Flood.

Tonight my phone alerted me I was in a flash flood area and to watch out

while a mile away from my apartment in the middle of a torrential downpour on the way to a scummy basement pizza place. People in fancy restaurant windows stared at my makeup dripping into my eyes and burning. I scowled. The staff at the pizza joint talked as they saw a man walking in the rain.

"He’s drenched."
“He’s probably a bum.”
“He might have a job.”
“Yeah, employing the other bums?”
“How many drugs do you do? Yeah, whatever, you can work here.” 
“You breathing? Yeah, you can work here.”

They all laughed and I flicked my cigarette at them. I hope they tear up my application or write “B***H” across it in huge red letters.

Two tall boys later the storm was only worse and we walked home, I mid panic attack. Breathe in, breathe out.

I pissed on the steps of a scam college campus.

I walked across the street and threw my used tampon at the baptist church steps.

We stopped among huge columns, in front of tall brass doors to dry off, smoking cigarettes. I sit in silence while you tell me I should be somewhere else.

The rain starts up again.
We’re almost home.

I’m freezing and soaked, cynical and crass,

and realize this might be as good as it gets.