On Writing

I’m not real good at this whole writing, but Hector doesn’t want me around doing nothing. I’m not very good in cleaning things (including myself) so I have asked him if I could check his e-mail ev’ry once in a while. While I’m behind this computer I might as well do some writing, right?

My name is John. It’s a common name and I don’t use it very often. People usually call me ‘hey!’ or ‘whattayawant?’. I’m thirty one years of age and I am homeless. I was born in Brooklyn and these days I can be found around the Port Authority Station in New York.

The last four weeks I’ve found a place to sleep inside a regular, warm house. It’s Hectors house. He is a very nice, Portuguese man whose name you oughtta pronounce as Ek!Tor!. He has a barbershop at Columbus Avenue. He is married to Carmen, a sweet schoolteacher. Every now and then Hector and his wife pick up homeless people and offer them a place to stay for a couple of weeks. Rules are very simple; you don’t bring friends and you have to enter the house between 9 and 10 pm and leave at 7 am. If your lucky they’ve saved some food for you.

At the moment I’m not the only guy staying in their house. There is also this Dominican guy named Fernando who has this crazy obsession with his little brother who is supposed to be mentally challenged (or whatever they call these people nowadays). The boy is three years old and is still breastfed by their mother and ev’ry time he bites her in the nipple, that’s how the know he’s not a 100 percent up there.

I don’t really want to write down the reasons (yes, as in multiple) why I’ve become homeless. I guess I kinda have to and all, because this writing thing is supossed to rid me of all kinds of bad emotions and stuff, but if you don’t mind I’d like to save that long, long story for another time.

At this moment I’m in the back of the barbershop, placed strategically out of the customers sight and am supposed to check if there’s mail for Hector, print it out and put it on his desk. Truth be told, the man doesn’t get any mail, just these advertisements for renting cheap apartments and how to keep your equipment stiff when you’re over fifty and all.

So I think I’m going out the back in just a moment and check on some of my friends at the station. Homeless friends that is of course. Don’t have real friends that own houses and dogs and flatscreen televisions and all.

I’m kinda done with the typing now. I hope you come back again and I hope that when that happens I’ve found the time and motivation to have put some kind of interesting thought here.

Talk to ya later, John.