Witch Piss

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There was this guy who lived in the doorway of an abandoned building near me.

And we’d become friends.

I saw him whenever I was out walking around trying to avoid my room or find a job.

Every time I walked by, he’d smile and wave and say, “Oh hey”—always in a good mood and willing to talk.

He had a couple blankets and a backpack and some cups.

I don’t know, I guess I liked him because he was like, “I live in a doorway but I’m still in a good mood, hey.” (He never actually said that, I just thought he might.)

Plus I had no friends.

One night when I passed by the doorway, he sat wrapped up in his blanket, arguing with someone on the sidewalk.

“I’ll get money from someone, watch,” said the guy in the doorway. “Someone will give me a dollar. Screw off, man.” When he saw me, he held out his hand. “Hey man, c’I please get a dollar?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was just going to say, you want some food? Some beers?”

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