a pattern in static

Tried a 300 word story for a contest…Failed. 356.

“You think you can tell me where I am on this thing?” The black man, bearded gray with a sordid, formerly crimson, skull cap leaned against the reflective covering of a bus route map.

“I actually don’t know anything about this” Lem walked over to the leaning man and once he was close enough smelled the foreboding urine scent of homelessness on him, “I actually don’t know anything about this; I think I came from this way.” He pushed one finger against the thick plastic and dragged it across the blue dotted line on the map. “I think this is the only way to get to this place so you probably did the same thing.” Lem said.

“The things we do are very different you little shit. I am obviously much more drunk than you are.”

“I’m not drunk at all.”

“That’s exactly why you can’t tell me shit.”

“YOU asked ME for help!”

“I didn’t ask for help at all. I asked you if you know where we stand”

“You’re barely standing at all”

“Looking at you—looking at your face—your mouth—listening to you…I’d say I’ve been standing about forty years longer than you have. It was for a laugh. You almost look like you know where you’re going.”

“I’m going home, but you wouldn’t know much of that would you…”

 

“I built a home from the inside out, I’ve raised three sons who would know where to tell a man where to go, I loved a woman and another and another. I lived a dozen lives and when it was tired I threw it out and I never thought of it again. I have nestled at the bottom of a bottle because that’s where truth lies. It lies and lies and lies and with these lies it keeps me warm and keeps the smile on my fucking face.”

The man kept his eyes still on the map.

“This is Union Station, old man. You’re standing on the heart of Los Angeles.” Said Lem

“Agh.”, said the man “Do you have a fucking quarter so I can go the other way?”