literature

Winter

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Literature Text

    It was cold, like most winter nights in Detroit, Michigan. This cold was different however. It was the kind of cold that sneaked up on you and crawled under your skin. I thought a hoodie and my jean vest would’ve been enough, but then again, when you’re a homeless punk, what other choice do you have? I kept walking down the street,the snow crunching under my feet, hoping to see a barrel fire burning in one of the alleyways. It came down to the last alley, then the Detroit river would be in front of me. Peeking my head around the corner, I saw the orange glow of a fire and three people standing around the barrel. I was relieved until I saw that one of them was shooting up into his arm. I didn’t want to spook junkies, they were the hardest to fight or get away from because they were numb to everything. I needed the warmth though. I bent down and secured the k-bar that was in my combat boot, making sure it would leave the sheath properly if I had to use it, and stepped into the alley. Immediately, I felt the heat from the fire on my face and took another step forward.
    One of the junkies looked up and jumped back mumbling, “Oh shit, cops.” I turned enough to keep them in my peripherals while checking over my shoulder to see if the D.P.D was behind me. One of the others nudged his friend and spoke loud enough for me to hear clearly, “He ain’t no cop. Look at him. He’s just a homeless punk kid. Hey kid, you stuck in the 80’s or somethin’?” The joke was one I heard a lot. It only had bothered me at first, but I did fit the description. A 5’10, thin white kid with a foot and half tall standing mohawk screamed eighties and nineties punker. My torn black pants, which were fixed with band patches and other pieces of assorted cloth, and my jean studded vest only perpetuated the image. I didn’t want to respond to the man, but I figured if I didn’t he might take it as insulting. “Nah man, I just keep myself like this because I like the attention,” I answered with a smirk. “Well what if you get the attention of the wrong people? What if we, were the wrong people?” he asked in a low voice stepping forward. I left my hands in my pockets because I didn’t want to ensue a fight if I didn’t have to.
     “I’m just trying to find a place to stay warm for the night. Is there any more room around that fire?” I asked. “Maybe, what’s it worth to you?” the man answered quickly. “It’s worth me stopping to talk to three guys in a alley, now isn’t it?” The man smiled and lowered his shoulders, stating, “I like you kid, you’re honest.” I was relieved to see he wasn’t going to attack me. I stood around the barrel with them for most of the night, burning cardboard from an old refrigerator box and newspapers. When I finally did fall asleep in the corner of the alley, facing the fire, I remember the others commenting on me holding my knife in my boot. When I woke up, they were gone and the city was moving again. I had gotten lucky and it stopped snowing sometime in the night and wasn’t covered in it. The only thing that remained was a note under my boot. It read in choppy, terrible handwriting, ‘See you on the other side. Stay warm.’
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