THE ADVENTURES OF THE HOMELESS MESSIAH
STIGGY
THE NEXT MORNING, Fletcher crawled out of his tent feeling better than he had in a long time. He took a leak over by the retaining wall, stretched and made a quick sandwich. He took his knapsack with the copper tubing, slung it over his shoulder and vaulted over the wall.
He picked out a few more yellow milk crates from behind the warehouses in the alleyway and pitched them over the wall. He would use them later for steps, to make it easier to get over the wall.
The sun was peering through the clouds that morning as he headed down the alley towards the scrap yard. He decided to go to the yard on Mitchell Island, even though it was uphill on the way back.
The scrap dealer only gave him sixty-five dollars for his copper. He said they were burnished copper and weren’t worth as much, or some other bullshit. Fletcher tried to argue with him, but the scrap dealer said, “Take it or leave it,” so he had no choice.
“Stupid prick,” he cursed on the way out.
There was a little store on Mitchell Island run by a Korean guy who sold Native cigarettes. They were only five bucks a pack. He bought three packs and then walked up Fraser Street to the liquor store and bought a six-pack and a mickey of vodka.
He lit a smoke outside the liquor store, and drained one of the beers on the spot. He put the remaining five beers in his knapsack and went over to the Safeway. He bought a couple loaves of bread, a jar of mayonnaise, a large package of cold meat and some big tomatoes. He could make sandwiches for a week with that.
He still had ten dollars left and decided to save it for later.
He went back to the park and crawled into his tent. He drank the rest of the beer and half of the vodka. He passed out in the late afternoon. When he woke up, it was dark.
He had to take a powerful piss and went over to the retaining wall to relieve himself. He was also thirsty. A fountain in the middle fed the pond. He figured it must be feeding the pond fresh water, even though the pond was probably full of duck poop.
The water tasted okay, not too swampy, so he supposed it was all right. He grabbed an empty milk jug and filled it with water for later. Maybe he could run a pipe from the fountain he pondered as he munched on a couple cold meat sandwiches.
He went over the wall and rummaged around in the back of the warehouses. He didn’t find any plumbing pipe, but he found some pots and pans in a dumpster. He thought he might be able to make a small cooking fire. Nobody could see it inside his woods.
He went on a tour of the neighborhood and picked through people’s recycling boxes in the alleys. He loaded up his shopping cart with empty cans and bottles. On the other side of the park there was a construction site surrounded by a blue safety fence. He spied some long tubes of plastic plumbing pipe.
There was a security guard watching over the construction site. He was an older East Indian man with a long white beard and a pink turban. Fletcher waited till the security guard walked around to the other side of the construction site. As soon as he was around the corner, Fletcher walked along the fence until he found an opening and slithered underneath.
He seized a couple long tubes of plumbing pipe and chucked them over the fence. He spied a big tarp. He took that too and heaved it over. He crawled back under the fence and dragged the tarp and the two plumbing pipes across the street to his shopping cart. He wheeled it away before the guard came around again.
He threw all his loot over the retaining wall in the alleyway and climbed over just in time to see a couple raccoons scurrying away. They had gotten into his food and ate all his bread and cold meat!
“Little bastards!” He yelled and ran after them. They scurried along the retaining wall past the pond and disappeared into the park. He cursed and threw a stick after them. His food was ruined. He cursed and kicked uselessly at the pieces of half-eaten bread.
It was starting to rain.
He sat down to fume and smoke for a bit. When he was calm he pulled out the tarp. He dug some rope out of his pile of assorted gear. He ran the rope across the clearing and joined it to two trees. Then he slung the tarp over the rope to make a big covering over his one-man tent.
The rain was really coming down hard now. He was hungry and angry because the raccoons ate his dinner. He still had the tomatoes, so he ate them with a couple cans of salmon. He washed it all down with the rest of the vodka and fell asleep.
He woke rudely sometime later to the roar of the rain on the tarp above his head and realized he was sleeping in a large puddle of water. Even with the tarp to cover him, the rain had seeped into his sleeping bag and inside his tent.
He dragged himself out of the tent and went outside the woods to the retaining wall. The ground was drier back there, so he yanked the tarp off the rope and hung it over the retaining wall. He stripped out of all his clothes. Luckily, he still had a garbage bag full of dry clothes and blankets.
He quickly changed and wrapped the blankets around himself and huddled up against the wall. He was shivering nonstop and started coughing. He hacked up some phlegm and spat it out. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands and smoked to warm himself up.
He was still groggy from the vodka and slowly fell asleep huddled against the wall.
When he awoke, the sun was just coming up. He was slumped over. He sat up and stared off into space for a long time. Then he abruptly got up and climbed over the wall. He rummaged around behind the warehouses and found a stack of wooden pallets.
He took four of them, one by one, and pushed them up and over the wall. He carried them into the clearing and laid them out in a square to make a floor. He went back over the wall. He had seen some plywood earlier. He dragged a couple four by eight-foot sheets back to the wall and heaved them over.
He laid them down on top of the pallets and they fit perfectly making an eight-foot by eight-foot square.
He stood with his hands on his hips looking at his new floor, feeling quite pleased with himself. It had stopped raining, so he hung his sleeping bag over a tree branch to dry. He was going to hang up his wet clothes, but when he picked them up, he realized they reeked, so he threw them in behind the bushes.
Fletcher dragged the tarp off the wall and pulled it back into his clearing. This time he used two pieces of rope and hung them up eight feet apart. He put the tarp over top and he now had a square roof that fit right over top of his new wooden floor.
He was hungry now from all his effort, but he was sick of salmon. He still had ten dollars left. A walk over to Safeway would be worth it. He had enough for three cans of Campbell’s Chunky Soup. He went to the self-serve checkout to avoid the dirty looks from the cashiers.
He lit a smoke walking up Main Street. He spied Stiggy with his crew of losers on the other side of the street. What the hell are they doing down here, he thought. He walked across the street making a beeline for Stiggy.
“Hey Stiggy, you little shit,” he clenched the cigarette between his teeth.
Stiggy looked at him with a malicious smile and his crew closed in around him.
“Fletch, what’s up man?” He mocked him.
“What the hell did you tell Burke?” Fletcher demanded.
“Hey, relax, you’re getting bent over nothing Fletch.” Stiggy smiled derisively. “I got Burke covered, don’t worry about it.”
Fletcher stepped forward. Immediately two of Stiggy’s pals pushed forward and stood face to face with him.
“Don’t you screw me around Stiggy, or I’ll kick your ass,” Fletcher warned.
“Oh, is that right, Fletch?” Stiggy whined. One of the goofs grabbed Fletcher’s arm and pushed him back.
“Get your hands off me!” Fletcher pushed him back hard. The other goof reached over and punched him right in the head. Fletcher saw red. He swung his knapsack with the Campbell’s Chunky Soup cans and smashed it right across the face of goof number one who went down, holding his face.
They were shocked. It took a while for them to react. Fletcher took advantage of the pause and swung his knapsack again, this time at Stiggy. The knapsack caught him square on the shoulder.
“You’re a dead man, Fletch!” Stiggy clutched his shoulder.
They tried to seize him, but Fletcher kept swinging his knapsack and they backed off. Fletcher turned and walked away, with Stiggy screaming after him.
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you piece of shit!” Stiggy shrieked like a girl.
Fletcher crossed the street and headed back to the park. Suddenly he started laughing, thinking about hitting Stiggy’s pal across the face with the soup cans.
“Ha-ha! Stiggy you little shit!” He laughed some more and swung his knapsack, imitating himself hitting Stiggy.
He lit a smoke to celebrate.
***
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