CHAPTER 1
I walked into Market Square one Saturday, looking for just about anything they’d give me. It was one of those farmer’s days and those Quakers, and Amish, and hippies are all kind folks. Real giving. The Amish families usually give me a spare loaf of bread without my even having to ask for it. They’ve always been respectful like that, not bringing me to beg for nothing so as to mind my own respect. I still have that, least I think I do. Anyway, I’d just grabbed me a fresh apple and was gettin’ some shade in Crutch Park, it was a scorcher that day, I think it was in early June. So I’m sitting there and outta the blue I hear someone picking away at a twelve stringer singing “Little Boxes.” They were damn good too. Couple of em even whistled the chorus, all sounded effortless
I followed the sound ‘round a couple trees to where I found all these youngsters sitting together in a circle, just listening to this one fella playing, and singing, and whistling. I recognized their type right away, they were a bunch of kids that listened to Woody Guthrie. Fell for the ole Hollywood prank, always building us up like we’re walkin fortune cookies. Like we’re the only ones that can see straight anymore. There was seven of ‘em, dirtied up good, but I could still tell they were new at hopping. Too young not to be. Mighty peculiar looking bunch, all clad in torn up black and white shirts, big leather boots, camouflage pants, and hair all tied together and matted. Figured I’d help break ‘em in.
“Excuse me boys, you got any more room for an old fella and his steel stringer?”
“Of course.” They all replied.
“Much obliged gentlemen, much obliged. Ah, just gimme a minute. My back ain’t what it used to be. There we go. Now then, lets get to it shall we? What else you know, boy?”
“When I die. Learned that back in the old church days.”
“That’s good, that’s a good one. I’ll lead us in and you follow.”
We sat there picking, and humming, and wailing away ‘till the Sun was ‘bout hidden by the plateau. They were good kids, the lot of ‘em. Gave me a couple cigarettes, shared a little pot they had with me, and I passed around a quart of shine I had brought back from the reservation. We had a good time. After a while I inquired as to how they came round Knoxville. Sure enough, they chased down a train from Nashville, just like they felt they were expected to.
“Boys,” I said, “I suspect you’re all fairly new to hopping. Am I mistaken?” They all grinned and nodded, said they just took their first ride from Nashville the day before last. “Well boys, I don’t mean no intrusion, but what if I may ask are you after/”
“Seeing the world.” Said the kid across from me. I couldn’t help but chuckle. What a load of corn shit. He looked a little short by my snickering, I could tell I’d hurt his feelings. Naturally I meant no offense, but they were so damned naive.
“Sorry boy, sorry. But you’ll have to wise up sooner or later and realize jes what you’re getting into. Now I don’t boast, but I’ve been on and off the tracks for ‘bout thirty years now, that is till I settled down in these hills. Anyhow, I know the ins and outs of hoppin like the back of these prunes I call hands. I’ll give you my two cents on staying in one piece, if you’ll hear it.” That got em all in a bunch. They were like kids on Christmas, jes giddy with excitement. You’d have thought they were hearing the president.
“Now first things first, never stay on the cars at night. They’re bound to stop at loading docks and the folks they got there’ll take the dogs to the last damn inch of the train, lookin for fellars such as yerselves. And them dogs ain’t your momma’s poodle. They’ve got weilers, pits, boxers,, the whole lot of fighting breeds.”
I suspect I sat with em for upwards of three hours, sharing my little bits of advice and what have you ‘fore we went our separate ways. It was getting towards dusk, and I had to find a couple bones if I’s to get myself drunk that night. As I said before, it was summertime and all the rich folks were out and about, all along Gay Street. That was sure good news for me. Didn’t have to put on too much of a pitiable look for them to give me a fair bit of change. Anyhow, it didn’t take but an hour till I had three bucks, so I headed back toward Broadway.
I stopped by the deepest part of the creek round seven thirty, or so. No one was around so I took a quick dip and rinsed myself off before I laid on my blanket. Lemme tell you, there ain’t nothing quite like laying on a bank, shirtless, on a good and muggy summer night. I just closed my eyes and felt the mosquitoes pick away at me. They didn’t bother me none, nothing did at the moment. You probably won’t remember this because you went away with everything else, but right then, just for a few minutes, the whole world up and disappeared. That is, everything but me, the grass scratching against my back, and them singing cicadas. There wasn’t no sun, there wasn’t no sky, or concrete valleys, or waterfalls. There was just me. I opened my eyes right when everything came back, right when a car honked a block away. I picked up my things and kept on keeping on.
I got down to the store right as the sun was going down and bought myself a gallon of yellar. I never much cared for the stuff, being what they call an ‘antiseptic’ and all. But it’s 30 proof, goes down easy enough, and you can get yerself three quarters of a gallon for under four dollars. Shit, for that I gladly paid and went about my merry way.
Round about two or so I’s good and drunk out east. I’m sure you’ve noticed how far I’d gone by now and I suspect you’d like to know why I’s all about the place. Truth be told when the half way houses won’t take you anymore and blue won’t let you sleep nowhere then you got not reason not to keep moving. Remind yourself that you ain’t dead quite yet, but God sure as shit knows your working on it. Anyhow, I was heading to the gas station when a little black missus waved me down in a back alley. I didn’t have no money, but she didn’t no that and I reckoned she didn’t need to.
