A street in Nevada - 12.30.99
I'm watching my shadow every five seconds. I just know that fucker is going to go somewhere the next time I'm not lookin' and then it's all goin' to be over. Right now, I'm sitting on a curb somewhere in the city as the sun shines over my shoulders before it goes to sleep. Watching my shadow. They say that's the doorway into the soul. Your shadow. You lose that fucker and anything and everything can come inside you. Lose sight of it, and someone will steal it. The guardian of the door to my soul. Stretching from me. The dark against the light. There's just some things I don't want in me right now.
This guy that keeps talking to me has got to be a social worker, either that or he's after something else, and I have a pretty good idea what that would be. I ask him if he's a social worker and he says he's not. He's a programmer he says, for computers. Gives me his hand. I take it. It's small in his, but I take him firm. People always say that means something.
Tell him my name is Jinx. He tells me he's pleased to meet me, but wishes it was under better circumstances. I tell him I get by. He asks me if I been on the street a while. Well, fucker, long enough to know the score. And maybe I snap a little too soon, but I say that and he hasn't got a clue what I mean, or he's faking he doesn't. So I figure, fuck it, I'll be honest. I tell him he's hitting on me. Going easy cause he thinks I'm jailbait. Well, I ain't fuckin' jailbait, I tell him. Truth is, I am. I just like to think I'm not looking as helpless as I sometimes feel, but that parade is leaving on a quick train somewhere I'm not going to follow. I tell him straight up I don't fuck for money or whatever else he's going to offer me. I've had enough of this asshole being kind to me for no reason. I've panhandled for weeks now, not wanting to spend Randy's money. I'm getting by.
He's persistent though that he's being mixed up by the other fuckers who have tried to do me bad turns, just stopping for conversation. Wanted to talk. Know why I was where I was. I still have this nagging voice that says he's trying to get into my pants. Maybe offer me a shower and a meal back at his place in exchange for a fuck and a blowjob. I know these guys. They've nearly gotten me before. I say that. He confesses it's gone across his mind. The part about the clean up and meal and all that is.
I'm about to go tell him he can go suck himself off and fuck away from my stoop when he interrupts me and says he wasn't going to. Cause as soon as he offered, he says, he knew I'd take it the wrong way. And then he goes on this bit about me having it bad enough without having to worry about intentions. Yeah, right... whatever. Now he's saying something about giving me money but he's only got plastic. A line I hear all the time when I'm panhandling. He almost sounds genuine. I start to blow him off again, and he just turns to leave. I reach out to stop him.
I ask him about the programming. His job. I miss talking like I'm normal and not street trash. Wanting to confirm he's not some guy with a stiffy for little street girls. So I tell him a little about how it's been rough. Fighting off the straight guys with hard-ons for the past month I've been on the streets. Or the others who just sneer when I register to them at all. I go on about the last time I had a decent meal. I'm dying for a shower. I could go to the shelter, but the one here - well, the last time I went there I almost got my face cut by some butch top thinking I was hitting on her young bitch when really I just wanted someone young like me to talk to.
Maybe he's on the level. Maybe just offering me a chance to clean up and get something to eat. He tells me nothing's going to happen I don't want to happen. A good night's sleep. He insists on a shower first and he'll make me a bed on the sofa. Well, from the smell of me I'm not exactly debutante material right now anyway. Just a few bad breaks, he says. I can hardly swallow I want this deal to be real so much. The offer stands. I stand. Get my shit. He takes it from me. We walk. He asks me if I'm from the city. I tell him no and realize I haven't asked his name yet. He hasn't given it either.
Conundrum, he says...
Fucker... I'll be damned... Rebel was right.
This guy that keeps talking to me has got to be a social worker, either that or he's after something else, and I have a pretty good idea what that would be. I ask him if he's a social worker and he says he's not. He's a programmer he says, for computers. Gives me his hand. I take it. It's small in his, but I take him firm. People always say that means something.
Tell him my name is Jinx. He tells me he's pleased to meet me, but wishes it was under better circumstances. I tell him I get by. He asks me if I been on the street a while. Well, fucker, long enough to know the score. And maybe I snap a little too soon, but I say that and he hasn't got a clue what I mean, or he's faking he doesn't. So I figure, fuck it, I'll be honest. I tell him he's hitting on me. Going easy cause he thinks I'm jailbait. Well, I ain't fuckin' jailbait, I tell him. Truth is, I am. I just like to think I'm not looking as helpless as I sometimes feel, but that parade is leaving on a quick train somewhere I'm not going to follow. I tell him straight up I don't fuck for money or whatever else he's going to offer me. I've had enough of this asshole being kind to me for no reason. I've panhandled for weeks now, not wanting to spend Randy's money. I'm getting by.
He's persistent though that he's being mixed up by the other fuckers who have tried to do me bad turns, just stopping for conversation. Wanted to talk. Know why I was where I was. I still have this nagging voice that says he's trying to get into my pants. Maybe offer me a shower and a meal back at his place in exchange for a fuck and a blowjob. I know these guys. They've nearly gotten me before. I say that. He confesses it's gone across his mind. The part about the clean up and meal and all that is.
I'm about to go tell him he can go suck himself off and fuck away from my stoop when he interrupts me and says he wasn't going to. Cause as soon as he offered, he says, he knew I'd take it the wrong way. And then he goes on this bit about me having it bad enough without having to worry about intentions. Yeah, right... whatever. Now he's saying something about giving me money but he's only got plastic. A line I hear all the time when I'm panhandling. He almost sounds genuine. I start to blow him off again, and he just turns to leave. I reach out to stop him.
I ask him about the programming. His job. I miss talking like I'm normal and not street trash. Wanting to confirm he's not some guy with a stiffy for little street girls. So I tell him a little about how it's been rough. Fighting off the straight guys with hard-ons for the past month I've been on the streets. Or the others who just sneer when I register to them at all. I go on about the last time I had a decent meal. I'm dying for a shower. I could go to the shelter, but the one here - well, the last time I went there I almost got my face cut by some butch top thinking I was hitting on her young bitch when really I just wanted someone young like me to talk to.
Maybe he's on the level. Maybe just offering me a chance to clean up and get something to eat. He tells me nothing's going to happen I don't want to happen. A good night's sleep. He insists on a shower first and he'll make me a bed on the sofa. Well, from the smell of me I'm not exactly debutante material right now anyway. Just a few bad breaks, he says. I can hardly swallow I want this deal to be real so much. The offer stands. I stand. Get my shit. He takes it from me. We walk. He asks me if I'm from the city. I tell him no and realize I haven't asked his name yet. He hasn't given it either.
Conundrum, he says...
Fucker... I'll be damned... Rebel was right.