kid starve? Get evicted? Go back to whatever hell he came from? I don’t.” Tony drained the last of his beer and stood up, stretching. Leaving his food on the table, he went into the kitchen for another beer.
“I’m not sure I’d have put it quite that way, but he’s right,” Mike said, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder. “Life isn’t just going to hand you what you want, kid. You need to grab it, fight for it.”
“I’ll go apply for it tomorrow,” I said.
“What else don’t you suck at?” Tony asked, taking another taco out of his container. “Computers?”
“No, I don’t know a lot about computers,” I said, shaking my head and ripping open the bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. Emilio had turned me on to them a couple of days ago while we had sat in front of the television watching some reality show, where he declared that one day he would be on television. I had agreed, mostly to placate him, and he had raised his glass to me in a mock toast.
“Kid, you need to figure them out. There’s one over there. I’m sure if you spent some time on it, you’d pick it up fast enough,” Tony told me as he popped open his second beer and took a long drink. A low, quiet belch erupted from him, and he smiled as Emilio rolled his eyes.
“There are some tutorials on the GLBT Center website if you need help,” Leo said as he came out of the office. “Tony’s right, not being very comfortable using a computer will be a disadvantage at any job you apply for.” Reaching into my bag of chips, he snagged one and popped it in his mouth. “Okay, I’m going up. Night, guys.”
“Night, Leo,” we called behind him, and he waved over his shoulder.
“He’s been keeping an eye out for you. We all have,” Mike said quietly. “If any of us hears about an open job, we’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” I said with sincerity as Mike squeezed my knee under the table. I jumped and he winked at me, not in the lewd way he normally did, but more in a friendly, joking-type way before he spoke again.
“That’s what friends do.”
T HE shelter looked like a high-school cafeteria. Half the area was full of huge metal lunch tables, where a few stragglers sat finishing their breakfasts in attached chairs. The other half of the room was full of bunk beds, each with a flat pillow and threadbare blanket, sitting in almost organized rows. It was a very small space that the shelter volunteers had made the best of, but it was still heartbreaking to think of Jamie forced to live in a place like that. With about two dozen bunk beds, it looked like the shelter would only hold about fifty of the city’s thousands of homeless.
“Excuse me?” I asked one of the volunteers carrying a bucket and sponge to wipe down the tables. He appeared to be in his late thirties and wore a deep-purple polo and khaki pants. Setting the bucket down on a nearby table, he turned to me and smiled.
“I’m sorry, son, but the soup kitchen won’t open again until this evening,” he informed me politely.
“No, I’m not here for that,” I said, holding up the enlarged picture of Jamie I had made from the computer the night before. “I’m looking for this guy. Have you seen him? He would have been here in the last few weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually here when people start filing in. I help during the day when they’re all out. You’ll want to talk to Father Quinn or one of the women who hands out food. They see everyone who stays here overnight.” Picking up the bucket again, he went back to work after wishing me luck. At the far end of the room, where empty trays still sat, I didn’t see anyone working. There were a couple of doors in the back of the room on either side, so I went back to look. The first was a broom closet, so I tried the other side of the room and found a hallway. The walls were a faded mint green, and the cracks in the cinderblock reminded me faintly of the orphanage.
“Can I help
“I’m not sure I’d have put it quite that way, but he’s right,” Mike said, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder. “Life isn’t just going to hand you what you want, kid. You need to grab it, fight for it.”
“I’ll go apply for it tomorrow,” I said.
“What else don’t you suck at?” Tony asked, taking another taco out of his container. “Computers?”
“No, I don’t know a lot about computers,” I said, shaking my head and ripping open the bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. Emilio had turned me on to them a couple of days ago while we had sat in front of the television watching some reality show, where he declared that one day he would be on television. I had agreed, mostly to placate him, and he had raised his glass to me in a mock toast.
“Kid, you need to figure them out. There’s one over there. I’m sure if you spent some time on it, you’d pick it up fast enough,” Tony told me as he popped open his second beer and took a long drink. A low, quiet belch erupted from him, and he smiled as Emilio rolled his eyes.
“There are some tutorials on the GLBT Center website if you need help,” Leo said as he came out of the office. “Tony’s right, not being very comfortable using a computer will be a disadvantage at any job you apply for.” Reaching into my bag of chips, he snagged one and popped it in his mouth. “Okay, I’m going up. Night, guys.”
“Night, Leo,” we called behind him, and he waved over his shoulder.
“He’s been keeping an eye out for you. We all have,” Mike said quietly. “If any of us hears about an open job, we’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” I said with sincerity as Mike squeezed my knee under the table. I jumped and he winked at me, not in the lewd way he normally did, but more in a friendly, joking-type way before he spoke again.
“That’s what friends do.”
T HE shelter looked like a high-school cafeteria. Half the area was full of huge metal lunch tables, where a few stragglers sat finishing their breakfasts in attached chairs. The other half of the room was full of bunk beds, each with a flat pillow and threadbare blanket, sitting in almost organized rows. It was a very small space that the shelter volunteers had made the best of, but it was still heartbreaking to think of Jamie forced to live in a place like that. With about two dozen bunk beds, it looked like the shelter would only hold about fifty of the city’s thousands of homeless.
“Excuse me?” I asked one of the volunteers carrying a bucket and sponge to wipe down the tables. He appeared to be in his late thirties and wore a deep-purple polo and khaki pants. Setting the bucket down on a nearby table, he turned to me and smiled.
“I’m sorry, son, but the soup kitchen won’t open again until this evening,” he informed me politely.
“No, I’m not here for that,” I said, holding up the enlarged picture of Jamie I had made from the computer the night before. “I’m looking for this guy. Have you seen him? He would have been here in the last few weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually here when people start filing in. I help during the day when they’re all out. You’ll want to talk to Father Quinn or one of the women who hands out food. They see everyone who stays here overnight.” Picking up the bucket again, he went back to work after wishing me luck. At the far end of the room, where empty trays still sat, I didn’t see anyone working. There were a couple of doors in the back of the room on either side, so I went back to look. The first was a broom closet, so I tried the other side of the room and found a hallway. The walls were a faded mint green, and the cracks in the cinderblock reminded me faintly of the orphanage.
“Can I help
Similar Books