“Looking for a good time, handsome?” she asks me. “Ten to blow, thirty for everything.”
I wasn’t looking to get married or nothing, but a man drunk on yellow belly, a man in my condition at that, is a man that will do just about anything if it’ll feel good. Now this missus was a damned fool, for she got started on me before asking to see the money. Didn’t bother me none at the time, I got myself off, sure as shit. But right after that shit went a little more than sour. She starts taking off her pants and I quickly see that missus was a mister. I was furious. Damn near puked my whole guts out.
“What’s the matter sweetie?” He asks, “Didn’t see what you were getting into? Well don’t take the field if you ain’t gonna play ball!”
“You fucking faggot! I ought to cut that thing right off you!” By this point I was kicking through every little heap of shit in the alley, looking for something, anything, to kill that son of a bitch.
“You owe me money, honey! Now pay up and head out before you get the law on both our asses!” He kept screaming at me, but I wasn’t paying him no mind. I had one thought and one thought alone, killing that sick motherfucker. “Hey! Did you hear me? I said I want my god damned money!”
He grabbed his purse and wailed on the back of my head over and over again. But I didn’t even turn to face the little fag. His sticky little ass couldn’t hit as hard as a summer breeze. Finally I found a good brick and spun round with. I aimed for his head but I was’t seeing to straight and caught him in the chin. He yelped like a helpless little puppy and bolted holding his face and jetting blood all about. I should have let the fucker go, but I wasn’t even thinking by then. I was just hungry. I stumbled forward a couple steps and gave the brick a good heave at him. Thud! Caught him in the back of the head and he was out cold. I fell over to him, turned his ass over, closed my eyes, and went to town on that pretty little face of his. I punched and punched till I couldn’t feel nothing in my hand. I opened my eyes and he wasn’t there no more. All I saw was a pool of glossy crimson and glitter wearing a tube top dress. I sat and stared at him for a minute, trying to decide if I felt sorry.
It’s a strange thing, killing a man. That was by no means the first time I’d done it. I’d ‘fought’ in Kuwait back in ’91. If you can call what I did fighting. Didn’t amount to much more than sitting in an Apache while holding down a button and watching the little dots slow down then finally stop moving. Then we’d just shrug our heads and go home. I suppose that was about the only real effect the army had on me. I learned to kill and feel okay about it. They ought to teach that to kids in schools. But all of those little dots I killed were just that, little dots. They were far away and didn’t have a face. They were like pixels in a video game. This motherfucker was real. He had blood, and a face (or he used to…), and he made sounds when you struck him.
All this ran through my head immediately after I’s finished with him. I had just assumed anybody’d be dead after an ass pounding the likes of which I gave him. Lucky for his bloodied self I heard a gurgle and felt a hand on my side. He murmured something to me, but I couldn’t for the life of me make out what. I’s through with him. I figured anybody that can live through that kind of beating has got the right to live. He earned it. I helped myself to the $100 he had in his purse, of course.
Now I can’t speak for nobody by myself, but if I come across $100 all of the sudden then you ‘d best believe that I’m heading for the closest fellar that can set me up with a couple . Just so happened I was, at the time, mighty close to a black kid that didn’t have no reservations about dealing with someone of my condition. Frankly, it’s hard as hell to find folks that are more interested in dealing with us beyond the point of chucking a couple dimes at us while we’re asleep, or pouring us a bowl of soup and reminding us that Jesus thinks were just fabulous. Anyhow, I came across him on of cherry street, same place as always, right when he was having to tell off some poor little cracky.
“Fuck you nigger! That ain’t what you said last week!” She hooted.
“Get the fuck outta here, bitch! You can’t suck your sorry ass’s way to getting your fix!” He yelled back at her. “Like I even want that shit!”
She moseyed off on her lonesome, crying the whole way. In retrospect I suppose she was a sad case, pathetic little thing. But at the moment I didn’t right care, I just wanted my shit.
“Fuck you want?” He asked me.
“You know me, just a couple of big boys. Nothing fancy.”
“Shit, you still owe me for the last ones. I ain’t giving you shit ‘till I been paid in full. Come back with my money and maybe then I fix yo broke ass up.” I knew I didn’t owe him anything, but the cards weren’t in my hand.
“Don’t worry, I got your damn money right here. All 20, with 80 for the boys.” I said as I tossed him the wad, “That’s enough for two, ain’t it?” He stopped counting and glanced up at me, not saying nothing. Just staring, real quiet like. “Well ain’t it?”
“Blood.”
“What about it?”
“It’s all over the money. Mother fucking…” He started squinting at me. “The shit’s all over your bloody ass too! What the fuck you been doing?”
I was getting a little too anxious for the good of either of us, and that nigger was rightly testing my patience. “You ain’t my god damned biographer! Now, you gonna sell me the shits or not?” He reached into his pocket and chucked a bottle with a couple pills at me.
“I don’t like bloody fucking money, or bloody fucking anything. Get yo ass outta here, and don’t ever come to my corner again. You hear me old timer?”
I’d already turned and started off. “I hear ya, ya son of a bitch. I hear ya.”
-Graham Cohen
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