On the way home, I walked past the men’s shelter and met Walter, catcalling for money, and Pierre, sitting on a bench behind him on Carroll St, under the shaded trees that lined the Capitol Square.
Walter was from Chicago where he had gotten kicked out of his apartment for having the wrong kind of people over. He snickered at the memory and lit a cigarette. He had family in Madison, that’s why he was there. Pierre was more motivated and as Walter leaned back, Pierre leaned forward; he was from Chicago as well. Pierre was looking for a job. He was working for the day-laborer companies just until something else came up. He didn’t have a bank account, but he tried to save as best he could. As Pierre spoke, Walter blew smoke directly in my face. I held my breath.
Walter turned away and Pierre focused all of his attention on me – Where was I from? Where did I live? How long had I been in Madison? What did I study in school?
It was humid and hot under the bangs on my forehead, and I was only a block from home. I shifted, told them I would see them around. Suddenly, Walter was all the way on the tips of his toes.
Around here, he asked?
Yeah, around here, soon.
In participation with #reverb10.
