Rock Stars Have No Names
Fuck I hate the rain, sounds like the laughter of God coming down and pounding my head one drop at a time. It wasn’t always like that of course, no sir. A few years back, when I had a nice house, pretty little wife and a newborn little boy- you know, things that mattered- I loved to sit down on that couch with all of them, light a big fire and listen to it pour down while we stayed dry and cozy.
That was a long, long time ago. I won’t bore you to death with the details of it, even if you give a shitfuck less about it the unraveling of a man’s life would just take to God damn long. Let’s just say lots of people are a paycheck or two away from falling off the grid, from living in the invisible dirty abyss of the street. I was one of them.
I was a rock star! A corporate golden boy climbing that ladder. Sixty- hour weeks for a forty hour paycheck, kissing ass till my lips tasted like Preparation H. But that’s what you do, that’s what they tell you to do. If your walking the path of the righteous, going to church on Sundays and eating all your veggies you take the crap and the craziness and sooner or later, the sun will always shine and your family will always love you.
Then they told me even rock stars and golden boys don’t survive a downsizing. You go find a job at 50 years old that’ll cover the car payments, the private schools… the fucking twice mortgaged house! We held on for awhile, she tried- I know she did- but I don’t even want to think about that. No, let’s not go there.
So now I walk. I walk, and I walk and I walk. Like Moses through the filthy asphalt desert, with its grimy gutters, freezing nights huddled between Hell and a dumpster I walk. I’ll survive though; you’re friggin A right I’ll survive. You learn fast out here. I know all the best alley’s, the ones where the gluttonous ways of the still haves toss out the best food and clothes, sometimes even half empty bottles of booze. Those I save though; I never was much of a drinker but when it comes time to stick that palm out and beg it makes the sting less sharp with a few snorts in me
I know you don’t see me, and if you do, pretend that you just dropped something or turn your back like you’ve just seen the God Dammed Virgin Mary herself in that shop window, or answer a cell phone that hasn’t even fucking rung! I don’t blame you, I’d do the same thing, at least back then I would. When I was there, in the world of time, the world of people I’d answer that voiceless cell phone too. We’re the filthy reminders of what could happen. We’re the mirror of a possible unthinkable future and who the fuck would want to see that.
I know it; all of us know it and we stick close. If you’re by the park in evening you’ll see us. We’re the shadows in the gloaming coming out from the trees together, like wandering travelers to a lone country inn. It’s our home now and we watch out for each other too, as much as possible anyway and as long as nobody’s breaking the rules. Keep your own shit close, share what you can, when you can and never, ever… sleep too deeply.
Yeah, I’ll survive because you learn fast or pay the price- and the price is the last thing you’ll ever have to worry about. And the number one rule is most important, the thing that can bring you down with thunder and lightning. If you’re not beggin, you mind your own business with the still haves. If you do something stupid, something visible and MAKE them see you bad things are sure to follow.
Just yesterday some cute little thing comes walking right up out of the blue, wanting to talk to me for Christ sakes; wanting to TOUCH me- in public; in broad God damn daylight- and all I felt like doing was trying to sink down so deep I’d be underneath the pavement on which I sat. Some little neighborhood kid I see out all the time. She pretends to not see me in that little kid, sideways way. She has to walk through this forsaken place cute as a button in one of those private school uniforms; with the skirt and little black shoes and everything. Funny though, she lives over in that crappy lime green complex with the nice big trashcans; I’d think she’d be up on the hill somewhere, going to a school like that. One of the local gang pussies, these guys that walk around thinking they know something about life, was trying to have some fun with her. Bad fun- so I stopped it.
But Jesus H Christ, that doesn’t mean I wanna be pen pals with her! What the hell was she thinking anyway? Yeah kid, you’re welcome and if I saw some banger messing with you like that again I’d do the same thing, for you or anybody else. You still have things and nobody has the right to take anything away from you! You look really nice, I see you going to school, that fancy expensive private school I was going to send my boy to. And I see you looking at me taking cans and scraps of food from those cans by your place.
In a different time I’d be happy to talk to you, to know your name and say “your welcome dear, I’m glad I could help and my name is Henry.” But right now you look like someone I don’t want to know, can’t know. I’m glad you’re ok though. I hope when you got home your mother and father sat with you on the couch and waited for the rain.
