A Quarter Short

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I watched as the silver and bronze edge of the quarter I had just sent skating across the counter rolled all the way to the little stand of packaged peanuts...they claimed to be ‘oven roasted’ but that was probably a bunch of bullshit.

It made a clinking noise when it hit the plastic, and then bounced off to dance above the display of scratch off tickets before finally coming to a stop.

“One more,” came from the clerk just as my hand dove into the front pocket of my jeans, feeling around for any loose change...but only found a wadded up receipt from the gas station up the road, a Bud Lite beer cap, and a fortune cookie slip that said ‘Good fortune will come with the sunrise’...

“Don’t have nothin’ else. Thas’ all I got,” I responded, pulling my hand out with nothing as proof.

The clerk stared at me with the same look that prison guards give unruly inmates.

Every time I saw him, he always reminded me of a discount Bill Murray...but maybe that was because I’d been forced to see Charlie’s Angels one too many fuckin’ times. I never wanted to see his face, or the Diaz woman’s face again...the redhead was hardly in anything anyway, and the other one was in Kill Bill, so I could put up with her.

“Look, kid, the smokes are 6.75. I’ve got this other pack for 6.25-”

“Can’t you just fuckin’ give it to me? It’s 50 fuckin’ cents, Paul.”

“It’s Pat-”

“Fuckin’ whatever,” I paused to send a scathing glare at his dinky little nametag, “They’re both fuckin’ P names.”

“Look, this ain’t a charity. You either have the money or you don’t.”

“Fine, Paul, fine...gimme the other one.”

“It’s P-”

“-Just ring the smokes up. I have shit to do today.”

I stood there with my jaw clenched as the register made its little beeps and whistles, before finally spitting out my newest receipt. Paul or Pat or whatever his fuckin’ name was ripped it out and jerked it across the counter at me, then turned around to grab my smokes. “Didn’t realize homeless kids had shit to do,” he said under his breath…

...but I heard it.

“Yeah...everyone has shit to do, man. Fuck…”

After 378 years of searching...I would bet money he took a long time on purpose...he finally straightened up with the smokes in his hand, and flopped them down onto the counter so that they landed on top of the ‘Big Bass scratch-off’.

Why the fuck they had fishing scratch-offs in Brooklyn was a mystery...half the people here had never even heard of a fishing pole, and the only fish they’d ever tasted was at fuckin’ McDonald’s.

“There, don’t smoke ‘em all at once.”

“Maybe I fuckin’ will,” was my response as I snatched them up, sending one last half-ass glare at Paul/Pat.

Just before pushing the door open, I paused to send a grumpy “have a nice day” over my shoulder.

Fuck.

And it was only 8:30 A.M.

14 more hours of this shit.

That was if I found a couch to sleep on. Unlikely, since I’d pissed off the last two couches I’d used...or, rather, the people who owned them. I guess they weren’t fans of cigarette holes in the upholstery.

Digging out the cheap MP3 player I’d had for what seemed like decades (even though I’d only been old enough to work an MP3 player since ‘96), I scrolled on the little screen until I got to Eminem’s ‘Till I Collapse’, and shoved the headphones into my ears.

As the song started up, I timed the rhythm of my steps to the beat, and got lost in it...a bad idea, since I almost walked out in front of a car at the intersection. The blaring horn made my ears ring as I sent them a half-ass middle finger.

Whatever.

Next stop, the group home.

Fuckin’ perfect. My favorite place to go. At least I could cycle through almost all of Em’s songs I had before I got there. It was all the way on the other side of the damn neighborhood.
Past the three McDonald’s, past the disgusting Subway, past the 85 liquor stores...and the police station.

Wonderful.

Hood up, head down, act normal, and the police won’t need to follow you this time around the fuckin’ block like you’re some kind of delinquent. They did that last time, and it pissed me off.

I may be homeless, but I tried not to be a criminal.

Tried.

Sometimes that didn’t always work out.

Taking a deep breath just as ‘Without Me’ started, I headed off.

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