WA6 Final

I have no name. Names are for people with friends, family, jobs, and lives. To deserve a name you must have people that care about you. I’ve lost count of the number of people that walk past me and ignore me. Invisible. I am the sidewalk. Jobless and homeless and alone. I am going to die soon. I am not ill, or in danger. I have lost the will to live. Couples walk by, families walk by, friends walk by, business associates walk by, bicyclists, drivers, dog walkers all walk by. I have fallen into the asphalt and cement and litter and now I blend in perfectly. The scene around me could be anything. I’ve seen it all. A van races by, a man in expensive shoes holds the hand of a woman with an expensive hand bag. They could help me, but they won’t. It’s midday and the city is alive. I’m being lulled to sleep and the words around me are yanked up in volume.


“Could he bathe?”
“Pity. Letting that happen to yourself.”
“Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn. They don’t need any financial support, what they need is motivation. He’s done this to himself and he has no one else to blame.”
“Still, maybe we should give him some change?”
“Please. Don’t bore me with your jokes.”



Laughing. Then quiet. Do they think I can’t hear? That the rattling in my head has made an impenetrable sound barrier? And what did they mean “Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn” as if I’m some disobedient dog to be trained along with all the other inadequate humans. I would be furious with those two if it was only them that had the audacity to say that. But it’s not. It’s everyone. There’s no point in being angry with the world. I’ve tried it, that sure didn’t get me out of here.



I used to ask for change. I was one of the people that perpetually appeared on your corner, making it impossible to ignore. Eventually I wore you down and your hurried apologies of “No money on me today” grew less and less believable, to the point you’d put in change just to stop the charade with yourself. But playing on people guilt and generosity led to money that was always rare and never enough. Once in passing I heard a man saying as if it was advice I was meant to overhear:“At least he could play an instrument or some other talent and earn money.”Perfect idea, except for my inability to find and instrument and teach myself to play. Also difficult due to the arm I lost in the war. But really pal, I appreciate the consideration.



Do all these people really think I chose this? I’m 23. My five year plan held me being done with my degree and working at some hoity toity company by now. I’ve done all I can think to do, but my permanent limp, lacking left arm, and missing left eye have made it increasingly more problematic to pull myself out of this rut. So say what you want of me, like I said I know I’ll die anyways. But please, take this as a dying man’s last wish, don’t ever think I chose this.