slick

Magnet for the hopeless = me. They leap from box shrubs, plastic signs, discarded lawnmower blades, caution lights, Krispie Kreme cartons, and cracked surfboards onto my rainbowed path. Ten bucks in my pockets and they need nine; two hundred and they need one fifteen. It's only paper and you have to believe in zero for it to mean anything. At least they're human. They've undone themselves through poor decisions, bad timing, and abandoned belief in who they are. Except for Jamie. He couldn't tell you what yesterday was. He can't look you in the eyes to ask for something. He just knows he needs two dollars for a can of dip or five bucks for some Bojangles' chicken. Physically abused and mentally damaged growing up, at twenty, his life is a slick ride down a sewer. It's nice the way their eyes light up when they see me, though.