Sunday April 3rd, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the wino.

Took Max to the park this morning while Kat was at her book club. They've added some new equipment, all of it aimed at toddlers. Which is great, because most of the stuff that was already there was more for five years and up.

The most popular item was a firetruck, which had two steering wheels, about a dozen moving parts, and (most importantly) a space to crawl underneath it. Where, of course, Max kept wanting me to go.

Anyway, it's a much easier place for him to play now and it's nice to see the park get upgraded like that.

Tomorrow is Max's little brother's due date. I guess we shall see if he's right on time like his mom, or prefers to be a little late like his dad.

Mine:

The alley is cluttered and cramped, leaving little room to move without brushing against... something. A soft breeze does little to alleviate the afternoon heat, but does a fine job of circulating the stench without actually getting rid of any of it.

I hate this place. I don't know why I keep coming back here.

Well, I suppose that's a lie. I know the exact reason. The exact person, at any rate. Though it takes me a little longer to search him out every time I hear that he's returned to this human landfill. But I show up eventually, one way or another. I think he counts on it.

And that just makes me want to stop doing this even more.

"Hey brother," a voice calls from a lump of clothing to my right. "Spare some change for a good cause?"

"Always," I say as I walk past him. "Too bad I don't see one of those around here."

"That's just mean brother," he calls after me. "Stone cold, brother. Stone cold."

I make my way between two dumpsters that could not have been emptied in weeks, holding my breath and making a mental note to burn everything I'm wearing before reentering my house. Especially my shoes. I narrowly avoid stepping on a used needle before the sight of him stops me short.

"Spare sum coins, pretty boy?" he asks before bringing whatever terrible poison is in the paper bag in his hands to his lips and drinking deep. "Ima rill good inves'ment!"

"Get up, Eric." It's difficult to keep the hatred out of my voice. I don't think I did a good job.

"How you know mah name?" he asks, blinking in confusion.

"Let's go, brother," I say, reluctantly grabbing him under the arm and lifting him to his feet. "Mom wants me to bring you home before dark."