Boys in Gilded Cages by Jarod Powell

life. Instead, he had the
final migraine of his long, murky, uninspiring life.
    His insides sat in Chester the Molester’s
yard, pieces of it stuck to the living room carpet, the kitchen
floor, splattered in the bath tub.
    When our boy came to, he just left. He
didn’t ride his bike home, he walked it under highway hypnosis. He
never told anybody, and didn’t even remember after a short period
of time, and in fact forgot most faces, names and occurrences. He
started over. He just lived the kind of repressed life one would
expect until adulthood, a tiny voice inside of him futilely
refusing to be victimized any more, but of course he was always
held hostage.
    HOMELESS MAN FROM HAWTHORN FINDS A KINDRED
SPIRIT ON NORTH CAHUENGA BLVD. AND PROSELYTIZES ABOUT WHAT EVE
DONE
     
    
 Don’t worry, Mister. I
know better than to ask you for change. You ain’t that generous.
You know how I know? Your suit is too clean. Your tight wallet
tells on you. People that spend money don’t have it. You ever
notice that? What do you do with that suit around here? You ain’t
got no briefcase, but I bet you own a shiny, leather one that you
carry around everywhere that you want to be seen. I know you ain’t
on no business trip out here, and there ain’t no job to go to,
especially on this bus route. What’s the matter, didn’t want to
dirty up your rental? Are the girls too wild downtown? Gotta come
to The Valley for the cleaner fun? They’re all professionals,
Mister. Don’t matter, I suppose. I can smell your aftershave from
here and I ain’t that close. Smells real nice. What are you tryin’
to cover up? I know you can smell me. You know what that smell is?
It’s what life’s shit smells like. It’s all over me.
    Don’t give me that look, Mister, you’d be
surprised at how easy you can fall out the tower. Sounds like
somethin’ you heard in a movie, don’t it? Well, it’s the truth,
cliché or no cliché. You wouldn’t be kind
    enough to let me use your Sunset Marquis
shower, would ya’? Didn’t think so. I stayed there once. Spent all
my money in one night, and been homeless ever since. Hey. I made a
joke and you didn’t even hear it. Stop pretending you don’t hear
me. You look nervous. You’d probably like nothing more than for me
to remove my gut from behind your hundred-dollar haircut. I’m
standing right here, Dapper Dan. I’m not moving. It’s a free
country, in case you’ve been in that high-rise cocoon for too long.
Why are you reading the New York Times, Dapper Dan? Don’t try to
act like your hometown paper is so much better than ours. New York
is your hometown, right? Yeah, right. How are my strapped brethren
on the East, my strapping brother?
    You wouldn’t know. You’re probably from some
po-dunk snow globe, fuckin’ Denver or something. I went there once.
Real nice place to raise a trust-fund baby. How many of those you
got now, Dapper Dan? How many you plannin’ for? You gotta send them
all to college, you know. Just keep ‘em in Colorado, Danny
    boy. Bring ‘em out here and they’ll end up
with water balloon-titties and a face only a beach bum could love.
You may as well look me in the eye, Dan. I’m not talking crazy and
I know you’re listening. You can’t dismiss me like that, you
no-good pretty princess. You ain’t careful, you just might learn
what that Vanderbilt-wannabe slag you call a mother couldn’t pay
for you to learn. I’m sorry, fella’. Your mother is probably a
lovely woman. As lovely as they get over there, anyway. You ain’t
listenin’, and I’m wastin’ my time obviously, so I’ll just leave
you with this and let you get to pretending to read the paper.
    Okay?
    Look to your left. That’s the Acting
Conservatory over there, on North Cahuenga, past the mechanic’s
shop. See it? There’s at least one rich actor in there at any given
moment, and he got in for free. All of
    the little Mexican girls had to pay a
thousand dollars, and they don’t have it. Can