Читать книгу The East Side of it All - Joseph Dandurand - Страница 6

We close our eyes when a junkie slips by us on a freshly wetted sidewalk as the city tries and tries to wash away the odour of those who sleep beside the walls as if they await entry back into this castle where all the food is kept.

I have been up and down the streets of this city and I never close my eyes as I wait and accept it all as the drunk Indian brother pisses himself, the weak just keep doing their thing.

I walk on, into the centre of hell and here I am greeted with a smile and she asks me for a cigarette. I give her one and she almost walks away with my lighter.

All I can see in her eyes are the days of abuse, the childhood she never had back home. She looks at me and smiles knowing I will never hurt her as we both blow smoke out into the centre of hell.

As the sun sets and the moon rises up into a clear dark night, the streets move slower as the day people lay down for a few hours of restless sleep and the night people start their rounds to search for whatever it is they need and the junkies are quick to score as the dealers lay in wait for them to change money for drugs and then the drunks of the night are already two bottles in and they puke it up and continue on as the working girls and boys stand on the corners trying to appear beautiful. To me they are, as I can see their pasts and in them I can feel pity as they get into a truck or a car to do their thing.

A few hours later the corner they stand on is holding them up as the drugs focus on their minds and destroy the horrors of their lives. As all this is going on, the moon falls a bit as the night is almost done and the sun creeps over the edge as if watching the east side and making sure it is safe enough for the sun to come out and light the sorrow one more time.