Being homeless is not something that you want to be. With no roof over your head and the fact that you're vulnerable to all sorts of people who prey on those who are less fortunate; you have no life outside of the mere basics of survival. Everything you do is scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb. If you buy something just so that you can feel good about yourself to get you through another day on the streets, you can be sure that someone is going to criticize you for that. Hell, they don't even want you to have a pet, because they care more about the animal than the human being. They don't care that you're at risk of dying due to exposure when the cold weather comes, but heaven help the animal be at risk.
Not all of us are drug-addicted criminals who deserve our fate. Some of us just had an unfortunate string of luck which put us out on the street. Some of us have mental problems, some of us had to deal with stuff that caused a debilitating depression which put us out on the street after losing everything and some come from a background of abuse and others, well, we all have our stories to tell and it's not my place to tell any story but my own. The only thing that I'm doing is to try to subsist and keep breathing, as long as the sun comes up and life lets me.
It's well evident that society doesn't like those who can't pull their weight. You're ostracized and spat on; thought of as less than human because life threw you one hell of a monkey wrench which caught you in the side of the head and knocked you out of the game. Life isn't a happy-go-lucky picnic and if you're one of those whose been lucky enough to have a roof over your head and plenty of food to eat...well, just consider yourself lucky and praise whoever it is that you believe in...that your string of good luck continues; it can all go sideways in a matter of days. I lost my faith in the Divine Maker a LONG time ago. Yeah, it may put me at risk of "going to hell" Well, hell is going to be a picnic, because I'm living my own hell right here on earth.
Of all the places in the world my dog and I had to end up in, when my bus ticket fare ran out, was Appaloosa Plains. It's the hotbed of conservatism; a Prairie farming community where the only thing that was going on was football, hockey, Jesus and Church...in reverse order. And the one thing they don't like is vagrants...especially ones who look like me (in other words; those who don't look like them and I certainly fit the bill for that). That's the reason why I have Samson, my Rottweiler. He's the one that protects me from harm. It keeps people from starting something, especially with Samson around. Because let's just say that a happy Rottweiler is one carrying around someone's arm or leg ripped off their torso. Samson wouldn't do that unless that person was intending on doing me harm, but make no mistake, he's protective as hell; he's an aggressive dog and won't hesitate to attack someone who attacked me. I don't have a problem with conservatism; what I do have a problem with is those who see me as less than human because I'm homeless and thus find that it's ample opportunity to inflict violence upon me because it's socially acceptable to think of the homeless as worthless vermin.
Yeah, I may be well-built and someone might hesitate considering the fact that they may get hurt if they tried anything, but I'm no match for a gang of thugs. So Samson is my Equalizer.
Anyhow, I set up camp outside the town limits, with only the ghosts for company. Yeah, I stuck myself right next to the graveyard. If they're as superstitious as I think they are, they won't dare to come near me to try anything...especially if they know that they're close to a graveyard too. Yeah, I had my squeamish thoughts about graveyards for a long time. But when I realized that the ghosts weren't about to do anything to me, they became like spirit-protectors and I was able to get a good night's sleep. Of course, if I don't wake up the next morning, it saves them a trip having to bring me here, since all they have to do is dig a hole and plant me. Hopefully I made the right choice here...but who knows. Red Deer gave me a bus ticket and told me to move on. Well, didn't want to bother the yokels there so I took the cop's advice and left town.
I picked myself a little 10x10 plot of land a few trees away from the graveyard...and decided to set my tent down there. Samson was a hunter, already maxed up to 10 as far as hunting skill was concerned. And me, I had twenty bucks to my name. The only thing I had as far as skill was concerned was my ability to play piano. At least I'd had those lessons before things went south and I ended up on the street, and at least I was able to make use of them. I'd gotten up to Grade 10 in RCM but ended up forgetting a lot of what I had learned; mainly because I had no access to a keyboard. So I'd label myself at about a Grade Five in piano skill level at the moment. The only possessions I had to my name were my diploma, a sleeping bag and a tent and I kept them on my person to prevent them from being stolen. So that meant that I could only carry a few things at a time: three if they were large things; six up to ten if they were small.
The thought crossed through my mind to join the criminal career, but that was a fleeting one. If there was one thing I still had, it was morals and I wasn't about to stoop that low. "Yeah, I'm not too sure about this place, Samson...ol'bud..." I said to Samson who just looked back at me with a mournful expression as Rottweilers are wont to do. It was 8:02 in the morning and it was time for me to figure out what was going on in this town and where my resources were and what I'd have to do, to keep from starving to death because I sure as hell knew that handouts weren't going to happen, at least not in this town and I, for one, despise having to panhandle.
