Fifteen Dollars
by Rex Frost
I never even thought about what I was doing, actually I did, just not the implications of it. It all started after I lost my store, three months later no job, no wife, no money, no kids, and no money, except for the $15 in my pocket.
I had never been on the street before, I didn't know what to do, I sold flowers, my father sold flowers, his father sold flowers, and I sold flowers. All I had was $15, what good was that was I supposed to do, eat at McDonald's for two days, and then starve? I bought a knife. Why did I buy a knife? Maybe I was crazy; it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I thought I could mug a few people a week, and sleep in the back of the burnt down store. I did just that, for weeks, months, and years. Three years, it was horrible. I stole form old women, tourists, and anyone else that seemed weak or lost. I heard all of them scream, they stopped when I held the knife in their faces and said each time "Quiet or I'll kill you!" Kill... I said I would kill people, I sold flowers. I thought once, if I stole enough money I could back on my feet again.
Once I mugged a guy he gave me his wallet, and a plastic bag full of heroine. I never did drugs, I sold flowers, I tried the heroine, and I liked it. Shooting up made the screams quiet and life happy. I needed more and more each week, and each week I moved around town to areas were people had more money.
More money equaled more shooting up. It was harder, rich people don't walk as much, and competition is fierce. I had $15 so I bought a gun. The gun made it easier, I could be less sneaky and I didn't always have to grab people.
I'll never forget the day my dealer raised the price, I didn't have the money, I couldn't shoot up, I was loosing my mind. Two people came down my alley, they looked loaded. The broad had purls. I pulled my gun on them, he wouldn't give his wallet, and all he had to do was give to me... I shot him... I killed him, his wife screamed... I killed her... the boy... They had a kid; no I could kill the kid... he cried... I ran... I tried to rob again, but I couldn't, anymore, not after they died.
Then one day a flower shop opened by my alley, the needed someone to water the flowers. I got the job. I'm better now, I water flowers. It's weird though, that same day every year, Mr. Saraldi, my boss, says that the Batman buys two roses, and puts them in the alley. I think he's nuts, Batman's not real. Well maybe he is, I think this year I'll work late and see if shows up, then I'll know for sure.
by Rex Frost
I never even thought about what I was doing, actually I did, just not the implications of it. It all started after I lost my store, three months later no job, no wife, no money, no kids, and no money, except for the $15 in my pocket.
I had never been on the street before, I didn't know what to do, I sold flowers, my father sold flowers, his father sold flowers, and I sold flowers. All I had was $15, what good was that was I supposed to do, eat at McDonald's for two days, and then starve? I bought a knife. Why did I buy a knife? Maybe I was crazy; it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I thought I could mug a few people a week, and sleep in the back of the burnt down store. I did just that, for weeks, months, and years. Three years, it was horrible. I stole form old women, tourists, and anyone else that seemed weak or lost. I heard all of them scream, they stopped when I held the knife in their faces and said each time "Quiet or I'll kill you!" Kill... I said I would kill people, I sold flowers. I thought once, if I stole enough money I could back on my feet again.
Once I mugged a guy he gave me his wallet, and a plastic bag full of heroine. I never did drugs, I sold flowers, I tried the heroine, and I liked it. Shooting up made the screams quiet and life happy. I needed more and more each week, and each week I moved around town to areas were people had more money.
More money equaled more shooting up. It was harder, rich people don't walk as much, and competition is fierce. I had $15 so I bought a gun. The gun made it easier, I could be less sneaky and I didn't always have to grab people.
I'll never forget the day my dealer raised the price, I didn't have the money, I couldn't shoot up, I was loosing my mind. Two people came down my alley, they looked loaded. The broad had purls. I pulled my gun on them, he wouldn't give his wallet, and all he had to do was give to me... I shot him... I killed him, his wife screamed... I killed her... the boy... They had a kid; no I could kill the kid... he cried... I ran... I tried to rob again, but I couldn't, anymore, not after they died.
Then one day a flower shop opened by my alley, the needed someone to water the flowers. I got the job. I'm better now, I water flowers. It's weird though, that same day every year, Mr. Saraldi, my boss, says that the Batman buys two roses, and puts them in the alley. I think he's nuts, Batman's not real. Well maybe he is, I think this year I'll work late and see if shows up, then I'll know for sure.