I Sleep In A Squat, Like Everyone Else

I hate work. But, in this type of world that weThere's no need for anyone to be so naive. Being
belong to, money can be useful. For the past tenhomeless doesn't make you inhuman, but many
years of my life, I had been completely banishedpeople would believe that.It's early. Very early.
from the world of finance. My first credit cardSeven AM. The birds just started their first round
was cancelled after four days. With my firstof mating calls. The true alcoholics are just getting
checking account, I withdrew $200 from an ATMto bed now. Somewhere in this state, a group of
and never paid it back. I did the same thing withhigh schoolers are just coming down from their
my second checking account at another bank.psilocybin mushroom trip. I can feel all the working
These few incidents have made it impossible forclass, single moms just arriving at work, an hour
me to every have a bank account or credit cardand a half after waking up -- I'm watching their
for a very long time. So, yes, I burned all thesoft exhale of stress and hope. On my way to
bridges and covered all the paths. I am completelywork, there was a particularly unhealthy smell
expelled from the world of banking and credit.rising from the concrete. It could be a hallucination
This was no problem for me, since I was alreadycaused by a night of heavy drinking and only five
living without much income to begin with.Thehours of sleep. Regardless, I can just shrug it
memories of my first job have faded so muchoff.Kleineman's Restaurant. I arrive five minutes
that I now doubt whether I've ever beenearly for my shift. "Hey, my boy, Danny..." Mr.
employed. How to live without an income is aKleineman greets me, "Didn't you get my
question of urban survival, especially for those ofmessage?""What message?" I asked, and then
us who have special needs (i.e. alcoholism). Thewith a cracked smile, "And on what phone,
first time, I slept in the park, but some streetanswering machine, or e-mail?""I told all my other
kids showed me an abandoned mill they had heldemployees to tell you that we don't need you
up in. "The cops always check the park," one oftoday," he said, shrugging, "You got the day
them told me, "Stay in a dark place when youoff.""But, but.... I got up early and came here, like I
sleep at night." From those humble beginnings, I'vewas scheduled, and I never heard from anyone
changed and evolved so much. Instead of definingelse," I said. The struggle was more painful due to
myself as a human being based on what I havethe sleep-deprivation and hangover."I know, but
been through, I've based it on what I can and willwe already have a dishwasher," he said, "Come
do. I drank Bacardi in a Pasadena restaurant andback tomorrow. I'll have work for you, then.""Can
smashed a window with a chair. When I passedI at least get two fifty for the bus fair of getting
through Las Vegas, I somehow gained $10,000 inhere?" I asked. My anxiety and agitation had
four hours and lost it over the next six days.made me more aggressive and assertive. He
There's a warrant for my arrest in Austin, Texascertainly gave me the money. There was no
for Riotous and Destructive Behavior, but everyother choice. When he handed the money to me,
cop so far has been too lazy to fill out theit was almost as though he was giving it to a
extradition papers. I stopped a rape in Nashvillehomeless bum who was panhandling on the side
and was rewarded enough alcohol to require aof the highway. I am homeless, but it's not quite
hospitalization. I was the man with a blank future.my identifying factor in my relationship with my
My name is Daniel. If you ask my friends, they'dboss.Two blocks south, seven blocks east, cut
say I was the Beatnik drifter. Homeless, alive, andthrough the park, and you're in the best place to
free.Beep... Beep... Beep...My eyes burst open toget your alcohol supplies. I've got two fifty. Just
the light. I'll never get used to that sound. I swatabout enough for a forty."Can I help you find
the alarm clock and roll over. My eyes slowlyanything?" the manager asks, pretending not to
open again. It's 8:30. I have to get to work in abe watching me -- or maybe that's just my
hour half. I'm already dressed. And, making theunfounded suspicion that all old people distrust the
bed was as easy as getting out of a sleeping bag.young."You don't have any Old English?" I
Surveying the scene, I discover three moreasked."No, but we have Steel Reserve and Colt
bodies on the ground. There was Z, a twenty49, if you drink malt liquor," he said."I wish you
four year old, who had a friend tattoo a Z on hishad some OE," I respond, looking through the
forehead when he was sixteen. The tragedy leftracks, and discovering, to my surprise, a bottle of
him scarred and with a name he'd never lose."Blue Mad Dog, the best fruit flavored alcoholic
Donny slept in the corner, his head propped upbeverage you'll find, clearly the envy of wine and
against the wall. He had no shirt on and there waschampagne everywhere," her hair was being
an empty beer bottle sticking out of his fly --whipped by the midnight air coming off the
someone was making mischief last night. And, ourwaterfront, "This !@#$ is chemically perfected for
third contender, Rochelle, remained curled up in athat sweet taste of cirrhosis."Irene. A beautiful girl
