Dusty

He sat there. He blinked once or twice. Yes, he decided, yes, this house was absolutely incredible. I mean, how many houses really have gold lining the stairway? And the upper floors… both of them! The house was three stories tall. A broad, golden chandelier hung proud and sturdy from the roof. And the balcony… wow. That blew Dusty’s mind. It had to be at least seven feet across, and five feet forward, or so it seemed to Dusty. Yeah, this place was amazing. And yeah, the other hobo’s all agreed it was the finest box ever constructed.

Staring at it now, in the black of night, reminded him of how he had felt when he first laid eyes on it. But now there was a new feeling. The feeling, it turned out, was a heavy sort of dread. And fear, due to the fact that his box was currently on fire, and without a box, he was set to take another harsh…. well, at times occasionally cold San Antonio winter, with absolutely no shelter. Oh well, he thought. At least he could always rub his hands together really fast. Plus, he could also build a coat made merely out of the Styrofoam cups that people are always throwing alongside the road. However, he did fear the latter of those two things, because Mother Nature might smite him for making a non-biodegradable fashion statement.

In vain, he spit at the raging inferno that was claiming his beautiful box as a victim to its gruesome hunger. Accomplishing nothing on the first try, he spit again. The second time, however, was not just spit. It was one of those moist, snot filled, mucus loaded loogies. The fire cackled and then let out a strangling hiss. Well, maybe the fire doesn’t like being spit at… I know I certainly wouldn’t, he thought. Dusty shrugged, blinked, and started walking toward the interstate, his “Will work for food, will trade food for beer” sign tucked under his left arm, and a copper can in his right hand.

The cars zipped by, most of them swerving madly around and darting in between lanes. They were all going from place A to place C, nearly avoiding a deadly rollover accident at place B. Dusty idly wondered why people who are lucky enough to own cars are so stupid as to be reckless with them. Ho Hum, he said to himself. And with that, he dropped the subject from his mind, and raised his sign up towards the rush of oncoming traffic. Clang. Dusty smiled… the sound of change landing in his can.

He kept at it for a handful of hours, thanking people, waving hand gestures at people, and triumphantly capturing a bird after an almost hour long chase. Of course, he let the bird go, however many schoolchildren did find this scene to be quite amusing. The sun soon waned in the sky and dipped below the horizon. Dusty picked up his belongings and retreated below the bridge for the night.

“Five dollars and twenty six cents.” he proclaimed proudly as he counted his money in the gentle yellow illumination of a street light that was planted on top of the bridge. It was his biggest catch in weeks. He felt as if he owned the world. The simple things, he thought contently, the simple things are the things that matter. Here a dime, here a nickel, Dusty never realized this before he was homeless, but these things really do add up.

“Dusty?” the man said flatly. Dusty grumbled for a few seconds before dozing off again. The man reached a hand to Dusty’s shoulder and shook him a few times. “Dusty… Dusty Nubbins? We have an offer for you.”

“Hmph.” Dusty rubbed his eyes wearily, and upon opening them was forced to raise a hand to shield them from the sun. “What do you want?”

“I’m Jake Abigail.” He extended a hand, but pulled it back seeing it was a pointless move. “I’m with the Homes for Hobos Foundation… we want to build you a home.”

“Sure you’re not one of them mean Jackson family hobos from down on Broadway?”

“Pretty sure,” the man said, “Your brother, Ronald Nubbins, entered you in this contest a few months back. We drew your name two days ago. We were quick in tracking you down, thanks to some helpful advice from the fire department who was summoned for a… err… box fire.”

“It was Light Co.’s fault! The flame jumped!”

“Yes,” the man said, “that is precisely what the fire department said. Now I have a car waiting around the corner. If you’d come with me I’ll slip you the details of your soon-to-be residence.”

“Sue them,” Dusty said slowly, “That’s what I’ll do! I’ll get the guy that defended O.J! No! The one who worked for Bush!” He leaped to his feet.

“Right… you’re home is two stories. The design is nice. Let’s go discuss carpeting.”

“Light Co. will be six feet under by the time they say farewell to Dusty Nubbins!” he ranted. Jake Abigail seized Dusty’s wrist and began to yank him onto the sidewalk. “Watch out Corporate America! Dusty’s coming to town!”

