05-04-2008, 01:21 AM
Miles felt… he guessed exhausted would be the best term for the moment. Awake, but dizzy from sleeping crammed up on buses or parks…. Unkempt yards or just not sleeping at all. He was at that ‘not sleeping at all’ point right now since yesterday. Just hadn’t found anywhere he felt ‘safe’ to sleep yet. The stale bagel he’d had that morning was sitting cold, half digested in his stomach, though it may as well be air.
Jostle… shuffle… move with the flow of other people. He had no destination in mind at the moment, though was trying to spy one out while hiding incognito as the homeless bum he was. One good thing about looking dirty, hooded, and bent possessively over his only surviving bag of things is no one wanted to look at you. You were nothing… a homeless dud. They didn’t bother looking long enough to notice it look like there were LED’s glowing inside of his hood, to bother remembering a face that looked like it came off of the Space Channel.
He needed shelter and food. In that order. He could survive a few days without eating anything, even if it did hurt, but dying from exposure or passing out from exhaustion were not options. He had to do this, with no money. Sure he had some, but those last few bills were securely rammed into the bottom of his sock and were not coming out.
“Hey… hey… got any smokes?” gravel and dry. Corner hobo. Bain once of his existence and lunch money, tugging at heart strings… now a useful tool.
“Smokes?” eyes blood shot, but he didn’t look rail thin.
“Maybe.” Miles fiddled with one pocket in his coat… stayed steps away… he could feel the disease and laziness in this one… though he looked the part, Miles still did not want to be the same world. “ Where you get your food?”
“Saviour Mother Mary’s…. right… not the worst name I’ve heard…” Still…. It was a shelter, a clinic, and had food… and by the guy with the spikes coming out of his skull sitting out side with the brown bag in his hands, wouldn’t tar and feather him while he stood in line.
He still had a green bruise on his shoulder from the plastic bowl one chic had belted him repeatedly cursing through missing teeth when he took off his gloves. Yeah… that sucked.
/Shiny side Miles…./ “Better then a dumpster!”/ Good god aren’t you a barrel of sunshine…/
Still… it WAS better then a dumpster.
Now… to just actually go IN….
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