ball on a chair. She had a small enough figure thatthat I used to know... a girl I used to love. We'd
she could make it a comfortable position. Smallbark at the moon together, and giggle when
clips of metal pierced her face. Two rings wereeveryone pointed and laughed.My hands caress
connected with a chain; and there was enough ofher stomach as I close my eyes, nearing her
a draft in the squat that you could hear the linksface, "Booze is booze. What's the difference
make their clinking noise.I headed down the stairs,between flavorings?""Because this represents our
discovering several empty beer bottles along theculture, the culture of the wino!" she triumphantly
way. Turning to the main exit of our squat, Iholds bottle in the air. I fall on her shoulder, slowly
discover my friend Buck. Somehow, he manageddrifting in to sleep."So, you be getting the Mad
to fall asleep sitting up in a chair. There was a halfDog?" the manager asks me with his broken
filled whiskey bottle held against his belly, andIndian accent. I'm softly awakened from
behind that there was hard-chunked vomit on hisdaydream to my present reality: the scene right
leather jacket. I take one second to light abefore I make an !@#$ out of myself due to
cigarette. With the click of the Zippo, his mouthalcohol excess. I nod my head in response to his
opens and I hear, "You're not a punk anyquestion.Walking down the street with the bottle
more.""Would a punk put a cigarette out on yourof Mad Dog, I start to think that I'm not
face?""Yeah, but you're not a punk, so I haverepresenting the culture of the wino; I am simply
nothing to worry about," he smiled, shwilling fromliving a memory. This one's for her."What
his whiskey bottle, then putting it on thehappened?" a slightly animating Buck opens his
ground.We had this debate last night. "You loseeyes to the day, "Did the Capitalist system fall
the grit and pain of being a true street kid whenapart and they sent you home?"He struggled to
you start waking up in the morning to shuffleobtain a bare grasp of reality. I walked passed
!@#$ for some !@#$!@#$ing capitalist pig-""It's ahim, heading on up the stairs. "Alcohol in the
!@#$in' family owned store," I said, shwilling mymorning?" he references my Mad Dog with a
malt liquor extra hard."It doesn't matter," he said,smile, "I guess maybe you really are punk.""Would
as his face emerges from a shot of hard alcohol,you please cut the !@#$ with the high school
"You're working for the man.""He's right," Donnyroutine?" I replied cheerfully, "I've had my fair
said, "You're not a punk any more." This god ofshare of being ostracized for being different. I
squatters stood there, clad in the armaments ofimagine all you --""Is that what you think we were
a punk: spikes and chains. For some reason, hedoing?" Buck asked, "You're my brother no
had a polka-dotted scarf around his neck. Hematter what, but that means I have to give you
found it on the ground earlier that day, and has!@#$ no matter what. Why did you take this job
developed the ill habit of wearing it."!@#$ youany way? We were enough money spanging."I
both," I notice Z spray painting the wall with anshwilled, and passed him the bottle. "Maybe it's not
anarchy symbol, "Having a job doesn't change me.about the money," I said, "For my entire life on
I sleep in a squat, like everyone else."Now I'mthe streets, I haven't advanced one bit. I aged
rubbing my head in the morning, thinking about anquickly and built memories fast, but everything I
eight hour shift, and this prick sitting in my squatgot I've lost. Photographs of squatmates, letters
just said that I wasn't a punk in his sleep. I don'tfrom dead friends, all of the tickets I got in LA
care about names and phrases any more. Gutterfor marijuana... Everything, I lost it all. I just
punk, street urchin, runaway kid, I don't care. I'mwanted to do something good for myself for
homeless. There's a weird smell in this abandonedonce."He passed the bottle back to me. I let the
building. Coil springs pierce the one mattress Ialcohol sting treat this horrible misery. "If I was a
have. The wallpaper is melting. Both floors arebusinessman making three hundred thousand a
covered in garbage: wrappers, newspapers, vomit,year, I'd still only want to get tanked with you,"
beer cans, abandoned clothing. Home sweet home.his words are poetry."And that's probably the
And this is the place that we've decided to live.reason that I will always be a squatter," I replied,
No, this is the only place we could live. I have to"Money can't buy you a community and a
make excuses to no one.I forgot again thisculture."Punkerslut (or Andy Carloff) has been
morning. The front door does not latch shut. Thatwriting essays and poetry on social issues which
was probably the constant beating I heard lasthave caught his attention for several years. His
night. It didn't keep me up -- enough alcohol kills allwebsite provides a complete list of all of these
consciousness. I walk out of the abandonedwritings. His life experience includes homelessness,
reclaimed home, only to notice a mailman walkingsquating in New Orleans and LA, dropping out of
by. He gives me an odd look, almost unsure thathigh school, getting expelled from college for
anyone would have any legitimate excuse for"subversive activities," and a myriad of other
walking out of an empty building at eight AM.revolutionary actions.