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Four

I admit that finding a lousy sixty dollars should not have been a problem. It was about 10am so that left me ten solid hours to get the money and be at home. Thankfully, I hadn’t moved recently so the ID I gave Michelle would have a valid address and I knew I was in the book. She would be able to call and we could go from there assuming I was able to get the money. All this over a damned shirt and bloody nose.

Since my cell phone had been turned off, I figured I would be best off heading home to make some calls and see if I could spot myself a loan from a friend. I stood around and waited for the next 1/9 to show up. I had myself a decent wait for one too, as the trains slowed down their frequency in the just-slightly post morning rush hour glow. Finally one ground to a halt and spat out passengers, waiting to swallow a few more whole. I hopped into the car closest to me, found a seat and let myself sink heavily into the hard molded, hideously orange, plastic comfort.

One sweet Bee-boop later and the train shuddered to life throwing itself massively down the tracks with enough momentum that I was waiting for a fat Scotsman to pop out explaining that he “cannae push ‘er any morrrrrrrre”. No such luck as the train continued unabated sweeping past 50th street without slowing, only the obnoxiously loud honking of the horn to signal our intent to push on. As we passed the station in full a voice came over the speaker letting us know that “This train will be sipping stops until fawlty sermons street.” That was fine by me, I didn’t need 42nd Street; I just needed to count sheep until 14th. If the MTA decided they had to skip a few stops to try and get back on some mystic schedule, that no mere mortal had ever seen, in an effort to make up for various rush hour delays I would abide by their choice. The mighty Wizard of Oz himself could not decipher the fluid and ever fucked train schedules going on here. That is, so he claimed once, why he had a hot air balloon in the first place (It was a deleted scene in the movie, trust me here).

42nd came and went as did 34th, 28th and 23rd and I watched as 14th Street (Transfer here for the 2, 3, F, L, and M14 bus. At least that’s what they’re supposed to say.) slid into view with a mad rush. People were just blurs with Starbucks cups, as NYU students by the ass-load stood on the platform. The train slowed as it went, screeching to a halting and bucking stop and I stood and turned waiting for the doors to open. Bee-boop went the magic tone and I stepped out onto the platform, ducking past a small herd of NYU Film School students. I briefly considered taking the L cross town to 3rd Ave. but it generally wasn’t worth the wait when it was at all nice out.

I ducked out of the station back onto the street and headed east on 14th toward home. There were way too many people on the street at this hour, but then it always felt like that; didn’t these people have jobs? I strolled down the block trying to convince my feet to hurry but at the same time fighting the urge to people watch as I went.

I spotted a thin Spanish woman tugging on the leash of a brown Q-tip of a Pekinese with a bright red bow tied firmly to the top of its head. She was busy screaming at it in Spanish which the mutt gave no impression of comprehending. The woman would tug sharply on the leash, then look back at the dog whose small eyes were bugging out more than normal as it got strangled repeatedly - which would set her off screaming again.

Glancing around showed me that I wasn’t the only dog watcher out today. A pair of joggers, leaning gracefully against a lamppost and sipping water, had stopped their stretching to watch Animal Planet unfold before their eyes. Both were men and the taller of the two kept leaning over and whisper to his companion, resulting in a strangled Horshack-esque laugh each time. The shorter one spotted me watching them and said something to his friend who then had to see me for himself. They stood silent for a moment just looking at me, waiting for me to perform some grand act for them or maybe just trying to get me to look away. Neither happened and after another few seconds they resumed casting glances towards the dog. I resumed my forward movement and got maybe ten more steps before a voice bellowed out to my left.

“Ay, yo! Tommy!” rang the voice that echoed off windows on the other side of the street and, I verified with a spare peek, caught the attention of both the joggers and Spanish woman (the dog didn’t give a damn). I was fairly sure I knew the voice and turned already in mid-sigh to see Fat Tony.

Fat Tony was a well known issue. I knew of no one who called him anything other than “Fat Tony” and certainly he deserved the appellation. Fat Tony was, well, fat. Immense. Obese. Straight out of a Weird “Al” video type of fat. Bursting at the seams kind of fat. Large with a side order of goddamn. He also seemed to consider himself a good friend of mine. Ever since I could remember walking down this street he had adopted me, as well as scores of other residents. Once he had learned my name he promptly bastardized it down to “Tommy” and acted as if that brought us even closer than before. He was a nice guy though, so no one told him off or really did much of anything but go over and say hi. I finished my sigh and walked over to him.

“Hey Fat Tony, what’s news?” Yeah we even called him that to his face; it’s how he introduced himself I tell you.

“Tommy, how ya been man? Ain’t see youse in a while. You ain’t gotten too big for ol’ Fat Tony have ya?”

“Never, never. Listen, I should really run. Gotta find me a loan on the quick. A little snatch and grab on the fly sorta deal. Just till the first of the month when I get my check you know?”

“Yea, I got you. I’m kinda strapped myself or I’d love to help a brother out, man. So have ya heard about Bennie?” Ben was programmer who lived in my building. We met when he first moved in, he saw me in the hall and asked if he could borrow a flask of sake. It was a strange enough request that we became good friends in short order. We also had the same taste in movies (Ed Wood, Rodger Corman, Troma) and music (Ellington, Oakenfeld, Doughty, Waits).

“No, I haven’t seen Ben in a day or so, why? What did you hear?”

“Word is that Bennie’s little hot number left him for some big shot restaurant guy last night. He didn’t tell you?” Ben’s girlfriend, now ex I suppose, was a waif-like creature who went by the painfully fake name “Chartrine”. I never did figure those two out.

“I told you I haven’t seen Ben in a day or two, ships in the night kind of thing.”

“Well he was looking for youse about an hour ago, asked if I’d seen ya but I said no I hadn’t, because until now I hadn’t seen youse at all recently. I told him I would tell youse that he would be at home if I did see youse around, and now I did.”

“Well … thanks. I’ll go find him.” I worked to boil that glob of useless verbiage down to “Ben would like to converse” and moved off at a pace no longer stunted at “browse”. I still had plenty of time before 8pm and I was sure all Ben needed was a firm handshake and some beer to set himself straight. Who mourns the loss of a Chartrine after all?

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Never Bite the Homeless is copyright Adam P. Knave.