I wasn't sure if this city hall was like the one I'd encountered in Red Deer, Alberta: close-minded officials quick to punish someone for the crime of being an indigent person. You were harassed by city officials and the police; you had to sleep with one-eye open and prepared to move if the cops came by because they wouldn't hesitate to roust you from sleep and tell you to "Move along or you're going to jail." That's even if you weren't a criminal. Hell, homelessness itself was being criminalized. It was an offence to even 'not have a roof over one's head'. Funny that they picked on the guy who was homeless and not the ones who made the person homeless to begin with; namely the politicians who figured that lining their pockets with graft was a sight better than providing a living place for those who were suffering. That's what you call NIMBYism (Not In My Backyard) and it usually enrages me; but now after being on the streets for a while, nothing seemed to matter much - it was a problem for bigger people; my daily task was to stay alive. Shelters were often full-up more often than not and the ones who made their residence there were usually the life-long homeless, the ones that were addicted to drugs and alcohol and didn't give a rat's behind about getting off the streets and as far as they were concerned, your possessions were their possessions. They wouldn't hesitate to take your stuff whether you gave it up or not and they wouldn't hesitate to shank you if you didn't. Me: I wouldn't touch that alcohol or drugs with a ten-foot pole and I wanted to 'get the hell off the streets', but you know what they say about wishes. That and 95 cents will get you a cup of coffee but not much else. You had to have money to be able to stay anywhere.
"Yep, it's a real pickle we got ourselves into, eh, Samson?" I sighed closing my eyes for a moment wishing to hell that this was all a bad dream. But when I opened them again...I was still in that same nightmare. Well, the only thing that I could do was make the best of it.
It was with some trepidation that Samson and I decided to check out the town to see what our options were. We looked to see where the hospital was. It was always prudent to know where the hospital was since those of us who were homeless usually made more use of the hospitals than most. It was part and parcel of a risky environment where one could get hurt or sick easily. At least I wasn't on drugs or a raging drunk, so I had that going for me. But if there's one thing that's for certain. People don't believe you when you're homeless. Even if you say you aren't on anything; more often than not, you'll be interrogated at length, told to take a blood test or a breathalyzer; if you don't, they'll cart you off to jail. I usually sarcastically tell the legal people when they tell me it's a violation of my human rights: "If you're indigent, you HAVE NO rights." Doesn't matter what the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms says; if you think that that piece of paper is going to help you in that moment, you're naive. The Charter and the Constitution have about the same value as a piece of toilet paper, when you're being interrogated by the police when you're homeless. At that point in time, the piece of toilet paper is more useful. Same goes for the Constitution, south of the border. If you're poor and homeless; anyone can do anything to you without repercussion.
Samson looked up at me with a brightening expression as I asked him, "Hey, boy, wanna go to the dog-park?" Samson took off like a shot, leaving to eat his dust as he sprinted to the dog park. I had to take a more leisurely pace. After all, I hadn't eaten in about two days and if I'd exerted any energy, I'd have passed out. Frankly in this heat, passing out could be fatal. Money was scarce and I was loathe to spend it...even for a bite to eat, if it came down to it, I'd rather get food for my dog, than feed myself.
When I got to the park, Samson was already playing with a ball, so I went to sit down at a bench that wasn't occupied. Hopefully the police wouldn't be along to shoo me off. While I had the opportunity, I also gave Samson a good coat-brushing...at least it would get the accumulated dust and dirt off him. He appreciated that and licked my face and then resumed playing with the ball.
While I was at it, I also managed to snag a Monarch butterfly. From other places I'd been, I knew that the science center that was in the same area as the hospital, was always looking for insect specimens and they would pay a good amount if I could manage to snag a couple of the rare ones. They wouldn't give me much for a Monarch butterfly, but well, at least the seven dollars that I'd get, would allow me to grab an apple...to eat to take away some of the hunger.
...and it wasn't even 10AM yet. I figured I might as well let Samson keep playing in the park, while I gathered up my energy...when you've gone without food for a while, it's kind of hard to have energy for anything...let alone exploring. I knew that I needed to befriend a stray cat as well, since cats were good at hunting for small animals, it would keep us from starving by finding enough insects to donate to the science center and Samson being good at finding gems and ore, would allow us to get some more money for us. But as I said before, there was a limit to how much I could carry at one time.
Being able to sit down and think was a blessing. At least the cops weren't over here yet telling me to "move along". And frankly, if they did, I would have to. I didn't relish the thought of spending a night in jail along with the criminal record that came along with it for violation of city bylaws for vagrancy. So I plastered a fake smile on my face and hoped that for the love of God that no one approached me - 'try to look amiable, Haruo...' I thought to myself. I had a camera at one point, but somewhere along the line, it had gone missing. Probably when I stayed at a shelter; some drug-addled grifter had probably lifted it to buy his next fix.
I figured that since I had to find food money for Samson and myself, I had to go dumpster diving and well, it was smelly, but at least it could provide me with a few items that I could hawk off. But I could only take about three large items, seven small ones. The problem with dumpster diving was that when you were done, you could be smelt a block away, well, at least it would make people avoid me like the plague, but smelling myself in my tent, was going to end up making me wretch, if I didn't already feel like that from being headfirst in the bin.
