My Toxic Valentine

The late night train from New Orleans pulled into Penn Station, the robotic voice announcing its arrival shaking Jack from his on-again-off-again nap. He stood shakily, gathering his belongings and disembarked.

Keeping his head down and hood up, he made his way through the relatively empty platform and then the slightly more crowded station before stepping out into Baltimore's night.

Wind hit him almost instantly, cooling his body temperature down to near-freezing. He felt harsh drops of rain begin to sting his face and tightened his hood. Glancing down the road he saw the lights which indicated the city centre and, keeping under cover as much as he could, began to walk towards them.

He spotted a diner that was still open and decided it would be an appropriate place to seek shelter.

Sliding into a booth, Jack lowered his hood, shaking the dampness from his hair.

Rain was still pelting down outside and he was dreading having to go back out into it. Sure, it was a 24hour diner, but the staff didn't really appreciate kids hanging around, especially when they couldn't afford to buy anything.

And surprise, surprise, an older woman who, in many ways, resembled an angry bulldog was making her way over.

“Are you going to order anything or just sit there, dripping on the booth?” she snapped, brandishing her pencil and notepad at him.

Jack blushed with shame, glancing at the small puddle his wet windbreaker had left next to him.

“S-s-sorry,” he stuttered, grabbing his beaten wallet from his pocket and opening it. He was not surprised to see how empty it was. Emptying it, he began to count out the few coins he had and was relieved to see he had enough for a small cup of coffee.

Of course, it wouldn't leave him with much money, but right now all he wanted was warmth; he'd face other problems when they arose. Besides, it's not like he had to pay rent.

“Can I just get a cup of coffee, please?” he asked politely before adding “Sorry about the seat,” with an apologetic smile.

The woman's facial expression softened immediately and she nodded before glancing behind her.

“You know, that booth there-” she pointed “Is right in front of the heater. Might help you dry off before you catch a cold.”

Jack just smiled shyly & picked up his things, walking over and settling down while the woman left to get his drink. It was warmer here, he noted, and if he was to return he'd sit here again.

Jack probably wouldn't come back, however. He preferred not to hang around in any one city. Not after Brooklyn.

The waitress suddenly appeared again, startling Jack from his reflection. He noticed that she had not only his coffee, but several plates of food and a bottle of water as well.

“Here you go, dear,” she smiled, much friendlier than Jack had earlier given her credit for.

As she began to place everything on his table he shook his head, feeling his face grow hot.

“No, I can't pa-” he began to say until the waitress cut him off.

“Shh, it's fine,” she said kindly, smiling “It's late and it's really just excess anyway.”

Jack blushed, embarrassed and touched by the woman's kindness. He eagerly pulled a plate of roasted meat, vegetables and fries towards him.

Picking up his fork he prepared to dig in, but stopped, looking up at the woman.

“You won't get in trouble for this, will you?” he asked. He couldn't bear the thought of someone losing their job because he couldn't afford food.

She laughed slightly and shook her head. “No, I own this place. I'll be just fine, hon. Now eat up and if there's anything you want you just ask, you hear?”

Jack nodded and began to eagerly wolf down the warm meal. It was a real treat for him to have a warm meal and, more to the point, something healthy. Usually he existed on handouts from drop-in centres and food vans or, if he managed to get some money, a cheap cheeseburger.

He felt the food warm his belly and lift his spirits slightly. Looking up at the clock he noticed that the lady was right; it was late, almost 1 am. That explained why Jack and a woman who looked suspiciously like a prostitute were the diner's only patrons.

He finished his plate and reached eagerly towards a bowl of apple pie and half-melted ice-cream, his mouth watering in anticipation. He'd finished his coffee long ago and the water was gradually rehydrating him.

He'd noted that the sandwiches were wrapped and decided to keep them for tomorrow, so he tucked them into his shabby backpack which contained a worn change of clothes, a tattered blanket and a few luxuries from his last visit to a shelter; a small bottle of mouthwash, a cheap bar of soap and a half-used stick of deodorant.

When he'd finished eating he noticed that the rain has eased and decided that it would be wise for him to move on now; before it started again.

He picked up his backpack and slung his beaten guitar case, which held an even more beaten acoustic guitar, over his shoulder. Spotting the diner's owner watching him, he waved and smiled. She returned his gesture, a slightly sad smile though, and Jack opened the door, walking outside into the harsh wind.

He walked until he found an alleyway that was unoccupied and sheltered from the weather. He scanned the area quickly for any signs that it may soon become inhabited. Once satisfied that the area was as safe as he was going to get, he set up in one of the sheltered, unused doorways that lined the alley.

Jack placed his guitar close to the wall, putting his body between it and the walkway, ensuring that it was kept out of site of any passers by. He took the thin blanket from his bag, wrapping it around himself as best he could and lowered his lanky body onto the hard concrete steps that would be his mattress for the next night or two.

Resting his head on his backpack (and probably squashing his sandwiches, he thought ruefully) he looked up at the roof above him and noted spider webs. Hoping that none of its occupants found their way into his bed, he closed his eyes.

Today had been a good day, he thought with a smile. He was fuller than he'd been in months. Because he was quiet and not willing to go to any extreme lengths to get food or money, Jack had been silently wasting away.

Lanky since high school, his hip bones and shoulder blades jutted out now, often giving outsiders the mistaken impression he was a drug addict. Jack wasn't, however. He'd never even done drugs. He was just hungry.

He tightened his blanket around him and shifted to try and find some comfort. Finally settling, he began to drift into a light slumber with the first smile in months still playing on his lips.