12-04-2014, 12:16 PM
He felt relieved that Aria was willing to help. Finding the girl was going to be tough even with his knowledge places a street kid might go. Bottom line was, if she didn't want to be found, very likely she wouldn't- at least not any time soon.
They stopped by her place and she weaponed up. He smiled. He guessed she couldn't have gone to church like that, after all, sword and gun in hand. Especially not into the confessional.
The next few hours saw him following her take a winding path through the streets and alleys and back ways. Sometimes they had to backtrack. She tried to explain what she was following but in the end, it wasn't something he really got. All that mattered was that, as he expected, she was honing in on a area that was familiar to him.
Soup kitchens, shelters, missions and outreach programs scattered around run down parks and run down apartment buildings, off ramps, tunnels, and liquor stores. The streets weren't full but enough people milled about, especially in the afternoon sun, a mixture of ages and races. Some were leaned over, speaking to those in stopped cars, others huddled with their old-style wallets texting or listening to music or surfing, while others skateboarded, smoked, or talked. A handful of scores were visible during their walk, for the legal knock-off stuff to the much more experimental and deadly kind.
It was cold and people well bundled up well, but despite that and wet and slush, the smell of garbage and decay was in the air. He remembered the frigid Moscow winters all too well, his heavy coat and socks and boots saving him from the worst of it, as he'd huddle under an overpass or, if the group was friendly, standing and warming his hands next to an oil-can fire. Maybe in an alley on a piece of cardboard against a wall, always aching, jonesing for his next fix. They passed an alley and he saw a few huddled people- tweakheads mostly, coming down, it looked like, from their twitching.
The smells brought it all back, the cold, the fear, the uncertainty. It was a jungle and you had to survive. That was the stone cold truth. 20 minutes in the car with a john was worth it for the warmth of the heater. Sometimes they even gave you fast food, or at least their fries. After days without more than scraps- the soup kitchens and shelters were always maxed out and it was a lottery to see who had a warm meal and bed that night- the salty greasy taste of the food on your lips and tongue, the feel of warmth in your stomach, nostrils filled with the aroma...well, there were highs and there were highs. And that was one that was worth the time- at least it had been.
Aria paused and he looked around, a couple of apartment buildings next to a gas station and a vet office. She told him to tell her if he had an idea about her destination.
"She was hurt pretty bad. More than likely, if she came to this place, it was to hit up the vet."
At her look he explained. "Hospitals need money and papers. Free clinics are always full up. And their's the trail which some of these kids try to avoid. So for a small price, a vet- more usually his assistant- will work off hours, under the table, and patch up these kids. It's not the cleanest and safest place, but for kids like us, they were a lifeline."
The gash in his arm from that fight with a coked up junkie for a piece of bread had required eight stitches. Had cleaned out his stash, too, since he'd already spent his money. "If she's hurt, she'll be around here, waiting for night."
"Lead the way, Aria."
Edited by Lucas, Dec 4 2014, 12:22 PM.
They stopped by her place and she weaponed up. He smiled. He guessed she couldn't have gone to church like that, after all, sword and gun in hand. Especially not into the confessional.
The next few hours saw him following her take a winding path through the streets and alleys and back ways. Sometimes they had to backtrack. She tried to explain what she was following but in the end, it wasn't something he really got. All that mattered was that, as he expected, she was honing in on a area that was familiar to him.
Soup kitchens, shelters, missions and outreach programs scattered around run down parks and run down apartment buildings, off ramps, tunnels, and liquor stores. The streets weren't full but enough people milled about, especially in the afternoon sun, a mixture of ages and races. Some were leaned over, speaking to those in stopped cars, others huddled with their old-style wallets texting or listening to music or surfing, while others skateboarded, smoked, or talked. A handful of scores were visible during their walk, for the legal knock-off stuff to the much more experimental and deadly kind.
It was cold and people well bundled up well, but despite that and wet and slush, the smell of garbage and decay was in the air. He remembered the frigid Moscow winters all too well, his heavy coat and socks and boots saving him from the worst of it, as he'd huddle under an overpass or, if the group was friendly, standing and warming his hands next to an oil-can fire. Maybe in an alley on a piece of cardboard against a wall, always aching, jonesing for his next fix. They passed an alley and he saw a few huddled people- tweakheads mostly, coming down, it looked like, from their twitching.
The smells brought it all back, the cold, the fear, the uncertainty. It was a jungle and you had to survive. That was the stone cold truth. 20 minutes in the car with a john was worth it for the warmth of the heater. Sometimes they even gave you fast food, or at least their fries. After days without more than scraps- the soup kitchens and shelters were always maxed out and it was a lottery to see who had a warm meal and bed that night- the salty greasy taste of the food on your lips and tongue, the feel of warmth in your stomach, nostrils filled with the aroma...well, there were highs and there were highs. And that was one that was worth the time- at least it had been.
Aria paused and he looked around, a couple of apartment buildings next to a gas station and a vet office. She told him to tell her if he had an idea about her destination.
"She was hurt pretty bad. More than likely, if she came to this place, it was to hit up the vet."
At her look he explained. "Hospitals need money and papers. Free clinics are always full up. And their's the trail which some of these kids try to avoid. So for a small price, a vet- more usually his assistant- will work off hours, under the table, and patch up these kids. It's not the cleanest and safest place, but for kids like us, they were a lifeline."
The gash in his arm from that fight with a coked up junkie for a piece of bread had required eight stitches. Had cleaned out his stash, too, since he'd already spent his money. "If she's hurt, she'll be around here, waiting for night."
"Lead the way, Aria."
Edited by Lucas, Dec 4 2014, 12:22 PM.