Damned, Crazy (Still Alive) Bums

So I was walking home from a friend’s house yesterday and there was this homeless man sitting on the sidewalk at the end of my block. He asked me for some change as I walked by and I was, I don’t know, I was feeling generous yesterday so I shoved my hand in my jacket pocket and gave him whatever I came up with which was a dollar bill and some coins. And maybe a cheap lighter. I guess he had something to light his crack with for a day.

What?! Don’t think I can’t assume homeless people are drug addicts. You don’t know me. First of all, they usually are. Second, I’m not done with my story. So shut up.

Sorry. I’m just kind of freaked out. Reason being that when I got home after some errands late this morning this guy was hanging around in the alley right behind my house. Which, you  know, hey. I don’t really appreciate it, but if he just chills and I forget he’s there, then whatever. If he gets annoying, maybe I call the cops. Depends on my mood. If he keeps begging at me I’ll definitely call them, though. That’s what I thought as I pulled into my driveway. No way I could’ve known the situation would be way, way worse than that, or that there would be no way in Hell I’d be calling the cops. Because even I know better.

I step out of my car (making sure to lock it. Duh.) staring at the back of my house because I don’t want to accidentally make eye contact with this guy and give him half a reason to ask me for more money. Or get me sick. His eyes were all bloodshot and I think there was some drool running down his chin. Anyway, I had no idea where exactly he was because I was trying not to look at him. But this motherfucker must have had the quietest shoes in the world because, turns out, he was sprinting across my driveway at me. I had no idea until he tackled me from behind, knocking the wind out of me and slamming my face into the concrete. It also felt like he was trying to take a chomp out of my ass through my jacket, but there’s no way. Right? I guess anything’s possible with crazy people.

I kicked him off and scrambled to my feet. He got up slowly and jerkily as I ran to my back door. I slammed it and locked it and my dog started barking like an idiot and there was no way I was going to calm him down because I was clearly not calm, and he can tell. I ran to my bedroom, snatched my Five-seveN from my night stand, and dashed back to the door. My dog was still barking. The homeless guy was pounding on the door and violently rattling the knob. I yelled at him to fuck off or I would call the cops, but he didn’t stop or say anything. I yelled again and he still kept on. No words. Only, and I swear to God, what sounded like snarling. I peeked through the blind and involuntarily took a step back at the sight of his cracked, bleeding lips and rotting, gnashing teeth.

Then I called the cops who said they were pretty busy today but that they’d send a squad car when they could, which ended up being an hour and forty five minutes later. It only took twenty minutes for the banging on my door to stop and another fifteen for my dog to stop barking. When the squad car finally showed up, the officer told me they’d keep an eye peeled for the guy. Right. They’ll never find him.

So that was crazy and unwelcome, but let’s have some fun now, huh? Let’s have some fun after all the crazy… stuff. Let’s say, hypothetically, that instead of calling the slow-as-hell cops, I decided to whip my door open and shoot him in the chest. Three times. Drag his body into the garage. Dig a shallow hole in my yard and bury him in it. Hypothetically speaking, what would be the best thing to do with the body? Obviously I can’t couldn’t leave it in my yard. Only rules are no butchering or parceling out the body (because fucking gross, that’s why) and no burning it, because I want to be able to enjoy fried meats in the coming weeks. I mean I would.

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6 responses to “Damned, Crazy (Still Alive) Bums

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