To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Shane Allison's previous piece To Shane Allison's next piece
Displaced in New York I'm a displaced student. I got two days of shit streaks and piss spots In my underwear. A guy writes his name on a piece Of notebook paper saying that anyone can stay With him if they are w/out housing. But I don't want to live with a complete stranger. I've only been in New York for a week. I don't know this guy. He might drug me. He might be a psycho and stab me in the shower with a Butcher knife. He sounded gay over the phone. I could go live with my aunt in Queens, but I don't want To eat her out of house and home. John, the possible butcher knife-wilding, Rat poisoning gay boy psycho sounds like a real peach. Maybe he'll let me stay longer if I offer To give him no expense paid blowjobs? The last time I washed my ass, the World Trade Center Was still standing. Six thousand people were leading healthy, normal lives. Cops were on the beat, issuing traffic tickets. I hope I can take a shower at his place. My mama would have a conniption fit if she knew I was Sleeping on dirty floors, rats as big as weasels nibbling at my toes. I'm a displaced William Street student with full reign over the cafeteria. Raid the freezers of orange juice and grape Snapple. The lunch lads butter hero sandwiches with mayonnaise, Grey poupon. The cute, middle-aged Latino makes a soda Centerpiece on a fold out table. He warns us he's about to close the kitchen. He says there's barbecue chicken and macaroni being Served and if we want any, we better come now. I'm not that hungry. I'm all full up on worry. But I manage to help myself to a few chicken wings, some rice. Still won't call my aunt. Don't want to be a bother. I'm spending the night with two white guys and an Asian In Union Square. The room is the size of a jail cell, But at least there's a mattress. I'm afraid to hit the lights. Scared to death of rats. They don't check up on me to see how I'm doing. I could have an asthma attack; I could be bleeding to death. They don't care that I'm a victim of terrorist act. I could have asbestos in my lungs. I'm a displaced student; A Kentucky fried southern boy who has only been in New York for a week Tomorrow I'm calling my Aunt Karen in Queens. I don't care if I put her out; I don't care if it's 45 minutes out of Manhattan. I refuse to sleep another night in the same underpants.
To the top of this page