Raz
Bluelighter
This is something I wrote in my livejournal the other day so apologies to people who've seen it already. I really liked it though and wanted to share..
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Today I met a man called Geoff. Drunk, I wandered the streets, wondering all the while which bills I should pay this week and which I should leave till next week, and whether I could justify spending $15 on getting into a sex-on-premises venue when the money could be better spent on drugs.
There he was, sitting on the pavement with a tatty old blanket covering his knees, a tissue covering the pocked hole in his head, and bravado covering his need to connect with someone human.
I bought him a hamburger and he told me some lies and some truths. I would have rather bought him salad or fruit, but he asked for a hamburger--and ultimately when he's more likely to spend his own money on shit that will only kill him more, I was willing to give him anything even resembling nutrition.
Geoff told me how his stepfather never had any faith in him, how he's writing a book which will expose major underworld crimelords. He made me promise not to tell anyone, and I did--at the time I wondered how many people have made that promise. I wondered how many people know his name. I wondered how many people stopped for longer than the time it takes to throw him some spare change.
Geoff showed me the cancerous hole in his head. He told me his mother has cancer. He told me his sister has cancer, and that he'd have done anything to take on her cancer himself.
He told me about his rheumatism, and how he was hit by a car on Sunday. He told me all of this in a matter-of-fact voice. He wasn't looking for favors or money or anything other than someone who would actually listen to him.
He told me several times that he has a flat, he tried to give me his address--I wondered how long it had been since someone had sat on the ground with him and listened to his stories.
In the end, I don't really give a fuck how much of what he had to say was actually true--I figure that when the highlight of your night is a complete stranger buying you a microwaved burger, you're allowed a few indiscretions.
When I couldn't be with Geoff anymore, I went to a bar. There I spoke briefly with a drunk man who was looking for pills. He knew where I was coming from with my newfound humility, but it wasn't helping him get what he wanted, so he forsook sincerity and a genuine connection to leave for greener pastures.
I say all of the above like I'm some kind of Ghandi-esque Superman, but the truth is that I left Geoff because it was all becoming too intense for me.
The only reason I've stopped writing this is that there are cute guys here I want to flirt meaninglessly with.
So yeah...here's to Geoff.
**********
Today I met a man called Geoff. Drunk, I wandered the streets, wondering all the while which bills I should pay this week and which I should leave till next week, and whether I could justify spending $15 on getting into a sex-on-premises venue when the money could be better spent on drugs.
There he was, sitting on the pavement with a tatty old blanket covering his knees, a tissue covering the pocked hole in his head, and bravado covering his need to connect with someone human.
I bought him a hamburger and he told me some lies and some truths. I would have rather bought him salad or fruit, but he asked for a hamburger--and ultimately when he's more likely to spend his own money on shit that will only kill him more, I was willing to give him anything even resembling nutrition.
Geoff told me how his stepfather never had any faith in him, how he's writing a book which will expose major underworld crimelords. He made me promise not to tell anyone, and I did--at the time I wondered how many people have made that promise. I wondered how many people know his name. I wondered how many people stopped for longer than the time it takes to throw him some spare change.
Geoff showed me the cancerous hole in his head. He told me his mother has cancer. He told me his sister has cancer, and that he'd have done anything to take on her cancer himself.
He told me about his rheumatism, and how he was hit by a car on Sunday. He told me all of this in a matter-of-fact voice. He wasn't looking for favors or money or anything other than someone who would actually listen to him.
He told me several times that he has a flat, he tried to give me his address--I wondered how long it had been since someone had sat on the ground with him and listened to his stories.
In the end, I don't really give a fuck how much of what he had to say was actually true--I figure that when the highlight of your night is a complete stranger buying you a microwaved burger, you're allowed a few indiscretions.
When I couldn't be with Geoff anymore, I went to a bar. There I spoke briefly with a drunk man who was looking for pills. He knew where I was coming from with my newfound humility, but it wasn't helping him get what he wanted, so he forsook sincerity and a genuine connection to leave for greener pastures.
I say all of the above like I'm some kind of Ghandi-esque Superman, but the truth is that I left Geoff because it was all becoming too intense for me.
The only reason I've stopped writing this is that there are cute guys here I want to flirt meaninglessly with.
So yeah...here's to Geoff.
