rando
Well-known member
Downtown Los Angeles at 11pm is a wild and wonderful place for a traveling bum. You can meet some very crazy homebums, get your hands on some good booze, score some good drugs and meet some cool people! When we arrived though, only one of these things happened.
As the bus drove away I scanned the sidewalks. This was my first time in the heart of LA, but Squirt seemed to know it all like the back of his hand. We walked exactly one block from the bus stop and Squirt spotted his target.
"Heeelllll yeah" he said, satisfied.
He was looking across the street at a dimly lit section of sidewalk where on the closest corner to us sat the scrawniest, most sickly looking, meth scabbed, puny, completely nodded out, scraggly, track mark pocked, skinny and white little dude you can imagine wearing a t-shirt and shorts sitting criss-cross with his head in his lap. Next to his rotten little husk sat a sign propped against a milk crate covered in hardly legible scribbles likely describing the difficulty of his life and need for cash.
Squirt delightedly skipped across the street to him. After tapping him with his boot until he woke up just enough to say "huh...?", Squirt began talking to him in a tone I couldn't even hear. They exchanged a few sentences and the guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a little syringe. He then heated up his spoon with a lighter and drew from his old used cotton right there on the busy street corner and handed it to Squirt. Squirt handed him ten whole dollars.
"Look!!" Squirt showed me the brownish liquid that filled the needle that in the dim light looked to have a very rusty point bent to a nearly forty five degree angle.
"ew.."
With a big ol' shit eating grin on his face Squirt scuttled over toward the overhangs of a boarded up building and sat between the sleeping homeless. The man to our left was sleeping with a Santa hat on about 4 feet from me. The area smelled like piss and sweat.
As I wondered to myself whether the train riding lessons were worth all this, Squirt pulled blood and pushed the greyish-brown liquid slowly into a sorry looking vein and slumped back against the plywood. A look of ecstasy washed over his face as his eyes began to close. At that point I figured I'd surely be sleeping next to Santa. But then, as suddenly as his happy face appeared, it faded.
"What the fuck was that?!" He said, staring at the needle still stuck into his arm with a look of furious displeasure. Obviously the orgasmic look on his face moments earlier was the work of a placebo. "That didn't do shit!"
Squirt shot a look back toward the corner where the man he bought the rig from had previously been sitting but he had vanished.
Squirt didn't have much more time to be upset though because a curiously rancid smell wandered across our noses at that moment. We both pinpointed the direction of the smell. It was coming from Santa.
"I think dude shit his pants.." I said in a hushed tone.
"Let's get the fuck outta here!" Squirt whispered back.
We immediately made our way to the light rail station and rode the escalators down to the subway.
"Let's go to Santa Monica!"
"Alrighty" I replied with a smile.
As we waited for the blue line train to arrive we struck up conversation with some homeless middle-aged folks from New Jersey. They were headed to Santa Monica too. We chatted with them the whole way there, (about 40 minutes). Squirt was hitting on the blonde lady with the nice face, hoping she'd join us that evening in his sleeping bag. When we arrived though they went their separate ways and we headed to the boardwalk.
After sitting on the board walk for a while getting harassed by all the night-owl-tweakers Squirt agreed to let us sleep. We made our way away from the lights and onto the beach toward the ocean. The night was perfect for sleeping on the beach. After unpacking our things we laid down.
Then Squirt began his moaning and groaning due to the apparent agony of kicking. Late into the night I tried to keep his mind off of it by exchanging stories of extraterrestrial encounters we'd experienced, (a topic Squirt was very passionate about). Eventually though I rolled over and let him lie in the grave he had dug for himself.
**Didn't want to make a part 6 but the phone I'm using is giving me real bad typing lag on account of low internet speeds, so for now, expect a part 6!**
As the bus drove away I scanned the sidewalks. This was my first time in the heart of LA, but Squirt seemed to know it all like the back of his hand. We walked exactly one block from the bus stop and Squirt spotted his target.
"Heeelllll yeah" he said, satisfied.
He was looking across the street at a dimly lit section of sidewalk where on the closest corner to us sat the scrawniest, most sickly looking, meth scabbed, puny, completely nodded out, scraggly, track mark pocked, skinny and white little dude you can imagine wearing a t-shirt and shorts sitting criss-cross with his head in his lap. Next to his rotten little husk sat a sign propped against a milk crate covered in hardly legible scribbles likely describing the difficulty of his life and need for cash.
Squirt delightedly skipped across the street to him. After tapping him with his boot until he woke up just enough to say "huh...?", Squirt began talking to him in a tone I couldn't even hear. They exchanged a few sentences and the guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a little syringe. He then heated up his spoon with a lighter and drew from his old used cotton right there on the busy street corner and handed it to Squirt. Squirt handed him ten whole dollars.
"Look!!" Squirt showed me the brownish liquid that filled the needle that in the dim light looked to have a very rusty point bent to a nearly forty five degree angle.
"ew.."
With a big ol' shit eating grin on his face Squirt scuttled over toward the overhangs of a boarded up building and sat between the sleeping homeless. The man to our left was sleeping with a Santa hat on about 4 feet from me. The area smelled like piss and sweat.
As I wondered to myself whether the train riding lessons were worth all this, Squirt pulled blood and pushed the greyish-brown liquid slowly into a sorry looking vein and slumped back against the plywood. A look of ecstasy washed over his face as his eyes began to close. At that point I figured I'd surely be sleeping next to Santa. But then, as suddenly as his happy face appeared, it faded.
"What the fuck was that?!" He said, staring at the needle still stuck into his arm with a look of furious displeasure. Obviously the orgasmic look on his face moments earlier was the work of a placebo. "That didn't do shit!"
Squirt shot a look back toward the corner where the man he bought the rig from had previously been sitting but he had vanished.
Squirt didn't have much more time to be upset though because a curiously rancid smell wandered across our noses at that moment. We both pinpointed the direction of the smell. It was coming from Santa.
"I think dude shit his pants.." I said in a hushed tone.
"Let's get the fuck outta here!" Squirt whispered back.
We immediately made our way to the light rail station and rode the escalators down to the subway.
"Let's go to Santa Monica!"
"Alrighty" I replied with a smile.
As we waited for the blue line train to arrive we struck up conversation with some homeless middle-aged folks from New Jersey. They were headed to Santa Monica too. We chatted with them the whole way there, (about 40 minutes). Squirt was hitting on the blonde lady with the nice face, hoping she'd join us that evening in his sleeping bag. When we arrived though they went their separate ways and we headed to the boardwalk.
After sitting on the board walk for a while getting harassed by all the night-owl-tweakers Squirt agreed to let us sleep. We made our way away from the lights and onto the beach toward the ocean. The night was perfect for sleeping on the beach. After unpacking our things we laid down.
Then Squirt began his moaning and groaning due to the apparent agony of kicking. Late into the night I tried to keep his mind off of it by exchanging stories of extraterrestrial encounters we'd experienced, (a topic Squirt was very passionate about). Eventually though I rolled over and let him lie in the grave he had dug for himself.
**Didn't want to make a part 6 but the phone I'm using is giving me real bad typing lag on account of low internet speeds, so for now, expect a part 6!**
