My Hotel

I sit here alone in my cell now.  The cold floor against my bare feet brings me comfort, reminds me of my life on the streets.  The grey floor is a slab of concrete so cold against my bare feet.  The heart of man is cold.  The heart of society is an abyss of deep ocean waters: dark, cold, mysterious, evil, and foreboding.  They lock me up and use media to make you the victim.  But, I am the victim, too.  This is not rehabilitation, this cell, these cold steel bars, these white walls.  They didn’t even give me a window.1

I have no one.  No one will visit me.  I never thought I’d value the company of an officer, if you can call a guard that.  It’s sick how much you miss human contact – how much they smirk at you because they know their power.  But, I sit quietly now admiring the white walls of this little home.  And I think of how great it would be to have a phone. . .   I can’t give in to that, though. . .  I can’t give in to society; I’m stronger than that.  I don’t need socialization.  I’ve lived alone long enough to know that.  Then again, a television set would be nice, a friend would be nice, or something more than the quiet life here.  I am just an animal to you all.  Actually, I suppose animals are treated better by you than I am.  Although, a humane society is a lot like what I live in now.2

Your city councilors enacted a bylaw to take me off your streets.  You throw me in a cage like a dog without a tag.  Said I was dangerous – no good for your business.  Kids saw me and ran home to tell their parents about the dirty man on the streets.  Now the children won’t come into your shops and neither will their parents.  They don’t feel comfortable around creatures like me.3

Sorry for the ranting, I suppose no one appreciates a complainer, and I don’t all the time.  In fact, I’m against the very idea of begging and feeling sorry for myself.  That’s why I beat the man in the suit.  I gave the whiner what he deserved.  You don’t say such things to someone in my position.  It’s rude and hurtful.  You will never know my life as long as you have your hundred dollar suits.  It’s a shame that’s how I got here.  You have to knock some sense into the rich before they’ll be charitable enough to have you thrown in jail.  I’ve come to enjoy my three meals a day in this five star hotel.  A balcony would be nice, but the bars will do.4