I Sleep In A Squat, Like Everyone Else

I hate work. But, in this type of world that we belong to,There's no need for anyone to be so naive. Being
money can be useful. For the past ten years of myhomeless doesn't make you inhuman, but many people
life, I had been completely banished from the world ofwould believe that.It's early. Very early. Seven AM. The
finance. My first credit card was cancelled after fourbirds just started their first round of mating calls. The
days. With my first checking account, I withdrew $200true alcoholics are just getting to bed now.
from an ATM and never paid it back. I did the sameSomewhere in this state, a group of high schoolers are
thing with my second checking account at anotherjust coming down from their psilocybin mushroom trip. I
bank. These few incidents have made it impossible forcan feel all the working class, single moms just arriving
me to every have a bank account or credit card for aat work, an hour and a half after waking up -- I'm
very long time. So, yes, I burned all the bridges andwatching their soft exhale of stress and hope. On my
covered all the paths. I am completely expelled fromway to work, there was a particularly unhealthy smell
the world of banking and credit. This was no problemrising from the concrete. It could be a hallucination
for me, since I was already living without much incomecaused by a night of heavy drinking and only five
to begin with.The memories of my first job have fadedhours of sleep. Regardless, I can just shrug it
so much that I now doubt whether I've ever beenoff.Kleineman's Restaurant. I arrive five minutes early
employed. How to live without an income is a questionfor my shift. "Hey, my boy, Danny..." Mr. Kleineman
of urban survival, especially for those of us who havegreets me, "Didn't you get my message?""What
special needs (i.e. alcoholism). The first time, I slept inmessage?" I asked, and then with a cracked smile,
the park, but some street kids showed me an"And on what phone, answering machine, or e-mail?""I
abandoned mill they had held up in. "The cops alwaystold all my other employees to tell you that we don't
check the park," one of them told me, "Stay in a darkneed you today," he said, shrugging, "You got the day
place when you sleep at night." From those humbleoff.""But, but.... I got up early and came here, like I was
beginnings, I've changed and evolved so much. Insteadscheduled, and I never heard from anyone else," I said.
of defining myself as a human being based on what IThe struggle was more painful due to the
have been through, I've based it on what I can and willsleep-deprivation and hangover."I know, but we already
do. I drank Bacardi in a Pasadena restaurant andhave a dishwasher," he said, "Come back tomorrow. I'll
smashed a window with a chair. When I passedhave work for you, then.""Can I at least get two fifty
through Las Vegas, I somehow gained $10,000 in fourfor the bus fair of getting here?" I asked. My anxiety
hours and lost it over the next six days. There's aand agitation had made me more aggressive and
warrant for my arrest in Austin, Texas for Riotous andassertive. He certainly gave me the money. There
Destructive Behavior, but every cop so far has beenwas no other choice. When he handed the money to
too lazy to fill out the extradition papers. I stopped ame, it was almost as though he was giving it to a
rape in Nashville and was rewarded enough alcohol tohomeless bum who was panhandling on the side of
require a hospitalization. I was the man with a blankthe highway. I am homeless, but it's not quite my
future. My name is Daniel. If you ask my friends, they'didentifying factor in my relationship with my boss.Two
say I was the Beatnik drifter. Homeless, alive, andblocks south, seven blocks east, cut through the park,
free.Beep... Beep... Beep...My eyes burst open to theand you're in the best place to get your alcohol
light. I'll never get used to that sound. I swat the alarmsupplies. I've got two fifty. Just about enough for a
clock and roll over. My eyes slowly open again. It's 8:30.forty."Can I help you find anything?" the manager asks,
I have to get to work in a hour half. I'm alreadypretending not to be watching me -- or maybe that's
dressed. And, making the bed was as easy as gettingjust my unfounded suspicion that all old people distrust
out of a sleeping bag. Surveying the scene, I discoverthe young."You don't have any Old English?" I
three more bodies on the ground. There was Z, aasked."No, but we have Steel Reserve and Colt 49, if
twenty four year old, who had a friend tattoo a Z onyou drink malt liquor," he said."I wish you had some OE,"
his forehead when he was sixteen. The tragedy leftI respond, looking through the racks, and discovering, to
him scarred and with a name he'd never lose. Donnymy surprise, a bottle of "Blue Mad Dog, the best fruit
slept in the corner, his head propped up against theflavored alcoholic beverage you'll find, clearly the envy
wall. He had no shirt on and there was an empty beerof wine and champagne everywhere," her hair was
bottle sticking out of his fly -- someone was makingbeing whipped by the midnight air coming off the
mischief last night. And, our third contender, Rochelle,waterfront, "This !@#$ is chemically perfected for that
remained curled up in a ball on a chair. She had a smallsweet taste of cirrhosis."Irene. A beautiful girl that I
