Our Fine City by Joel Longcoy
This is an excerpt from a manuscript that will be published on Joel's Publishing Company Premortem Press. You can hear him speak this words with backing track provided by Mark from But It's Fine Records
It was still light out, middle of the accursed day; now the light was fading from Our Fine City and my body began to remind me that it had been a few solid hours since I had eaten anything. I started to put out eyes and psychic feelers as it were, hoping to find something in the way of un- or halfeaten foodstuffs. There is an art to this that takes some time and some real hunger to figure out. You can't rely on having the coin for vittles, at least not on a regular basis. The market is prone to fluctuations, as is a person's luck, and as such it becomes necessary to find some other means of acquisition. In Our Fine City, the Powers That Be put large stock into the cleanliness of the place, which means that there is a trash can on nearly every fucking corner. These can be a seasoned street rat's treasure trove. Most of it of course is fucking garbage, but with patience and a certain amount of skill, a body can live on trashfood. You have to be careful, look for clues from the other trash. A piece of knowledge that is more important than it may at first seem is: the closer it is to the bottom, the longer it has been in there. Many disappointments can be averted by bearing this in mind and training oneself to become accustomed to only to digging thru to a certain point. It is better to wait for a decent catch than hastily grabbing something that has been accruing bacteria and viruses for an unknown length of time—Unless the food is sitting on top, only venture closed containers.--you never know what else could have made its way into an open box; know what your body can handle; if something would fuck you up fresh, don't eat it out of the trash; pizza boxes are usually empty, but always worth checking Mostly it's instinctual. And everyone breaks their own rules when they're hungry enough. Always be willing to break your own rules. Sometimes simply not being hungry is worth puking into the gutter later. Sometimes.
You can ask for food, of course. Sometimes you come across someone with a little bit extra, but not many people have more than they seem to need, nowadays. Begging alms is no longer a profitable profession. Once in a while tho you find a kind soul, or at least a full stomach, an increasing rarity. There are a few signs that are pretty easy to pick up on. The amount of food, if you can tell, is one of the clearest tells. Someone carrying a full whitebox is not a mark; napkin/utensils on the top of the box means you are probably looking at the wrong person. There are other giveaways, subtler tells that can let you know: if there is more than one person and they are not talking to each other, carrying food, chances are they're no good. A pair that is behaving a little more leisurely is generally a better sign. Look at what they are wearing. The time of day matters, too. It is a good idea to get used to eating a bit later than those privileged enough to be able to pay for their own food. You start seeing a bunch of fuckers walking around with food in their hands in the middle of the day, chances are it's sometime in that 90-120 minute area designated the Nearly Universal Lunchtime. You get used to eating after them, you have a better chance of being able to mop up what the Others were unable to finish. Age is another tell. Seems there is a certain grouping more likely to part with their food than others. Too old and you're not likely to see them carrying food out 'n' about—too young and you almost inevitably get the I'm-hungry-too-motherfucker type look. It takes a fair amount of practice, and even with that it can be hard to find the right person, they are growing increasingly rare.
Once in a great while, the right person will find you. It's almost impossible to tell when or where, until their eyes lock onto you. Sometimes they redirect their course slightly, or lift the whitebox just a few inches higher, sometimes there is no giveaway until the last moment when they damn-near inevitably say, “Are you hungry?” or “Do you want this?” Those kind words!--those sweet syllables are honey to the ears, a balm to the soul. It is impossible, or just about, not to smile when you hear them, especially from a stranger. It is the gentlest possible reminder that you and these Others belong to the same species and that that might mean something. They recognize in that instant that food is not a comfort, but a biological necessity and have decided to take it upon themselves to try to help a fellow Sentient—a fellow Human!--survive just a little bit longer. Not many people in Our Fine City have excess,so the offering almost always comes with some sacrifice. In these rare occasions the most that I can hope is that during the exchange, as I reach to take the food from the Stranger, some of the gratitude that I feel is received by the offerer. Words often fall short of the truth of the magnitude of the gesture, but godfuckingdamn does it feel good to smile, meet eyes with the Stranger and accept the gift.
Joel- is a writer,poet and the founder of Premortem Press a publishing company that seeks to help give authors a voice who wouldn't get one otherwise.