I'm Hungry

Joseph had tried to pussy out of seeing me a week ago, devastated over the Jerry situation and still not ready to face reality. I told him I'd arranged my entire day around our meeting, that it had been his idea in the first place, his last-minute flaking had been an issue for as long as I'd known him...and it wasn't cool.

"Meet me outside, dammit, I'm on my way."

I sped thirty minutes through the winding side streets of Los Angeles, making my way to eastside suburbia where he'd been staying with our mutual friends, a married couple with issues of their own, out of the need for comfort and solace in the wake of my actions. I was almost there when the red light at Alvarado and Glendale forced me to slow to a halt. A dirty homeless man sauntered from one idling car to the next, holding a sign that read, "I'M HUNGRY" and rubbing his belly to illustrate as much. Normally, I hand Clif bars out the window when beggars approach, loath to chance my hard-earned cash being spent on drugs or booze. Always, smiles of gratitude stretch across their weather-beaten faces, thanking me profusely and uttering, "God bless" while clutching their protein-packed prize. This one was different.

Something about his face repulsed me. I didn't feel sympathy or even pity as I did with most. He had a sour, arrogant expression that reminded me of somebody I used to know. I almost refrained from moving, almost kept my eyes glued straight ahead, waiting for the light to turn green. Almost. The thought of someone, anyone, being hungry without the means to feed himself tugged at my conscience until I grudgingly felt compelled to rifle through my purse for my last Clif bar. I could barely afford to feed myself, but here I was, about to give a hand-out to some asshole who had made poor choices throughout his life and fucked himself over. I rolled the window down, hand extended as he approached. When he saw what I was offering, his face wrinkled up in disgust, recoiling as though I was attempting to feed him dog shit.

"I hate those," he spat, "They give me a headache."

"Well, fuck you, then!" I yelled, frustrated, slamming my foot down on the gas as the light finally turned green. My car lurched forward and I sped around the curve onto Glendale, tearing up the 2 North in a fit of rage. The nerve. The fucking nerve. I knew, deep down, that I wasn't actually pissed at the homeless dude...although I was pretty flabbergasted at his response to my charity. I was pissed at Joseph, at the predicament we were now in, at the gas I was wasting on this drive when I knew that it would only lead to the same type of conversation we'd already had a countless number of times. I was pissed at myself...and I was hungry.

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