Fuggiasco By kdc2239.pdf

Fuggiasco By kdc2239

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5961148/1/

WARNING!

This story contains subject matter which may be offensive to some readers. I will

try to post a warning before each chapter if I feel there is a need, but the story in

general deals with mature themes.

"There ain't no rest for the wicked,

Money don't grow on trees.

I got bills to pay,

I got mouths to feed,

There ain't nothing in this world for free.

I know I can't slow down,

I can't hold back,

Though you know, I wish I could.

No there ain't no rest for the wicked,

Until we close our eyes for good".

-Cage the Elephant

EPOV

I'm pissed. It's two in the morning, and I'm sitting in the drizzle on the cold,

hard, dirty pavement in an alley. Or should I say my current residence? I stand

and kick the side of the building. There's no one else to take my anger out on, so

the side of the building is taking one for the team. I smell a terrible stench, but I

can't tell where it's coming from. Is it me, or all the other shit in the alley? My

clothes are damp, the denim sticking to my body and rubbing me wrong, and I

feel dirty. I run my hand through my hair out of habit, cringing at the grime I feel

in it. My stomach is making horrific noises. I'm so hungry; I haven't eaten for two

days.

I take in my familiar setting. I'm sitting behind Henry's. It's where the rich people

go to drink, three stories of swanky bar. Most of the homeless avoid this area

because the cops usually clear it out pretty fast. See rich people don't like the

homeless; we make them uncomfortable. That's why I like to come here though.

I don't have to deal with too many people and when the cops tell me to go, I go.

Tonight, my strategy isn't working. Tonight I have neighbors.

My "next door" neighbor on the right, the dumpster, is housing a drunk and

druggie who still has a needle in his arm. The neighbor on the left, I'm not so

sure what's wrong with him, but he is currently puking all over the other poor

unsuspecting bum who's sleeping under a pile of cardboard. Yes, I am homeless,

but I am no bum; there's a big difference. Bums are content with their lot in life.

I try to do everything I can to get out of this mess. I don't do drugs, and I didn't

do shit to end up out here with the whores and druggies on the street.

A month ago, I had a job and was sharing an apartment with six other guys

downtown. That only lasted for two months before I was laid off. I've been on the

streets since I was twelve; not having a stable home, and being on and off the

streets has been the story of my life. Now at twenty, I am still playing the same

fucking game. Why did I end up on the street at twelve? Well I don't fucking talk

about that. It is what it is, and I am doing everything I can to make it in this

world. With no high school education, and no address or phone number, it's next

to impossible.

I was working for a guy that does maintenance on all the big condo buildings

around here. He's a real nice guy; his name is Mike. He doesn't judge us just

because we're out here, and he tries to get to know us. He gave me and five of

the other guys that were clean a chance. He set us up with an apartment; it was

shitty, but I was just happy to have a place to go. I slept on the floor, and I was

thrilled to do so. I was dry, clean, and full every night. Out of the six of us that

he hired, two of us were honest - the rest burned him. He lost so much money

from the others that ripped him off that he couldn't afford to keep me and Jake

on. It was shitty and pissed me off. This is why I can't get a job, because of those

fuckers that give us all a bad name. I have shitty opinions about them.

Jake, the other guy that got fucked over, is one of the only people I trust out

here. I met him when I was sixteen. Tall dude, like six foot four, he's dark, must

have Native American in him. He's about twenty-four, I guess, and nuttier than

squirrel turd, but a decent guy nonetheless. I'm not even sure what's wrong with

him; some days he's completely normal, we just hang out and bull shit. We watch

out for each other and help each other get jobs, but then other times, well, like I

said, he's nuts. He sometimes refers to himself as Sam, says he is the leader of

the pack. Pack of what, I have no clue. On occasion when he is "Sam," I have

heard him growl at people, although he hasn't done it to me yet. I just go along

with it; it can be a good laugh. I feel bad for the guy though. He can't keep a job

acting like that. Over the years I have learned that his family, instead of helping

him, just let him live on the streets. I would think that, all he would need is a

little medicine and he could lead a normal life, but I'm no fucking doctor. What do

I know?

I lean my head back, feeling sick from the hunger and the horrible stench of the

alley. Right when I am about to doze off. I hear pukey bum and cardboard bum

fighting.

