Resolution

I'm packing my bags. This city can't help me, and I'm no good for the city either. 4 tee shirts, 2 dress shirts, 3 pairs of dress pants, several pairs of shorts, my softened leather shoes, this is my life. It fits neatly into one small red suitcase. My camera case, empty, sits in the lounge chair in front of the TV. I just don't know how I'll replace that camera.

I went out last night, against my better judgement.

I finished talking to Aaron, left my spot in line for pie, and hoofed it home. I had reached the door to my apartment, wedged the key into the sticky lock, and looked around me when I decided to go to the homeless yard where I found that meteorite before. I slid the key back out and stepped away from the door.

The homeless are always asleep during the day, they must be awake during the night. But what could make a group of homeless people to keep to themselves? How do they feed themselves? What do they do at night?

I arrived to find no surprises. Just a bunch of homeless people, huddled around flaming trashcans. I consider turning back but my question persisted. How do they sustain themselves?

I walked forward slowly, nervously. I've never been a fan of the homeless. I neared one of the huddles around a fire and as I did they opened the circle and all eyes turned towards me. There was nothing but silence, as if I had just committed a crime in a society I didn't belong to. Seven faces, illuminated by the flames, flickered at me. I broke the silence and asked "What are your lives like?"

"Not that different from your own," one of them replied. I was skeptical. "If you don't mind me asking," I asked, "What do you find for sustenance?"

They looked away from me, uninterested, and my question went unanswered. I looked around, eager to catch eye contact with one of them but all looked into the fire. I took their cue and did so myself. I stood there and slowly my tension relaxed. The fire answered my question. It tickled my eyes and held me close. I could not look away, but it didn't matter because I didn't want to. It swept me up. What I saw in that fire cannot be described with words. I reached for my camera and lowered it in front of my face ready to take a picture, to grab a section of that fire, when one of the homeless swatted my camera into the fire. Gone. In an instant my life and passion were thrown away. Again they turned to me but now I was pushed out of the circle. Their faces meant it was time to leave, but I wasn't ready. I swung my balled up first at the one turning his back to me and hit right in the back of his head. Next I knew they were around me, lifting me off my feet and throwing me off their sacred hobo ground.

They left me on the portico of the Old Cinema. Beaten by homeless. I sat there, homeless in my own way, for the rest of the night. It was a cold, wet, dreary night. In the morning I left.

The fountain came back on, as if it were mocking me. The flowing water, always changing, I want to capture that water in an instant, in a moment, in a photograph. Now I can't.

That is why I am leaving.