I was on my way to the welfare office on Powell and Main. I got to the office only to find out that they close everyday at lunchtime.
I wish I knew this ahead of time.
I sat on the stairs in front of the office, smoking menthols and observing the happenings of the area. Crack addicts shuffled around while the heroin users littered the sidewalks, half asleep and harmless. I gazed at the trees which ran along the streets. Autumn was here. Trees remained bare as their leaves trickled down into storm ways, covering parked cars and sticking to stop signs.
I felt like the trees; I had nothing to offer. Cold and bare, I was an ornament. My existence complemented the ambience. I felt the stillness of apathy. The lack of motivation was eerie – I felt it crawl up from my stomach into my brain. Its voice was loud:fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.
By Dominic Haye
Dominic participates in Megaphone's community writing workshop.
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