“Shut up, quack!” somebody hissed from inside their car.

It had been a while since Dusty had been inside a car. This one happened to be an S.U.V, similar to the one Dusty had owned before the bubble burst. Pokemon Cards, Dusty chuckled, Well I guess no industry can last forever.

“So is this for real?” Dusty asked.

“Authentic, genuine, on the level. It’s as real as real can be, with the given that you accept the fact that real exists in only one dimension and therefor does have a limit of how real any given thing can actually be.”

“Light Co. is going down.” Dusty said plainly.

They arrived quickly at the office complex which housed the Homes for Hobos Foundation. It was a gorgeous office, fit for a king. The chairs had a lush crimson velvet padding. And the dark oak desk, which loomed in front of Dusty, was like something you’d see in a rich man’s garage sale.

“How can you afford an office like this?” he inquired.

“This is the waiting room.” Jake said with a laugh.

“There’s more?” Dusty exclaimed.

“Five more room.” Jake chuckled. Dusty fainted.

Dusty awoke on a couch. He quickly caught his breath and reached to wipe what he figured was sweat off of his forehead. However, he soon found out that somebody had equipped him with an ice pack. “God,” Dusty spoke softly to himself, “No wonder these people can afford to build homes left and right.” He sat up, letting the ice pack fall to the floor.

“This way.” Jake said, taking Dusty’s wrist and pulling him to his feet. They walked down a hallway painted tan and covered in prints of famous paintings. Dusty’s head was hung low, his vision still off-center a little and his mind still numb from passing out. Jake led Dusty into a room near the end of the hallway; it was decorated much plainer than the other rooms and was filled with papers and posters and pictures of poor people. Jake reached to the floor, picking up a laminated poster.

“This is what your house will look like, Mr. Nubbins.” He said with an eager smile. Dusty looked for a second, and then looked at Jake.

“Thank you,” Dusty said somberly, “It... it’s beautiful.” He smiled. And it was. The house was two stories tall. Auburn red pain on the wood outside, with silver lined windows, and a slowly slanting roof. There was even an address on the curb – 3248 Rozen Road. It was then Dusty took notice of the text on the bottom; 2 bathrooms, 5 bedrooms. Dusty chuckled, his heart beating just slightly faster. “Thank you.” He said again.

“We’ve also lined up for you to meet one of the city’s best employment agents. What exactly do... did you do? Do you have a degree?”

“I thought up the humorous quotes that went on the bottom of the Pokemon cards... below the pictures. I have a masters degree in Modern Literature.”

“Ahh, so you’re an English major?” Jake half-grinned. “So were three out of our last six winners, two were IT professionals, and one was very talented at spitting on cars from overpasses.” Dusty laughed, his eyes showing a flicker of excitement.

“Anyway, follow me to where you’ll be sleeping for the next three weeks, until the house is finished. It’s nearly done, and we’ll be taking you out to see the site tomorrow.”

The room Dusty had was nice; it was kind of like a dormitory. He had no clue where it was, because he had napped in the car. The blinds were twisted and pulled down over the grimy window, but the bed was comfortable and the sheets were lukewarm having had been washed and dried minutes before his arrival. He sat on a chair that faced the bed, and thought for a few seconds. Running a hand through his grungy hair, he watched as a few leaves and rocks tumbled down. A shower, he decided, would be in the best interests of everybody alive.

He found a change of clothes – a pair of bargain pajamas, waiting for him in the bathroom. After showering and changing, he yawned, suddenly realizing his eyes were heavy and his mind was tired. He laid himself down in the bed, the springs creaking softly, and then pulled the sheets over him. Rolling sideways, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

There was a knocking on the thin door, which had paint peeling off in every direction. Dusty lay still, breathing calmly, his eyelids sunk heavily over his eyes. Jake knocked again.

“Dusty! Dusty wake up! It’s eleven o’clock!” he shouted. Dusty hissed and threw a mean punch into the air.

“Shut up!” he yelled. The knocking continued, quickly rising as if it were in an eager crescendo. It became a cruel pounding. Dusty sighed and jumped out of bed. “Shut up!” he screamed, and then unlatched and pulled open the door. “What?” he begged; spit flying out of his mouth and onto Jake’s forehead.

