Читать книгу Searching for Sam - Sophie Bienvenu - Страница 8

BEFORE, ME AND SAM WOULD CRASH IN FRONT OF the fabric store that burnt down, on Masson. We could spread our shit out, and it wouldn’t blow away, so it was sort of like being at home. Sam slept in the corner, and people would stop to ask, “Where’s your dog?” because she was so hard to see from the street. It was a good spot, but we couldn’t stay there long because they started doing work on the store, to put in whatever to replace the fabric store. Maybe a restaurant. Probably a restaurant.

Before that, you could usually find us in front of Poivre et Sel.

It was a good spot. But that was the problem. It was too good. Once, there was even four of us begging: me and Sam, the old guy with the baseball cap, the guy with the guitar and the wolf dog, and a little Black kid selling chocolate bars for school. Obviously, the kid was blowing us all away, so we got fed up and decided to pool our takings and get a slice. The old guy tried to scam us, then the other guy got mad, and the manager ran us out and threatened to call the cops. It went downhill from there.

The old guy and the other guy started beating on each other and calling each other goddamn thieves. The wolf dog tried to grab the old guy’s calves, but he was tied up so couldn’t reach, till the two of them ended up on the ground, and then he managed to bite the old guy’s arm. The old guy started yelling, “Call off your dog, call off your dog!” He tried to swat him, but the dog didn’t back off. The old guy pissed himself and rolled over onto his stomach to hide his face. The guy with the guitar shouted “Off!” and the dog let the old guy go. The younger guy untied his dog and took off yelling, turning back a couple of times to make sure his insults landed where they should. The old guy sat up and leaned against the wall. He rubbed his arm, snivelling like a kid who had just had the shit kicked out of him, when he was the one who had basically started it.

The few people who were on the street at that time of day, in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, crowded around to make sure they got a good view, in case one of the guys killed the other or something. It’s not every day you get to see a murder.

A girl went up to the old guy and kneeled down beside him. “Sir, are you okay? I’m going to take a look at your arm, is that okay?”

The other people thought it was gross, you could tell. Some of them thought she was brave; some told themselves that if she hadn’t gone up, they would of, but the truth is every one of them thought it was gross. Because when it comes to the homeless, you can give them money, you can smile at them, or even ask them how it’s going, but you can never, ever, touch them. Because they’re way too afraid our misery is catching.