Stories about & for us Queers

Billy looked over at Josh. No one ever waited for him, at least not long, and certainly not for the reasons that Josh did. He smiled at him, and dug into the bag and handed him a burger and took one for himself.

"That was nice of you; generally don't have company when dining." And he laughed.

"Thanks," as he took the offered burger. He was famished and had half of it eaten before Billy had even gotten his unwrapped.

"Don't you have any family or that or friends?" He watched the way Josh wolfed his food down. Must of not eaten today. He knew how that felt as he ate slowly, thinking over Josh's comments.

Billy finished his burger and started to drive off. He got onto the interstate and headed west. He thought about it, and decided that if Josh was going to come along for the ride, he might as well get put into the picture. Better now than later.

“Look, Josh, we don't know each other, and my guess is, you are taking off from a place you couldn't wait to get away from, right?"

'I suppose so."

"Look Josh, how far do you want to go? I mean, you obviously don't have any money, or if you do, not much, right?"

"Uh huh, I have some, about $50."

"Yeah, well I have been down this road before, like I said, since I was 14, so you want some advice?"

"Sure, I mean, if you don't mind."

Billy looked over at Josh, and decided to take a chance. He liked the way he looked and besides it was a long time since anyone ever really made his heart skip a beat.

He stared straight ahead, guiding the truck along the roadway, watching the traffic and he started to speak in a flat tone of voice. It hid the pain and anguish of his life or so it seemed.

Billy told him about life on the streets, how you had to make hard choices, how you had only really three choices out there. One was to sell your ass, the second was to peddle drugs, and the third was to steal whatever you could in order to survive.

He told him how every dollar you earned was sacred and how it was easy to lose yourself into drugs and booze, not for the fun of it like all those kids in school thought, but to help deaden the pain and keep reality away for a few short minutes or hours if you were lucky.

His voice recited the various degradations one had to endure in order to just be able to eat a decent hot meal every now and then, and how some people took pleasure in trying to rip off street trash. The tone became colder with each recital of facts, how they were hunted by the cops because the merchants didn't like them pestering the customer's and yet those same merchants turned up at night for your company. He talked bitterly about how the system ignored you and left you to the mercenaries who prowled for young meat and he didn't even get into the real world of the drug dealer.

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