“We... wanted to take you to the site.”

“What site?’

Jake’s face twisted into a mixture of dumbfounded and startled. “The site where your house is being built, it’s pretty far along, so you can get a good idea...” he trailed off.

Dusty stepped out in the early afternoon sunlight. “Let’s go!” he said excitedly.

“Want to change out of your pajamas, first?” Jake laughed softly. Dusty thought for a second, and then shook his head and began towards the S.U.V parked by the curb. Jake shook his head and laughed some more, then walked down the sidewalk and towards the car.

The drive was short, no more than fifteen minutes. Dusty’s breathing was a bit off pace as he stepped out of the car and first looked forward. There it was. It looked done on the outside, the paint was crisp and fresh, the roof had a gentle slope, and the curb – 3248. A faint smile, and still a smile that said it all, grew on Dusty’s face. He nodded with a half hearted interested as he looked at the grass… recently planted, and the garage door – painted gray.

“Thank you.” He mumbled.

“To your liking?” Jake asked with a broad oafish grin.

“Yes… yes it certainly is.”

Their next stop for the day was the Johnson Employment Agency. They stepped through the large double doors into a wide room with glass statues and other knickknacks tossed around on every table. Finally Dusty was seated in a room, with a man named George Johnson on the chair behind the desk in front of him.

“Umm... hi.” Dusty said nervously.

“What are your qualifications?” George’s voice shot through Dusty, getting straight to the point. Dust fidgeted awkwardly in his chair and wiped his quickly dampening palms on his pants. “Sir... Mr. Nubbins, what qualifications do you have?”

“I...” Dusty’s left eye twitched, “I am a quick thinker... and I can see a picture and within a second a funny caption will pop into my head! Like that painting!” He pointed a shaky finger at a duplicate Picasso hung behind the desk. “I see that and I think The Revenge of the Paint Splatters!” Dusty chuckled. George Johnson shuffled through a manila folder for a moment. “Jack in the box.” George said tiredly. Dusty’s eyes widened.

“Manager?” Dusty asked eagerly. George looked at him for a second and a crooked sort of smile crept onto his face. “No,” he began, “Son, you’ll be cleaning the tables and emptying the trash cans. It will be minimum wage. After you show that you’re a hard worker you will be given a higher responsibility job.” Dusty sighed and nodded looking quite crestfallen. “And by the way, I spent a total of two hundred dollars on those stupid Pokemon cards for my son.”

“Sorry.”

It was cold outside, but the heat was thoroughly cranked up inside Dusty’s room. He would begin his new job in three days, and his house would be done in less than a month. He didn’t sleep much that night; a million thoughts ran around his baffled mind. Bills, he thought, responsibility. He sat on his bed, staring towards the light fixture for until the sun rose. His eyes were heavy when Jake began to pound on the door, but Dusty was quick to open it, already dressed.

“Let’s go! We’re going out to a few places today.” Jake said perkily. Dusty mumbled a few words and stepped out into the early morning light. They made their way into the car and were quickly on their way.

“So Dusty, it would show great initiative for you to find a second job on your own. The more you pay on the monthly payments the better off you’ll look.”

“A second job?!” Dusty shouted. “First I have to bare the heavy load of responsibility of a janitorial position… janitors do more work than anybody else on this planet! Now you’re telling me I have to have a second job… you’re nuts.”

“It’d look good, and if you’re still a janitor when the support money stops then you could quickly be on welfare.” Dusty’s fingers began to shake, his leg began to bounce. In a swift gesture his hand reached for the door handle. He leaped out of the car and hit the ground running… then walking… then yelling as he rolled down a steep hill. The pressure, Dusty thought frantically as he stabled himself and stood up, it’s just not worth it. He brushed himself off and started heading down the side of the road.

“Mommy, it’s a bum!” a kid shouted from his parked car. Dusty heard the mom say, “Don’t look at him, he might ask for money.”

Dusty stepped under the bridge and glanced around. The can was still there, as was a small area of windblown ashes. The usual graffiti remained, and had in fact been added to. He sat himself down at the bottom of the slope, looking towards the rush of incoming traffic. People glanced idly out of their car windows as Dusty raised the can. It never really got quite filled with money, however it was all Dusty wanted.