Alley Cat

The Man stood in the alleyway behind the bakery, rain beating down on his dirty clothing. Blood was dripping from the crook of his arm, snaking down his wrist and falling from his fingers in tiny red droplets. He watched the drops hitting the puddles at his feet. If this was a movie, he’d see the blood vividly stain the water as it hit. This was no movie.

The smells coming from the bakery were mesmerising. The scent of baked bread could make you feel warm no matter where you are, or what you are doing. The Man stood there, breathing in deeply, taking in the crusty, yeasty, warm and wholesome smell; strong, even through the rain. The smell immediately reminded him of his mother spreading salty butter, thickly onto a steaming chunk of fresh bread torn from the loaf. His mouth didn’t water though, it couldn’t. The dried cracks on the corner of his mouth needed some relief, but he didn’t even pay attention to this particular ailment. He was used to the dry mouth.

He rubbed the dirty bandage tied around his arm, it was doing absolutely nothing to stop the bleeding. He hadn’t been able to easily find a vein. Or a sharp needle. The one he’d found was as blunt as a spoon, and spiky as if it were serrated on the end. Lucky though; he’d needed it to tear into his arm, through the scar tissue to get to the juicy one waiting below. The drugs hadn’t worked well. Blood had pumped through, pushing all the precious crystals right back out of him. Waste of an evening. At least he had the smell of the bread.

The back door of the bakery swings open, jolting The Man out of his stupor. Jerry, the baker’s assistant comes out with a huge bag of day old goods, broken and stiff buns. He usually looks the other way when a few of the street crew come through to scrounge through it, so he leaves it on the side of the dumpster.

“Hey man, got anything good today?” Croaked The Man, as he shuffled towards Jerry. Jerry paused, not sure whether to engage this sorry fellow, or to simply walk away. Against all common sense, he answered, “Um, there are a few iced buns in there, but I think they might have fallen on the floor at some point…”

The Man was already listlessly looking through the bag, found some of the iced buns, and was trying to eat them. Cramming them into his dry mouth, he started to choke. Jerry rolled his eyes and ran into the back of the store and came out with a cup of orange juice. The Man’s eyes went wide as the tangy, acidic liquid entered his mouth. Spluttering the bread all over the alley floor, he looked up at Jerry and muttered “Thanks..”

Jerry noticed the blood and took a step back, his mind racing with the possibility of communicable disease. “Alright man, you should move along, eh? The boss’ll be sending me out with the broom soon.”

The Man just stared at him and nodded. He staggered backwards as he took off his dirty coat, and tried to wring out the water. It was a feeble attempt, especially as he was still standing in the sprinkling rain. “Aw, shit.. hang on.” Said Jerry, as he again disappeared into the store, and emerged with a few dish towels, that had seen better days. “Here, dry off, and for Christ’s sake, go sit somewhere dry, mate.”

“I’m not welcome in most of those kinds of places anymore” said The Man, as he sat down under the eaves of the shop. It wasn’t dry on the ground, but he wasn’t being pelted by rain anymore. “Do you have any more juice?”

“I can’t, man; my boss will kill me for helping you this far, - you and your mates have been causing trouble around here, and I don’t wanna get my ass handed to me for helping!” Said Jerry, shaking his head. The Man sat there, tearing bites out of the stale bun. He nodded and looked resigned to the situation.

Jerry went inside and closed the door, leaving the light on out in the alley. He didn’t know why, the homeless that dossed there were used to living in the dark, and logically, a light left on wouldn’t help them much. He chuckled, humourlessly and went about closing up the rest of the kitchen.

Two nights later, as Jerry was taking garbage out to the dumpsters, he saw The Man again. He was in better shape this time, and had somehow gotten a proper shower, despite wearing the same shitty coat. His heart sank. Talking to him the other night had given the guy a place to go, and remember. Like a damned alley cat that you feed out of sympathy, he’ll keep coming back, he thought. Shit.

The Man nodded at Jerry, and looked expectantly at him before going around to the side of the dumpster and sitting down. Jerry mouthed a few curse words to the sky and went inside to get the guy a drink and something to eat.

The Man was scratching his arm, where it had been bleeding two nights before. He scratched at it furiously, in an effort to stop the wound from closing completely. The bugs under his skin were rampant today, and it felt like he’d be forced to hack open the other arm. The smells from the bakery wafted out through the back door, again reminding him of his mother’s kitchen.

Thinking of her should have been painful; she had died a few years ago, after he and his cohorts had taken over the family home, looking for somewhere to sleep. She’d been happy to see him alive, but was less impressed when he brought two of his friends into her home after they’d ‘scored’.