So I hugged Samson and told him that he could play at the park for as long as he wanted to...and to just head back to our little plot of land afterwards. However, Samson had other ideas after I'd left for the dump and went on a little excursion of his own to find some stuff. Because he wasn't back at our place when I'd returned from my little sojourn in the dump. I was stinking to high heaven and could even smell myself because the stench was so bad, but I put up with it long enough as I had other things that I needed to do. Samson soon appeared and plunked down a tiberium and a pink diamond. The Tiberium would open me up to fines from Natural Resources Canada for improper storage of dangerous materials. Tiberium was radioactive as well as dangerously volatile, so I had to get rid of it as quickly as possible and that meant a trip to Aleister's Elixirs and Sundries - at least then the onus for safety precautions would be on him rather than on me. And I didn't have the time nor the funds to properly store such dangerous materials, so I had to dump it for uncut gem price, which was substantial still. As it stood, I'd end up having to pay Tiberium taxes...which would eat into that profit by a considerable margin. It would be the same thing if I had Plutonium ore. Both were highly regulated by the federal authorities.
So I told Samson I was heading down to Aleister's (which was a long jog) and started out on my way. Samson put his head down in the food bowl and started eating since he was famished. Food had been lean for us for a few days while travelling and well, Samson was starved so having food in his bowl was like manna from heaven. And I jogged...and jogged...and jogged some more. At least I was getting exercise, if anything. But what I really wanted was something in my stomach.
When I got to Aleister's the clerk there practically stood right next to the wall. I guess I stunk that badly that he didn't want to be anywhere near me. If he could have held his nose without seeming to be rude, I'm sure he would have. As it was, he appeared as if he was turning blue from oxygen deprivation because he refused to breathe any of the air circulating around me. Dying of suffocation was preferable to smelling me, I guess.
Any how, I dropped off my tiberium, pink diamond and Vampire's Eye uncut stones, took the loss in value from the stones being uncut and asked him to sell them as quickly as possible. Certainly the amount was considerably more than I thought was possible, but with the taxes, it would still be a long time before I could consider myself solvent and able to put down roots.
I was feeling rather nauseous myself, not just from the odour, but from the lack of food. I couldn't afford to keep paying money for taxi and opted to jog back into town. It was getting dark and I was uneasy all the way back into town. I didn't know what was in the bushes and my mind was starting to play tricks on me. Whether it was from the lack of food or just plain paranoia, I had no idea, but I wasn't going to go exploring in the dark, especially not in a place that I was unfamiliar with. The horror stories all start with someone sticking their nose in a place where they should have in the first place and I didn't want to be the subject of a missing persons report, not that my dog could have made the report in the first place.
It was certainly a relief when I jogged down the main street of Appaloosa Plains City, since I was now back in lighted territory and lights meant safety as I jogged towards the food store. The thought of food was foremost on my mind as my stomach rumbled.
Well, at least the food store proprietor didn't look askance at selling me two apples and a banana, provided that I had money with which to pay for it. Handing over my simoleons, I ate an apple as soon I stepped out the door. And after having marinated in the stench for the better part of the day, I decided that I was going to try my best to sneak into the recreation center and get myself a shower. I certainly wasn't about to stink up my tent with l'eau de garbage dump. So I jogged over to the recreation center and snuck in while the members backs were turned and spent some time in the shower easing all my aches and pains from climbing into the dumpster and jogging back and forth. I was going to be happy when I had enough money to buy myself a bike, because pounding my bare feet into the pavement, especially when it was hot, was painful. Some cranial-rear-end inversion had stolen my Nikes when I was at the last shelter that I was at, probably the same guy who stole my camera. I ate the other apple when I got out of the shower and decided to save the banana for breakfast.
...and I snuck myself out...
On the jog back over to where I was planning on pitching my tent for the night, I remembered I had the monarch butterfly which probably wasn't too happy spending the entire day in my pocket and also having to smell the stench that I'd had on me for the majority of the day. And considering that butterflies smell not only with their feet as well as various sensory organs on the rest of their body, I'm sure that if it hadn't died from the stench, it was certainly sick of smelling me. Thank goodness I showered, because at least it would have a break from the odour before it got sold to the science center.
Once I'd handed over the butterfly, got told that it was common...and was paid my §9.00, I headed back to our hide-out and I proceeded to pitch my tent. It was getting on in time (past 9:00 and I wanted to get some shuteye...but I felt that with the adrenaline pumping from the jog, I wouldn't be able to get to sleep until I'd exhausted the adrenaline rush, and just sat in my tent thinking quietly in order to relax. Finally I was able to get tired enough to sleep.
At least I knew that I was safe enough with Samson sleeping by my tent. No-one, who has a brain, approaches a tent where a Rottweiler is sleeping out front. You wake Samson out of his sleep and bad things happen. Hopefully tomorrow would be a better day.
End Total: Day One - §361
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