Back to the street

How many days has it been? Five?
Steve left Barney's apartment yesterday morning. In his newfound responsibility, Barney set about cleaning up the room some. He didn't worry too much because he knew Steve was only going as far as the parking lot next door. It was Sunday which meant no liquor sales.

Then along in the cleaning, Barney ran across Steve's dirty clothes which he had wadded up, and put behind a door. Mind you, these aren't what average people think of as dirty clothes. They're the clothes of a sick, homeless, alcoholic man. Barney then proceeded to have what Steve called a tizzy fit. He came storming up to the bar and told him that if he couldn't keep himself clean then he wasn't invited to come back. Period. Understand he did this, believing it would give his friend a kick in the pants. It didn't work of course, and Steve spent the last thirty-six hours, in the van; a day and a half without medicine.

He said it was just as warm there as it was at Barney's and that in a day or two, he'd go on back over and try again. Then he offered me half of a turkey sandwich and some Ritz crackers. I took the crackers and told him that some people had mean-mouthed him on the internet.

He seemed a little shocked at first but I added that there were others, who had kindly, risen to his defense. No response. We had a long conversation about his stay at the hospital. I noticed the congestion in his voice. Congestion that wasn't there on Saturday and fully three conversations later, he asked if there was any way I could write a note and tell those people thanks. I said I would and left him there, sitting in the van.