“Please get these men out of my house!” She’d begged. He didn’t see the harm. They just needed somewhere to crash for a few days. Then one day, she’d caught one of them stealing her jewellery. She’d known what was happening, things had been going missing almost the minute they entered the house. Her son wouldn’t have done it, surely? If he knew he’d have no part of it, she thought. Sandy, the wiry guy who never seemed to sleep, told her to relax, and that they were just borrowing her stuff for a few days. She walked downstairs to phone the police, but Sandy had followed her. He beat her and then ran from the house with the jewellery. It was too late to stop him, and too late for his mum, he reasoned, so he ran too.

Weeks later, she had died in hospital, he’d come out of his drug filled haze. He’d been sleeping on the city foreshore near the river. Heaps of tourists there, which meant heaps of money; whether they voluntarily gave it up or not; he’d seen and done too much to really worry about ruining his future. Stumbling back to the family home, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might not be there. His sister had moved in to his mother’s empty house, and promptly called the police when she saw him on the porch, peering through the windows. He had been back a few more times, the house sold and everyone had moved on. He couldn’t remember his sisters married name, so he guessed she was lost too.

Jerry came back outside with a cup of tea and a vegemite scroll, a fresh one. Screw it, he thought; might as well give it to him before it goes stale. The Man seemed lost; not deep in thought, but thinking nonetheless. He silently took the food and drink and ate it, slowly this time.

“You know, man – there is a shelter a couple of blocks away, get yourself fixed up with a bed, maybe get a job or something, you know?” He said, shyly – What was the etiquette with homeless people? The Man didn’t respond for a long time. Jerry didn’t say anything more. “You need to prove you want to change, get a letter of a job offer..” Said The Man, without looking at Jerry. Jerry shook his head and said “OK ok, well I can’t give you that, you know? Catch 22 eh? I can’t give you a job looking like that, and you can’t get cleaned up without a job..” Jerry started to feel sorry for the guy, wondering what his story was. Must be harder than I thought to get on your feet when you’ve hit rock bottom, he mused.

The Man turned to him and said “You know, I did have an OK life before; wife, kids, but I fucked it all up on drugs when I left my job” The Man pictured a scene in his head, attractive children running towards him, nice house in the suburbs. Just like a movie, but it wasn’t real. He peered at Jerry, who by now looked concerned and said “No one wants to give you a break when you get to this point, I guess I don’t even deserve one. Too much spare time rots your brain too.”

Jerry got up and walked back into the store. The Man sat there, scratching at his arm. It started to bleed again, the blood followed almost the same pattern as it had the other night, down his forearm and pooling in his palm. He hoped this wouldn’t go to waste later; it was a dull buzz, injecting into an open wound, but he reasoned that it got there in the end. He stood up, knocking over some glass bottles and waited at the door to the bakery for Jerry.

Inside, Jerry looked at the cash in his wallet. He wanted to get rid of the guy, but also be compassionate. $20? That should do it surely, he can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he thought. He knew the guy would be back if he gave him cash, but he didn’t know what else to do. Let the boss know, get the cops around to move him along, it would be out of his hands, right? At least he tried.

The Man left the bakery a few minutes later, with enough cash to go see his dealer. He forgot Jerry’s kindness as soon as he was back on the road, the monster taking over. Kindness was always given with conditions and this one was clearly a trick. He didn’t know who the fuck Jerry was, but something wasn’t feeling right. Fuck this guy.

Later, Jerry struggled towards the phone in the little back office, bleeding from the broken bottle cut that The Man had given him in response to his $20 gift.

Walking towards the park, where The Man had played as a child with his mother and sister, he spied Sandy and the dealer near some water fountains. Smiling, he strode up to them confident that he would soon be in oblivion; his pain dulling and his senses twisted and shot far away from himself and his thoughts. The bliss didn’t come as expected this time. Horror flashbacks of some poor man, injured and bleeding, screaming at him started running through his mind. The man was staggering towards him with his arms reached out, his white flour covered apron stained in blood.

The Man groaned in confusion and ran back towards the bakery. Colourful signs jumped out at him on the way, and the bloody, confused man hid behind every corner, screaming at the rising cacophony of the street noises in his head. Soon, he could smell the fragrant scent of baked bread as he almost crawled around the corner. Almost tearing his hair out, and scratching furiously at his arm, he looked for Jerry. Looked amongst the bloodstains and tore through the crime scene barrier tape.

Jerry was gone, but in his place were several people who did not seem happy to see him. They yelled at him to raise his hands above his head. Through the dizzying, flashing blue lights, he could still see that his hands were bloody, but wasn’t sure if it was his, or his nightmares. Confused, crying, he staggered towards the shouting men, to ask them what was happening. Then. He found oblivion.