enough figure that she could make it a comfortableused to know... a girl I used to love. We'd bark at the
position. Small clips of metal pierced her face. Twomoon together, and giggle when everyone pointed and
rings were connected with a chain; and there waslaughed.My hands caress her stomach as I close my
enough of a draft in the squat that you could hear theeyes, nearing her face, "Booze is booze. What's the
links make their clinking noise.I headed down the stairs,difference between flavorings?""Because this
discovering several empty beer bottles along the way.represents our culture, the culture of the wino!" she
Turning to the main exit of our squat, I discover mytriumphantly holds bottle in the air. I fall on her shoulder,
friend Buck. Somehow, he managed to fall asleepslowly drifting in to sleep."So, you be getting the Mad
sitting up in a chair. There was a half filled whiskeyDog?" the manager asks me with his broken Indian
bottle held against his belly, and behind that there wasaccent. I'm softly awakened from daydream to my
hard-chunked vomit on his leather jacket. I take onepresent reality: the scene right before I make an !@#$
second to light a cigarette. With the click of the Zippo,out of myself due to alcohol excess. I nod my head in
his mouth opens and I hear, "You're not a punk anyresponse to his question.Walking down the street with
more.""Would a punk put a cigarette out on yourthe bottle of Mad Dog, I start to think that I'm not
face?""Yeah, but you're not a punk, so I have nothingrepresenting the culture of the wino; I am simply living a
to worry about," he smiled, shwilling from his whiskeymemory. This one's for her."What happened?" a slightly
bottle, then putting it on the ground.We had this debateanimating Buck opens his eyes to the day, "Did the
last night. "You lose the grit and pain of being a trueCapitalist system fall apart and they sent you
street kid when you start waking up in the morning tohome?"He struggled to obtain a bare grasp of reality. I
shuffle !@#$ for some !@#$!@#$ing capitalist pig-""It'swalked passed him, heading on up the stairs. "Alcohol
a !@#$in' family owned store," I said, shwilling my maltin the morning?" he references my Mad Dog with a
liquor extra hard."It doesn't matter," he said, as his facesmile, "I guess maybe you really are punk.""Would you
emerges from a shot of hard alcohol, "You're workingplease cut the !@#$ with the high school routine?" I
for the man.""He's right," Donny said, "You're not a punkreplied cheerfully, "I've had my fair share of being
any more." This god of squatters stood there, clad inostracized for being different. I imagine all you --""Is that
the armaments of a punk: spikes and chains. For somewhat you think we were doing?" Buck asked, "You're
reason, he had a polka-dotted scarf around his neck.my brother no matter what, but that means I have to
He found it on the ground earlier that day, and hasgive you !@#$ no matter what. Why did you take this
developed the ill habit of wearing it."!@#$ you both," Ijob any way? We were enough money spanging."I
notice Z spray painting the wall with an anarchyshwilled, and passed him the bottle. "Maybe it's not
symbol, "Having a job doesn't change me. I sleep in aabout the money," I said, "For my entire life on the
squat, like everyone else."Now I'm rubbing my head instreets, I haven't advanced one bit. I aged quickly and
the morning, thinking about an eight hour shift, and thisbuilt memories fast, but everything I got I've lost.
prick sitting in my squat just said that I wasn't a punk inPhotographs of squatmates, letters from dead friends,
his sleep. I don't care about names and phrases anyall of the tickets I got in LA for marijuana... Everything, I
more. Gutter punk, street urchin, runaway kid, I don'tlost it all. I just wanted to do something good for
care. I'm homeless. There's a weird smell in thismyself for once."He passed the bottle back to me. I let
abandoned building. Coil springs pierce the onethe alcohol sting treat this horrible misery. "If I was a
mattress I have. The wallpaper is melting. Both floorsbusinessman making three hundred thousand a year, I'd
are covered in garbage: wrappers, newspapers, vomit,still only want to get tanked with you," his words are
beer cans, abandoned clothing. Home sweet home.poetry."And that's probably the reason that I will
And this is the place that we've decided to live. No, thisalways be a squatter," I replied, "Money can't buy you
is the only place we could live. I have to makea community and a culture."Punkerslut (or Andy
excuses to no one.I forgot again this morning. The frontCarloff) has been writing essays and poetry on social
door does not latch shut. That was probably theissues which have caught his attention for several
constant beating I heard last night. It didn't keep me upyears. His website provides a complete list of all of
-- enough alcohol kills all consciousness. I walk out ofthese writings. His life experience includes
the abandoned/reclaimed home, only to notice ahomelessness, squating in New Orleans and LA,
mailman walking by. He gives me an odd look, almostdropping out of high school, getting expelled from
unsure that anyone would have any legitimate excusecollege for "subversive activities," and a myriad of
for walking out of an empty building at eight AM.other revolutionary actions.