Davey strolled out of the Texas Electric building into the Texas heat. He flipped up the collar of his salmon polo, and wished his office had jorts day as opposed to jeans Friday. He slipped on his shades, slung his backpack over his left shoulder and headed to the parking garage.
“Spare some change?”
Davey glanced at the dirty hand that emerged from a mound of dirty scraps of clothing. “No.” The smell of sweat and urine wafted. “And take a shower.”
Davey turned. “Hey, asshole, I work. Why don’t you spend less time on your ass?” He turned and took a few steps away.
He turned back.
“And another thing. I don’t care about whatever sad sack tale you tell people. We all got troubles.” He thought about losing both parents when he was eight, and the burn marks on his legs from the cigar of foster dad number three.
He walked away again.
Not for long.
He stepped back, looming over the homeless man who scurried into a corner. “You’re a damn leech is what you are. Trying to bleed out a living on working people. They should just put your ass in jail.”
He spat at the man and turned away.
Images of foster dad number three kicking a bum in the teeth when he was eleven flashed through his brain. He hated that man. A tinge of guilt fluttered through Davey and he turned back. “I’m…”
His vision blacked out as pain shot through the back of his head. He staggered forward and looked around before another blow knocked him to the ground.
He rolled over, but vomited what was left of his sushi lunch when the steel toe landed in his gut.
He reached down to cover his stomach. His ribs cracked under the next impact.
Davey tried to curl up, protect what he could, but the blows continued. Loud sounds and the smell of urine broke through the haze, but he couldn’t focus.
He needed it to stop.
He raised his head to beg, but the boot found his temple.
A soundless “…sorry” rested on his lips forever.