Voices – Page 24
“Where’d you get money for pizza, anyway?” Brian asked. They were sitting on the curb in the warm, early-September sun, eating and watching the Manhattan crowds wander by.
“Well, while some people were sleeping, I was up looking for change. A girl with nice eyes can do pretty well for herself, if she’s willing to occasionally be mistaken for a prostitute and propositioned.”
“At ten o’clock in the morning?”
“What, you think people are only interested in fucking after dark?”
Brian laughed, nearly choked on a bite of pizza, spit it out, and doubled over coughing.
“Gross,” Jen said.
Brian wheezed. “Better I gross you out than choke to death on the street.”
Jen shrugged, smiled, ate her pizza. Brian took a drink from his soda can. He looked at Jen, then out at the city.
“We don’t belong here,” he said at last.
“Nope.”
“We’re smart, and young, and healthy… there’s no reason for us to be living in a subway. It’s crazy.”
“Yup.”
“This pizza’s the first hot meal I’ve had in weeks. Usually I end up having to shoplift stuff just to avoid trash-picking.”
“I usually just go trash-picking. Shoplifting means running, and I smoke too much for that. The booze is the important part. Long as I cover that, food is just a bonus.”
“You ever gonna tell me why you’re here, Jen?” Brian asked.
“Sure. You first, though.”
Brian rolled his eyes, and Jen laughed. “Fuck it, Brian. What was it you said? ‘I have my reasons,’ right?”
“You ever wonder if you’re going to do this for the rest of your life, Jen? Live like this, I mean?”
“Nope.”
“Not at all?”
“I don’t wonder. I know. This is my life, Brian. It won’t last long, so I’m not worried about it. I’ll drink myself to death sooner or later. Or maybe overdose. Milligan knows some guys who deal. I’ve always wanted to try. I bet it’d make sleeping real easy.”
“Don’t fucking talk like that. That’s not funny.”
Jen glanced over at him. “I’m not joking,” she said after a minute. “Sorry, Brian. I don’t have anything left to hope for.”
“There’s always something left to hope for.” Brian finished his pizza, leaned over, and tossed the greasy plate into the trash.
Jen made a noncommittal noise.
“I’m serious, Jen.” Brian said.
“Do you want the rest of this? I can’t finish it.”
“Jen…”
“Come on, man. I’ve had enough of the intervention shit, okay? I already did that, earlier this week. We’re a pair of fucking bums. Who cares? Do you want this pizza?”
“No.”
“Fine, fuck it.” Jen tossed it in the trash, lit a cigarette, stared out at the traffic, smoking and looking frustrated.
“I don’t get you, Jen,” Brian said after a time. Jen sighed.
“I don’t get myself,” she said.
