Le Marais

Silence of me

 An empty street at dawn. Birds making themselves noticed to the world. Smells of stale urine and bread baking fills my nostrils. Sleeping on the pavement is not as uncomfortable as it seems. Some unfavorable variables lurking in the alleyways but other then that anonymity encompasses my contentness.

 I have some left over change for a coffee but I decide to finish my bottle of calvados instead. I resolve to save my change for a baguette after the Boulanger finally opens.

Although life has led me to a workless inhabitants I can’t have but the up most respect for the life a Boulanger chooses. Rise before light-Fresh pastries delight… I rhyme to myself. I am drunk already and it’s barely light out.

            I know I am good looking. I mean, so I’ve been told by sympathetic mothers and those religious freaks… But it makes it worse. Indeed. I make my way to the Champs. Slowly but surely my thoughts break. I am already at la Concorde when I throw up. Standard. Some guy who looks like my grandfather gives me some water and some extra euros… A nice come up for regularity. Almost 8am. Late start.

            Begging for money strips my pride a little more each day. I do ok enough to end my day with a little day old food, red wine, and some oil for my lamp… I am a literary vagrant. I wasn’t always this way you know... In a sense maybe. But not always in my current situation. I choose my spot near the metro closest to the arc de triumph. But far enough away from the arab with the dancing Mr. Potato heads. I can’t stand those fools. Loud boom boxes slave driving their dancing products. Creepy.

            Around 3 I need to get out of this summer heat. Tourists are cranky and hate them anyways. I’ve got enough to last me until tomorrow anyways. En route to mc donalds I run into Michael my friend I used to play basketball with. He shifts uncomfortably while speaking to me but none the less awkward he invites me over to his girls place to smoke some hash. It’s a few blocks away. She buzzes up. I am surprised to see an ebony princess indeed. Mike always used to go for the white French girls with chastity belts locked up tight tight tight. The kind you need to ask the dad for permission first… Dads always hated me. A 6’3 young kid looking for one thing with his daughter… Of course they always hated me. I think it’s because I was always taller then them as well…Who knows? She gives us both a warm kronenberg and sorry sort of smile. Mike prepares the hash. I’m just noticing all the African artifacts around this tiny apartment. I almost want to ask about it but we commence smoking. Coughs and closed eye lids relieves the days shamefulness.

            I passed out… No one in sight. I can hear Mike f*****g whatever her name is from the bedroom. I decide to leave quietly and quickly. It’s dark out already? I feel disoriented but I make my way back to Le Marais. I choose this neighborhood to camp out in because it is relatively safe. Some f**s, Jews, and nouveau riche with the occasional arab trying to make trouble. But no real worries. I can’t afford any food today… Only enough for some wine. I get the shittiest kind I can’t afford and go sit on the sidewalk opposing Hotel Cognac Jay on Rue Elzevir. The wine goes quick. No light for reading. Sleep I suppose… Seems like a good bet after cheap wine in my empty stomach. I swing my legs out of my wheel chair. Completely miss my mark and hit the pavement relatively hard cheek first. I can taste a little blood in my mouth. I realize I’m starving. Sleep is good. Sleep is escape. I realize someone stole my brass knuckles. Must have been that f*****g irritating musician Jacquelyn used to f**k.

 

           

 

Reviews

[bluessadmood]

Oh Count what a lovely write,You remind me of (Loss In Soho) by Colin Wilson,but you know somehow I liked this more its even more real
very strong,You talked about Arabs on the streets of Le Marais,and how pathetic ,i agree with you ha ha..
What I like is the life of a dreamer and Literal vagabond that you described ,he lived day to day..
begging for money and a day old food,they will even give him booze to drink his bitterness at a world that he see
himself so not fit to live with with..I enjoyed every word,its like a long poem,it shows those with special mind how will they live
and sleep on the hard stone bed on earth ,how i loved this..
lovely write..

[Bella]

Le Marais- The Marsh.
I really enjoyed reading this. It's a very unique story, and I like it a lot. Will there be another part to this story? I hope so.

[Nicole (Carpe Diem)]

very interesting story... I thought it was a great read... is there going to be more to this story? i can see more coming out of this...

[RiverOfSilver]

Interesting. Bits of it made me laugh; others made me think.

[Count Humilus]

As a nice fellow has pointed out....I have forgotten to put up a disclaimer of sorts...
Tis not a finished piece. Not in a grammar sense or end of the story sense either. Just bits of life of a kid I used to play basketball with in Paris. Not a lot of basketball playing anymore since he got jumped.
And he was one my best friends but a real m**********r none the less. So...You are not supposed to care for him really unless it suits you.

[Charles D. Moorer]

This is an interesting piece that has a lot of potential, but something kept gnawing at me as i read the story. You like to use fragments. There is no problemwith that. Fragments should function similar to how the grammatical unit that follows a colon; it sums up. Spelling, arab wih a capital A; I cannot imagne you or your firends; I don't have enough description of you or environment, I only hear the voice, but cannot imagine the person who goes with that voice, McDonalds is one word. The cynicism comes through ough and clear. But you have given me no reason to care for this guy.