Scabs, J. Cordova [whitelam books txt] 📗

“Get up you drunk piece of shit!” The young cop yelled at him through hundred dollar sunglasses. The older cop stared at him through the passenger window of the squad car. Scabs felt the look the veteran officer gives him. That “Make any sudden movements and you’re gonna wish you get it as light as Rodney King” look. With both eyes open and a fresh bump forming over his left eyebrow, where the rookie had been tapping his flashlight, he smiled “Sorry sirs, no trouble here. I was just about to leave.” You’re not going to fuck me up. Not right now, I just woke up, dickheads.
He had chosen that particular bus stop to sleep in since 3 other bums slept there. Thing is, he’d fucked up and gotten too drunk, and woke up too late. The pigs loved to catch bums mid-dream, curled up like a newborn and startle them awake. In the streets, they sometimes wake up swinging. Cops know this, and use it as an excuse to beat the homeless to a pulp. All the rookies get to do it several times. Scabs knew the play and didn’t fall for it. Not this time, maybe some other day those fucks will get a chance.
“You dirty fuck, get outta here and take a fucking shower. And get a job! Next time I’m gonna shove this night stick right up your ass and set you straight!” Oh this rookie was good; he was almost done with his training. Scabs got up and checked his pockets. The hidden ones too. Everything was in its place. He was relieved. Sometimes the other bums took whatever he had on him when he drunk himself to sleep.
5 a.m. and the sun still wasn’t out, but he had to get moving. Then he remembered the advice given to him when he began living in the streets, “Sleep during the day, stay up all night. You can see them coming...” Was it Rosy or that one dude with no teeth, Gums was his name, that told him that? Maybe it was the spade that always asked for a cigarette and always took two. That fucking bastard.
Anyways, all those bums are gone now. Rosy was old, like 50-something, last he heard she’d been raped and carved up. Word out on the street spreads, and when it comes to things like that, it is not just a rumor. Gums on the other hand still lived in the same lot, out by some condemned tower. Still smoked all that crack, even after losing all his damn teeth. As for the spade, he got his head flattened by that damn gang. Those fucking hoods are more dangerous than the cops. Scabs had a few close encounters with them. Hell, they knocked out one of his molars and cracked a pair of his ribs. He spent 2 nights in the county hospital then got dumped out in some fucking alley while all drugged out and semi conscious.
Lucky’s Donuts is the only spot that doesn’t treat him like shit. The same chink couple has been running that place for a while now. All the other shops tell him to buy and get the fuck out. They don’t take kindly to bums. They see a bum and think they’re all looney. The looney ones are the dangerous ones that piss and shit themselves and then get cracked and tweaked out and light shit on fire and rape babies and eat pets and yell at flies and drool and… Loon’s got no choice, got no chance. Well the chinks don’t treat him like shit there at Lucky’s but they don’t look at him either. Better to be ignored than treated like garbage.
His breakfast of coffee and day old doughnuts was good. The sun was starting to creep out with all the movement on the streets. The start of another day. It didn’t matter what day it was. All that mattered was that he knew he wasn’t dead. Maybe he’ll eat again today, or maybe just get fucked up. After all, to everyone he was just another drunk piece of shit.

Publication Date: 08-24-2009

All Rights Reserved