“Excuse me sir, but do you have any spare change?” Jakob asked.

“Sorry, I haven’t any extra; I have to use what I have to get on the bus.”

“Thanks anyway,” replied Jakob. He went on.

“Excuse me sir, but do you have any spare change?” Jakob asked again.

“I left my wallet at home.”

“That’s alright,” replied Jakob. He went on.

“Excuse me sir, but do you have any spare change?” Jakob asked again.

“No.”

He went on.

“Excuse me sir, but do you have any spare change?” Jakob asked again.

“Excuse me sir, but do you have anything better to do than bug those of us who actually work for our money?”

Silently, Jakob went on. With his head hung low, he slowly began staggering back to the place he called home.

Jakob’s appearance was shoddy; he wore a white shirt that could have easily been mistaken for a different color and a pair of roughed up Levi’s that were a couple sizes too large. He used rope, fishing line, or whatever available to prevent them from falling. He was wrapped in a dingy blanket with minute blood stains, cut to mimic the effect of a serape. And he wore two different shoes, in two different sizes.

His body was tinged a soot-like black and his hands calloused with the hard work of survival. He wore a hand-knit hat to cover his greasy hair and a cross, a necklace if you will, draped around his neck. The unshaven face and the contours that lie upon it showed a man, tired and weak, a man of desperation. But his crystal blue eyes gave off a sense of determination and a will to live.

“Get a job you fucking bum!” A man shouted.

Jakob turned a corner, out of sight, and paced down an alley.

It was difficult for him to blend in, and as the days went by, it became even more-so. To avoid the judgments and the labels that people placed upon him, the assumptions that they made and the looks they gave him, it was almost impossible. He had learned when he was unwanted, when he was being looked down upon, when he was felt sorry for, and when people just didn’t care, he discerned each look individually.

Jakob exited the alley and began down a sidewalk. Keeping his head down and counting the endless cracks in the path before him, he went on.

He found that the sidewalk was the only thing in this world that understood him. And as sad as that sounded, he held it to be true; it was the only thing that reciprocated anything but a negative reaction to him. The worn out cement knew what it was like to be an afterthought, to be trampled upon, spat upon, and to be left alone, eroding with time. To him, this was home.

Just barely in his sight sat a box perfectly cornered next to an abandoned stoop. Old newspaper’s littered the ground beside the box and an empty, sad excuse for a shopping cart sat idle just a few feet away.

Jakob proceeded past the box and put a hand on the shopping cart. “You ready, George?” He said, “I didn’t have any luck today, so I guess that means we gotta go out again.” He put his other hand on the handle and began to push.

At first George refused to budge. His rear wheel locked up and he pivoted slightly, back and forth. “Come on, George. Don’t do this to me, not today. I’m not in the mood.” Jakob began to push harder. George remained unresponsive for a moment. Then, suddenly, he finally let up. In a jerk-like motion, Jakob began to stumble. Almost losing his balance, he managed to catch himself on George’s metal frame.

“Thank you, George.” Jakob began pushing once again. And after covering a distance of roughly ten feet George’s rear wheel locked up again. “DAMNIT!” Jakob said, “Come on man, you’ve had your fun!” Jakob violently kicked George’s rear wheel and with that the wheel gave its last turn and fell off.

Jakob sighed and drug George back the ten feet which they had traveled. “Thanks for nothing, man,” he said. He placed George next to his box, took a seat on the ground and began rifling through the day old news paper that littered the ground.

“Need a new shopping cart?” a voice said.

Jakob looked up from his newspapers and saw a young man, no older than seventeen, standing there. “Hm?” replied Jakob.

“The shopping cart,” the boy said, pointing at George “I think you might need a new one.”

“Oh, that. Yeah. I don’t think I can do that, that’s George. As far as friends go, I guess he’s about all I got,” Jakob said.

“Why is that?”

“Because no one likes me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m homeless.”

“Well, why are you homeless?” the boy said, walking a little closer, taking a seat on the stoop.

“I don’t know. It’s just how things worked out I guess.”

“Well why don’t you get a job and try getting a home?”

“You know, that’s what everyone asks me. And you know what? I don’t really have an answer; all I know is that this,” he motioned to his box, “is as close as I’ll get to a home.” Jakob paused a moment. “Why are you people always so interested anyway?”

“I don’t know; you just seem like an interesting person.”

“Well I’m not, so you might as well just stop wasting your time and go talk to someone else.”

“What if I got time to waste?”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jakob went back to his newspaper.

The two of them continued to sit there a while, neither communicated to the other. Not even a glance had been exchanged. By this time, the sun started to sink into the horizon and the sky had changed to an ominous, reddish-orange glow.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.” The boy said.

“What?” replied Jakob.

“You know, if the sky is red at night, or whatever, then the next day is supposed to be good…or at least a good day for sailors to go sailing. That’s what my mom told me.”

“Your mom sounds pretty wise,” Jakob said sarcastically, “But why do I care? I’m not a sailor.”

“I thought you might be interested.”

“Well you were wrong.”

Another few moments of silence passed by, the boy remained quiet. Looking at the sky, he disallowed his attention to be drawn elsewhere. But as the sun continued to hide itself behind the horizon and as the light became dim, the more disenchanted the boy became.

“Hey, you mind if I waste my time here again?” the boy said.

“I don’t mind. Just don’t bother me, I get enough of that in a day without your help,” said Jakob, turning his attention away from his papers and towards the boy.

“I think I can manage to do that.”

“Then if you want to waste your time, be my guest.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, I’ll see you soon then,” the boy stood up from his seated position on the stoop and leapt to the cement walkway below. He turned his attention from the ground to Jakob, “The name’s Stephen, but you can call me Steve if you’d like.”

Jakob, with his attention still on Steve, said, “Alright. I’ll see you around I guess.”

“You can bet your bottom dollar you will.” Jakob looked at Steve, scornful and unimpressed. “Sorry, I meant nothing by that.” Steve paused a moment and began prodding a pebble with his foot, “It’s just an expression, ya know? Kinda like the ‘red-sky-at-night’ thing.” He said apologetically.

Jakob stood up from the ground and turned his attention away from Steve, “I’ll just catch you later then?” said Steve. Jakob remained unresponsive and looked at the ever-fading horizon.

“See ya,” said Steve.

Steve turned his back on Jakob and began walking away. But just as he took his first few steps, Jakob spoke. “The name’s Jakob, boy. And you best remember it. Because if tomorrow ain’t a nice day you’re gonna have some explaining to do.” Steve smiled. Jakob returned the gesture with a smile of his own, and although it was slightly disjointed, it was a smile nonetheless.