Hopelessly Hopeful
chapter one
My fingers gently strummed the rusted guitar strings as a soft melody escaped my lips. A man walked past me and dropped a dollar to my feet. I nodded my head in appreciation as my song continued. It was the song of my life. A washed up musician who had everything. And lost it all. My fingers gently strummed the rusted guitar strings as a soft melody escaped my lips. I sat on the cold dark sidewalk. I sang softly as I watched my breath disappear into the cold air. I strummed softly. My song came to an end. But my life would continue.
I grabbed the dollar the man gave me and put it in my pocket. I had a total of ten dollars and eighty six cents. Today was a good day.
I was broke. I was homeless. I was hopeless.
I’d get a drink later and something to eat and maybe a pack of cigarettes. Then I’d have no money again. I’d still be homeless. And I’d still be hopeless.
It was getting late. The crowded sidewalks became emptier. The noisy streets became quieter. This was my favorite time. I stood up and packed up my guitar and grabbed my bag. I made my way down the streets. I looked down. I watched my feet. My torn sneakers once more money than I am now worth. All ripped and broke. I could use another pair but I couldn’t spend what little money I had on that. I knew these streets like the back of my hand. I’ve spend many hours, days, weeks, wandering these streets. I went down the alley right next to a small pizzeria. I’ve learned that if I take this way I’d avoid anyone that might cause trouble. I made my way to a small deli. I come here almost every day. Me and the owner used to be good friends. Now I’d see him once a while, we’d strike up a small conversation. I’d ask how his wife was. He’d ask my how my music was going. I’d lie and say good. But it was usually just hello, how are you, bye. It was like that with most of my good friends now. They’d all just become friends. Nothing more than a hello or goodbye. If they’d talk to me at all.
I got a drink and a sandwich. 6 dollars. I had enough for cigarettes. All I had left in my pocket was fifty cents. I said thanks and said bye and made my way down the street again. Taking another ally I made my way up to the nearest subway.
An old man was sleeping on a bench. A bag in his arm. Probably all he had, plus it made a nice pillow. I looked at his face. Dirt stained. Crooked, yellow teeth. A white beard over took the lower part of his face. Torn clothes. Ripped jeans. What looked like once white shoes were black.
I looked at his face and saw myself. That was my future. I wasn’t proud of it but at least I don’t lie to myself.
I took out my fifty cents and got on the next subway train. I found an empty seat and sat down. I closed my eyes as sleep took over. The subway was like my home in a way. Almost every night I come here. Pay my fifty cents. And sleep on the seat as it takes me for a ride a couple towns over.
It isn’t as good as a bed but it was warm and quiet.
That’s how I like it though.
Warm. Quiet.
Alone.
I grabbed the dollar the man gave me and put it in my pocket. I had a total of ten dollars and eighty six cents. Today was a good day.
I was broke. I was homeless. I was hopeless.
I’d get a drink later and something to eat and maybe a pack of cigarettes. Then I’d have no money again. I’d still be homeless. And I’d still be hopeless.
It was getting late. The crowded sidewalks became emptier. The noisy streets became quieter. This was my favorite time. I stood up and packed up my guitar and grabbed my bag. I made my way down the streets. I looked down. I watched my feet. My torn sneakers once more money than I am now worth. All ripped and broke. I could use another pair but I couldn’t spend what little money I had on that. I knew these streets like the back of my hand. I’ve spend many hours, days, weeks, wandering these streets. I went down the alley right next to a small pizzeria. I’ve learned that if I take this way I’d avoid anyone that might cause trouble. I made my way to a small deli. I come here almost every day. Me and the owner used to be good friends. Now I’d see him once a while, we’d strike up a small conversation. I’d ask how his wife was. He’d ask my how my music was going. I’d lie and say good. But it was usually just hello, how are you, bye. It was like that with most of my good friends now. They’d all just become friends. Nothing more than a hello or goodbye. If they’d talk to me at all.
I got a drink and a sandwich. 6 dollars. I had enough for cigarettes. All I had left in my pocket was fifty cents. I said thanks and said bye and made my way down the street again. Taking another ally I made my way up to the nearest subway.
An old man was sleeping on a bench. A bag in his arm. Probably all he had, plus it made a nice pillow. I looked at his face. Dirt stained. Crooked, yellow teeth. A white beard over took the lower part of his face. Torn clothes. Ripped jeans. What looked like once white shoes were black.
I looked at his face and saw myself. That was my future. I wasn’t proud of it but at least I don’t lie to myself.
I took out my fifty cents and got on the next subway train. I found an empty seat and sat down. I closed my eyes as sleep took over. The subway was like my home in a way. Almost every night I come here. Pay my fifty cents. And sleep on the seat as it takes me for a ride a couple towns over.
It isn’t as good as a bed but it was warm and quiet.
That’s how I like it though.
Warm. Quiet.
Alone.