Newspaper Sheets and Concrete Pillows

I am 34 years old and I didnt't think, as well as countless others I would live to see this age. I was what you would call, Reckless Youth. Name a stunt, I did it, and while you are at it, name a drug and I did enough of it to keep a village doped up until The Mayan Calendar goes poof. To be truthful, I was a walking cliche and I am man enough to admit it. "Live fast. Die Young. Leave a good looking corpse." was a motto, a battlecry to me and I clinched life by its sweaty balls and wrung it dry. Not to say it didn't have it's punishments. At the age of 17 I was homeless and too proud to come crawling home, so I lived in a freeway underpass for a month and then migrated to a drainage ditch, to which I spent Thanksgiving. Nothing is more eye opening than cooking bacon on a holiday morning in tin foil with a Zippo lighter while the onyx garbage sack currently used as a door smells so bad my senses riot. This is what people call a pivotal moment in life and I wish I knew these people's addresses so I can whip them with a car battery.
I spent several weeks in the ditch, gaining cash by bagging ice in a Korean store for damn near nothing which was spent in the store so in hindsight, I worked for free. Soon after I was asked to paint the menu on a Mexican resteraunt and get paid in breakfast and I thought I hit Richie Rich status as I wallowed in the burritos, saving them for all three meals, keeping them semi fresh by wrapping them in baggies and placing them in the freezing winter rain water flowing through my Home Sweet Home. By this time, my pants wouldn't fit and I coughed hunter green globs of what-the-fuck daily. The only saving grace was the freedom. Being able to walk wherever and whenever is intoxicating, to which I was the town lush. I found I could take showers by sneaking into backyards and washing myself under gutter water when it rained and at carwashes when it didn't. Back in the day, Dollar Theaters were everywhere and for a buck, I could watch a flick and nap in a nice warm place until I was found and given the boot. And as glamerous as this sounds, the tip top was sleeping in fields and staring at the night sky, embodied by the fact I was alone and if I was to perish at that second, nobody within miles would know who I was and/or give a damn I was even gone in the first place.
Then came, one night when I located a Squatter House. Now, these are The American Dream in all of it's multi-colored and bold faced lie greatness. A house abandoned and soon dominated by the squalor induced citizens of this great country. At first I was thankful for locating four walls and a roof to hide me from the cold, but reality giggled while just hours I was witness to the most shocking spectacle my young eyes had ever seen.
Question: Have you ever seen a grown man remove a baggie of crack cocaine form his body?
No? I did......TWICE. He proceeded to vomit up the baggie and then in a wonderful and efficent fashion, walked outside to the side of the house and stand at a spicket, which piqued my curiousity and I observed him stick the waterhose up his ass, turn on the water and administer a Home Depot enema, the baggie pulled from his crevice with eager fingers. I know, I know.....the old Gut and Butt Method, and I am sure this is taught to toddlers in case of a crisis but I, for one, had never been an audience to it.
I stayed for an amount of time I to this day, do not know. The days and nights were scrambled and my mind was washed away. Yet, I still didn't leave until the morning I was woken up by a filthy, haggard man choking the life out of me as I slept for reasons I still don't know. Struggling for air, I clawed at his mangy face, digging my nails into his eye sockets, praying for release and he answered with rapid fire knees to my scrotum, ripping the flesh away and for his finale, vomiting into my open mouth. Finally, he let go and stumbled away, giving me no remorse or reason as he disappeared into the onlookers who not once spoke a word of protest or came to my aid. In my vertigo dominated state, I crawled into the bathroom and inspected my well being and wept for the sanity and precious days I was losing with each moment in my personal Hell. Gathering my few belongings, (comic books mostly. Yeah I know. ) I swallowed my pride with the remains of the attacker's regurgation and journeyed back home, one step at a time, crying while I searched for a payphone to call help. This was a resurrection from the very bottom tier of society, my innocense remaining intact by a thread and a thousand unanswered prayers.
Plus, I REALLY missed cable television.