Prying Eyes

"Awww, c'mon man, I'll pay for breakfast," he pleads.

I'm not really interested. Besides, I have money on my Starbucks card. I can go there and get a cup of coffee. "But you can have lox and bagels with cream cheese and coffee if you come have breakfast with me at the coffee shop." That's alright. I'm cool. "Awww, c'mon." I don't want you to spend your money. Igor is insistent. He will not take no for an answer. Finally I cave in. The hobo in me relenting. Fine, I'll go to the coffee house for breakfast. He is elated.

In moments I find myself back in the comfortable seats of Think Coffee, sipping on the bean and munching on a lox and cream cheese bagel...toasted. I'm blogging as fast as I can because I'm behind in my posts. I want to be caught up by Friday. In the meantime I pull out the last of my porn vids and pop it in the laptop. I find myself in a comfortable corner of the establishment and undisturbed by prying eyes. Even Igor, sitting at the table next to me, cannot see into my screen. I breeze through another review and send it off to my publisher. I'm done with the last of the last shipment. I am a free man for now.

Maybe just as well. With Matthew gone, I have no more ready supply of money from a reliable porn buyer. I'll have to go back to my usual channels, if they are still there. I look at my watch, like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, I am late again. It's time for me to return to the Box for my meds. I wish Igor well and thank him for breakfast. I really thought that he was bringing me over to work on computer problems for him, hence the breakfast, but I was sorely wrong. I am sincerely grateful and make my way. I hit the Box, get my meds and then off to the Business Library.

Electra spends the late morning packing for New Jersey. She had asked for me to bring an article of her clothing to the library with me since I seem to be a repository for her stuff. I bring her the sweater in question and she stows it away in her voluminous bags, hoists her gear on her back and wishes me a happy holiday. She will be gone to New Jersey for the entire weekend. I wish her well too, and bury my head in my laptop.

I work steady, working on this and that and then hitting that screenplay, fast and hard. It's moving along now on its own steam, no longer an uphill chore. I've been given a second wind, so to speak. Now I'm on a roll. I wish my poetry was just the same. I seem to have stalled on that front.

Now I find myself sitting in Starbucks, catching up to the events of my boring day which started with such a bang. Here I am, rising at Five O'clock to take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. As I do so, I put away my dirty things and go after Electra's article of clothing under my bed that she asked for me to bring to the library, when the fire alarm breaks loose. One of the Tech's walks through the aisle rousting everyone. I go for my baby, slinging it on my back. The Tech walks up to me. "What are you doing? This could be a real fire." Yeah, I'll be out before you I bet. And I was. There was no chance of me running out and there be a real fire inside that fucking building without my laptop. I could walk away from everything there, but I could never leave my laptop behind. No fucking way.

Everyone stares wide eyed at me. The only fool dumb enough to carry his belongings outside with him. I laugh. I don't give a fuck. When we get back to the dorm Mike Murder finds that his cellphone has been stolen during the fire drill. Which just goes to reinforce the fact that the minute you let down your guard around here, that will be the minute they take your head off your shoulders. Like I said, when it comes to my baby, I'm redoubling my effort daily. I practically sleep with her under my pillow at night, and I'm trying to find a way to secure her while I'm in the shower. Taking early morning showers at a whim without a particular pattern while everyone is asleep seems to be doing nicely, but it needs improvement.

After Starbucks I go to Hell. The route there is the number 6 train to Bleecker street, then a right on Lafayette street, and then stop at 324. On my way there I run into Angel, he's all grim and shaking his head. "They came through today, my dude, and went through everyone's bed." Really? "Tore through everything." I nod and head to the third floor to find a mob at the nurses' station. That's bullshit. Igor is there, "Did you see your bed?" he asks. No, I came straight here. "They went through everyone's bed area. You'll see."

He was right. My bed was ripped through. Sheets and blankets balled up, once neatly folded and sorted clothes now crumpled and tossed around, drawers ransacked. Extension cords, disposable razors, scissors, and my vitamins, taken. I look at the storage space under my bed, which was once neat and orderly, now a fucking mess. I start there, folding clothes and putting things in order. A fucking television is against my bed for some reason. I push it away. Why a television, I ask you. I make my bed, fold my clothes. The scuttlebutt tonight, Paul the Stooge's area was found with Heroin. That's nice. It justifies this intrusion. Perfect.

I don't hate them, the Techs that rifled through my belongings. I don't despise the admin- istrators that called for this action, or the social workers that turn a blind eye to the prison treatment. I don't hate my circumstances that brought me here, neither my personal weaknesses that allow me to subject myself to this violation.

I hate me.

Hobobob