"Mother fucker, you puked all over me!" the bum under the cardboard screams.

The other one is so fucked up that he doesn't even scream back. He just starts

swinging blindly. With one push from cardboard bum, pukey is flat on his back,

out. I stand up not wanting to listen to them anymore. I walk out of the alley and

onto Burnside. It's an unusually dry night for Portland, just a drizzle. Normally it's

non-stop rain here. I walk to the waterfront and turn to face the city: Portland,

Oregon. It's beautiful to most that visit or live here, but if you're homeless, it's

just a cage.

I turn back to face the water, the river sparkling from all of the city lights. There

is a breeze making the water choppy, the boats anchored rocking from the force.

The Burnside Bridge looms overhead, leading to the expanse of highway that

people use to travel in and out of the city. Even though it's two in the morning,

the highway is still busy. Not like at five o'clock when there is guaranteed gridlock

traffic, but people are constantly traveling, coming back or forth. It is strangely

silent for Portland, usually it gets pretty loud about this time when the bars close.

I pause and listen to the soft noise of the waves hitting the rocks from the river,

and the cars on the highway. Laughing and screaming breaks the serene silence.

I look over to my right at the River Place hotel - yachts all park out in front of it.

People are walking up and down the dock, leaving and entering the fancy yachts.

I can see a woman in a large white dress, a wedding, I assume; the hotel is

famous for their waterfront, grade-A, weddings. Their celebration will go on into

the night.

As I watch, I wonder if the tux-clad men and the women in their elegant dresses

have any idea of the need around them. The general consensus around here is

that if you're homeless, it's because you want to be - it's bullshit really. The

eight-year-old with his single mom that I gave my dinner to last night does not

want this; I can promise that. Yeah, there are some out here who would rather

do drugs and not work. Some have no desire to lead a productive life, but that's

not the majority. There are plenty of us that want to contribute and be successful

in life. Things happen and people get knocked down. Hell, some never had a

chance to be knocked down; they started there.

Like I said, I've been out here, on my own since twelve. What the fuck is a

twelve-year-old supposed to do? My story isn't unique as there are plenty of

young kids on the street, and they're not all drunks. Sadly, most turn to crime.

They see it as the only way to, not only make money, but also as a way to have

protection. I'm not perfect, and I have done many things that I am ashamed of,

but I learned quickly that getting involved in crime does nothing but keep you on

the streets.

People say, "There are so many shelters, so many people that want to help you."

Once again, bullshit. There is the Portland Mission here on Burnside. It's the most

helpful shelter around here. Besides my being in school until sixth grade I also,

through them, I have somewhat of an extended education, an informal one, but

still. One pastor felt bad for me and tried his hardest to keep me up to speed. I'm

no fucking genius, but I can write, read and do basic math; that's a lot more than

most people out here. Most kids stay away though, because when you're

underage, their answer is to put you into a foster home. People that have been in

foster homes view them as hell on earth and would rather be on the street. For

those of us who are over eighteen, you can get a hot meal once in a while and, if

you're lucky, a bed. There is only so much they can do, and I don't expect

anyone to carry my ass. My life is no one's responsibility but my own.

I sit on a bench just watching the water ripple on the rocks below and listening to

the cheers from the wedding party. I sit thinking about tomorrow. I have to find a

job by tomorrow. Someone that will hire me with no driver's license, home

address, or phone number - yeah, that'll be easy. The first thing I need to do is

get to the Rescue Mission early and see if I can get a shower and maybe get my

clothes cleaned, while actively avoiding all the religious bullshit they try to cram

down my throat every time I step in the door. I appreciate their help, and I'm

glad that their God has been so kind to them, but he hasn't done shit for me.

I decide to try to get at least a couple of hours of sleep. I know that it won't be

long before a cop tells me to leave. I lie down on the bench using my arm as a

pillow. My mind is still reeling over tomorrow, and I am facing the fact that there

is a good chance I will be on this bench again tomorrow night. I focus on the

water, trying to clear my mind to get just a couple hours of sleep.

"Oh my god! Did she really go home with him?"

"Seriously, when did she turn into such a slut?" I sit up on my bench and turn to

see a group of scantily dressed girls, obviously leaving the bar after last call.

