I intended to be a loner, to attend my day program and stay sober, but survival being an instinct that I possess, I soon discovered that you were either friendly with certain people or preyed upon by them. I convinced myself that, being an attractive likable person who could hold his own on the streets, alliances would have to be made -- lest they discover that I was as vulnerable as any other pigeon walking the streets.
I reinvented myself as a street worthy soul who could drink and provide drink to worthy sidekicks and was once again back to a world of drugs, a world I had a great understanding of, one I could pretend to enjoy. I found I was magnetic to the worst of the worst, stealing, drinking, and scamming were traits that were revered, and when in Rome, I found I am quite Roman.
When the idea of 'canning', or turning in recycled aluminum came to my mind for additional income, I took to it like an honest soul.
Two people came into my life who showed me how to make real money doing it. The word 'people' I use exceptionally loosely but, the reality is, they became parent figure. I acted out for attention and acceptance, believing I had found people who I could depend on and trust, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let's just say that one night I was snoring loudly. A stranger came to my cot and kicked it, waking me up saying his first words to me, which were "Stop fucking snoring!" Snoring is as uncontrollable as your natural habits of say -- heart beating and breathing. This was an impossible request, but what the hell, I could give it a try. It was early morning, what I later found to be prime canning time. This is how I met Canyon, the master canner of the city we called home. Canyon it turned out could smell aluminum in a sense, and worked alone in the early mornings. It would take a show of force from a charismatic person to turn this into a profitable triad, and unknown to either of us, he was on the horizon.
Tune in this coming Friday for chapter three of The Wild Ride _________________________________________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment