Upon leaving the café of conscious capture, I presumed the adventure of the day was witnessing a young man snatch an old lady’s purse. He was a long way away, but I considered pursuit in justice, until I heard one of the street dwellers call out to the running young man. “Cullen! Cullen! Hey, Cullen!” the meek man’s voice shouted desperately, almost — and perhaps — as a father pleading. If he knows his name, the badged cleaning crew can polish the mess of the purse loving young man. The day’s excitement...so I thought.

Arriving at the location of my simple rented room, a squad car from the local cleaning authority was parked halfway in the street and the driveway with flashing lights spraying away. Standing back to survey the disconcerting scene, I noticed that my roommates were packing their belongings into their vehicles and their friends’ vehicles. It did not appear to be a crime scene. It seemed the most direct answer would come from addressing the source of the instructed chaos.

Approaching the officer, who was leaning casually against the car chatting with the pert perfectly physiqued and pocked faced Patrice, a simple question was presented: “What’s going on here?”

“Do you live here?” he demanded, his demeanor turning from hopefully flirtatious to badass behind a badge.

Based upon the tone, a chuckle was in order as answer.

“Well?” he immediately demanded, placing his palms on a couple of the shooting weapons attached to his waist.

Another chuckle was the answer, which was presumed to be a less escalating response than, “What, you’re going to shoot me?”

“He’s fine. Leave him alone, he just rents a room,” she giggled to Officer Quickdraw, who saw his magnanimous gesture of civility as a moment closer to Patrice’s crotch — he did not know Patrice.

“If she says you’re good. But you better get your stuff out of there, the house will be sealed in about an hour.”


“The bank says you’re trespassing, squatting.”

“Jimmy has a lease,” Patrice interrupted.

“Either way, you guys are out.”

There was little doubt Jimmy had papers, but there was also little doubt that the papers were bogus. Jimmy was squatting and collecting rent from the rest of us. Profitable gig. We suspected this was coming, the rumors having been in the air for some time.

“I’ll be out in 15,” the doer of decency informed Officer Quickdraw

“Can I use your phone?” I asked Patrice.


Having made a call and returned the phone to Patrice, I considered telling the officer that he smelled so perfectly like an officer, but advised the voice inside the menacing mind to move along. We needed to move out.

Standing about the simple room referred to as home, I wondered where all of life’s clutter had come from. I came with one small bag consisting of a work apron and a change of clothes...and some reading material. Now there is a room full of stuff. Pillows, sheets, mattresses, piles of reading material, clothes for every occasion, pencils, pens, cups, souvenirs and a whole lot of nothing. And this stuff is necessary why?

The sum of who one is exists within, absent the accoutrements we use to help the world define our presentation. The comforts of a fine mattress and superior sheets are enjoyable, but unnecessary to be present and purposeful in any moment. Accepting an upgrade from the plastic bag used to move into the room to a superior quality canvas bag, I stuffed everything figured important into the bag; picked up a couple of the better printed materials; grabbed the cash stash and a favorite pen and turned to head out the door, knowing that if I looked or scanned the room again I would find something that could not be left behind.

As she drove me to her house, some things had to be straightened out. A bed and room were not a necessity.

“I appreciate the kind generosity of your offering to allow me to reside next you and your moist chewy goodness.”

“What did you... I don’t mind, you’ve already been here.”

“No, I am not moving in with you.”


“If that is a problem, let me out here. I will be staying with you for a short period. If the opportunity presents itself, we will engage in things that shame us and shape our memory with incredible ecstasy, but I am not moving in, I am staying with you for a short period of time.”

“How long?”

“I could leave at any moment.”


“So you’re okay with this?”

“Does it make a difference?”

There was nothing left to say. I was semitransparent again, wondering if being a transient was not a better way to go. Of course, the chewy, sticky, moistness of this soft treat could not be fully enjoyed when being a transient, and enjoying tasty treats makes life’s bitterness worth enduring.

The urges are growing. What to do to savor this treat...to extract all of the tastiness...