They are standing right behind me and notice my presence when I sit up. All

heads turn my way.

"Oh my gawd, ewww," says the one with her top on inside out, so drunk that she

can barely walk. I just roll my eyes, lying back down, hoping that they will find

the slut friend they're looking for so that they'll leave. I hear taping of high heels

and feel a presence looming over me. I open my eyes to see bimbo number two

hovering over me.

"Oh my god, I'm like, sorry about my friend, she is like, super drunk," her friend

says in the most annoying valley girl lingo as possible. She's still leaning over the

bench getting way too close to me.

"Super, duper drunk!" I say, in a high-pitched voice, making fun of the way she's

talking. She must think she sounds cute; doesn't she know how stupid she

sounds?

"Whatever, fuck you," she spits, losing her fake cutesy talk.

I don't even bother responding; I just close my eyes. Pissed off, she walks away.

Soon I hear many clicks on the ground from their heels as they all walk away. I

can hear them as they leave calling for their friend. No they are not calling, they

are screeching, probably disturbing anyone in apartments nearby.

Finally, I get to a point where I am just about to sleep when I hear fucking

sniffling not two feet away from me. Can no one fucking see me here, trying to

sleep? I sit up again, planning to leave my bench by the river for a quieter

location. As I sit up, I rub my hands over my face trying to shake the sleep off. I

look to my right and see a girl sitting on the bench next to mine, crying. Fuck my

life, stupid fucking drunk girls, leaving the bar and getting lost. I see it every

night. I pay her no attention and walk up to the rail getting as close to the water

as I can. I pull out the last cigarette that I have and try to light it up. The wind

off the water is making it an almost impossible task, but I persevere and get it lit.

After only my third drag on my cigarette, I hear voices behind me.

"What do we have here?" I turn to see Felix and Demetri, or Tweedledee and

Tweedledum as I call them, approaching the girl on the bench. She squeezes the

fancy bag she has closer to her, but it won't work; they'll get it. This is what they

do: mug unsuspecting, lost partiers or tourists. They are a part of a much larger

ring of thieves, if they want something they'll get it. They will also get away with

it. That group knows the city better than any cop.

"Look, I think she's scared," Demetri coos in a creepy voice, running a hand

through her hair. She shudders and seems to try to find conviction. She finally

says, "Fuck off, leave me alone." Now it seems that she is trying to sound tough,

but it comes out in a weak sob. She flashes a look to me obviously asking for

help. Sorry, no can do princess. I see for the first time that she's all beat up, her

face a mess of blue and purple marks, her long dark hair a mess. I can tell from

here that her clothes are nice, but they're dirty. I find myself wondering what

happened to her, but I stop that train of thought. Caring never works out; I have

to watch out for number one. I decide that I will stick with my first theory of

drunk, lost, skank; it's easier to walk away with that assumption. You don't fuck

with people on the street, especially if they have a group to back them up. I've

seen this a thousand times. For some reason, they get off on fucking with young

girls before they mug them. I decide that I am done watching the show and start

to walk away.

I only make it a couple of steps before I hear her begging. "God, please no! Take

the bag, here take it, just leave me alone." I turn to see her struggling. Felix, a

big motherfucker, has a hold on her, her back to his chest, and he is holding her

arms behind her. Demetri, who looks like a fucking hobbit, is in front of her trying

to get her shirt open.

"Fuck, please help me!" Her voice comes out in a strangled plea. She makes

direct eye contact with me as she kicks her legs like a maniac at Demetri. I groan

inwardly. Yeah, I'm an ass and look out for number one first, but I will never just

sit and watch a woman get sexually assaulted - robbed, sure - but not this. I'm

only a couple steps away, both guys are too preoccupied with their new toy to

notice my advance. I think about trying to talk to them but laugh at my own

stupidity. During all of my years on the street, I have never seen anyone talk it

out.

So I decide to speak the language that everyone recognizes on the street,

violence. I pull Demetri back by his shoulders with as much force as I can and

throw him to the ground. He goes down easy because he isn't expecting the

attack. Felix lets go of the drunk princess and comes at me. I lunge out of the

way. He growls and comes back at me, Demetri right behind him. I turn to the

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