A Lonely Walk Toward Morning
by Greg Horan

The dark is your friend because it helps hide you.
The dark is also your enemy, because it hides stalkers. You sit down. You put your legs up on the bench to restore circulation. After a few days of being on the streets your legs begin to bloat. They feel like anchors. The swelling and discoloring become notable after a week on the streets. I sit on the bench for an hour. Suddenly I hear a sound. A group of young men approach with a radio. I've heard about them at the mission-beating up homeless people for small change and a laugh. I crawl to my feet. I walk toward the light-a Super America. I suddenly have a sharp pain and I know I need to go to the bathroom. I struggle as quickly as I can to Super America. I enter and search out the bathroom. Locked. Oh no. I hope someone gets out fast. A policeman glances at me with suspicion. Finally, the bathroom door opens.

I leave Super America and return to the streets.
I do the alley routine. I see two drunks beating up an old man for a bottle of cheap wine.

It's 2:30 and I'm dead tired. I see a parking garage with below-ground ramps. It's warmer below ground. I'm tired of walking and I need sleep badly. I take a chance.

I go along a stairway where no one can see. The cement is cold. It is full with oil and grease. It is my home for tonight.

I fall asleep. The next thing I feel is pain. Is it a nightmare? No, it's a security guard kicking my back and neck. I move quickly to leave but my legs are slowed by pain.

I figure it's about 5 o'clock now and I feel raindrops. I have a-buck-seventy-five to my name. I see Mickey's Diner. My back and neck really hurt. I wish I could see a doctor, but I settle for a cup of coffee.

I see a girl sleeping in the doorway of Joseph's Coat. I enter Mickey's and it's time to go to the bathroom downstairs.

I drink coffee until 7:00 and walk around waiting for the Dorothy Day Center to open. I'm wet, cold and tired.

The feeling of being hunted, stalked, and of being on the outside of society are feelings of the night. You are treated like a criminal for being poor. In fact, the criminal is treated better than a homeless person. He's given a warm place to stay, a warm meal, and rights that a person who is poor does not have.

A man curses at me as I walk toward the Dorothy Day Center, which opens at 8 o'clock. I see Ann Harris and Suzanne. They smile and say hello. A new day begins although I am tired from the last. Today I search for a new home and a bed not made of cold cement. I'm waiting for a new day, a warm smile, and a new dream. But I'm afraid only darkness awaits me.