Do you touch walls on which "WET PAINT" signs are strung up?

I do, as often as possible, not to get the feeling of paint pressed deeply onto my palms but to see if it’s the truth, you know to conform that it is wet.

I met a kid, or a guy who looked like a kid, the other day, he walked into the tattoo parlour I work in. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, and the dark circles that underlined his eyes proved this point.

Looking at him I got a bit worried, he didn’t look homeless but he didn’t look healthy. “Kid you ok?” I asked, he never answered but handed me about sixty six dollars in cash and held out his arm and said:

“I want a tattoo, this arm on this wrist …” his arms were slightly dirty, as if he had been sleeping in dirt, I buried my brow in frustration.

“Kid how old are you?”

It’s mandatory to ask their age, anyone younger than 18 cannot have a tattoo, I mean I don’t want no more federal cops running along my ass.

The guy held out his ID and I got a good look at it, the birth year clearly pointed out a not-so-obvious fact, he was 19.

I scratched my head and looked at him; he looked 15 possibly 16.

“Yeah sure come this way…” I muttered and walked into my room. I tend not to argue too much, plus it had been a rough day for me:

I woke up late for work…that night was really tough the cops barged into my room and they accused me of having and selling drugs. It didn’t take me long to set them straight, that lasted half the night and but the time I was finally headed to bed the beautiful sun was painting the sky a pink and blue. I rushed which meant no breakfast or coffee and on top of it all I learned that everyone in my building was going to be evicted because apparently it didn’t meet the health standards. Now the only choice I really have is to go to New Jersey to stay with my mother.

Anyways back to the story about the guy. He asked for something simple, but strange, it was a circle with an x through it, it kind of looked like a railroad crossing sign but not quite.

“What’s with the Tat sir?” He grinned and looked at me, It made the aura of the room very…uneasy.

“Have you heard of him?”

“Him?” I asked focusing deeply on my work; the music is usually deadly, ear drum bursting loud but oddly enough today it was almost muted, which makes me wonder if Kendra is taking a nap again.

“Him, the one I’m running from…” I moved the blond hair from my face and looked up.

“Who’s him?”

The man didn’t say anything after that, I asked about twice more the same question ‘who’s him?’ but without a response, it was annoying as hell and within half an hour he was ready to leave.

“Hey are these walls really wet?” he asked.

I flipped the book I was reading and laughed holding my lime green hand up I smiled brightly. “Nawh not at all” The man looked at me oddly.

“If you touch the walls that have ‘wet paint’ on them you must not be very trusting” I looked at him, my smile faded as he left. Could it be true, do I not have enough trust?

Kendra told me to leave early to get my stuff, so I did but the only problem is…I don’t have a lot. I packed my clothes and toothbrush and, somehow, managed to sell my piece of shit TV for $200.

So I guess it’s my turn to give my mother a call, which almost makes me sick to the stomach the fact I have to call her. At the same time I guess it is true it’s a two way street, so I’ll go dial her up and hopefully find a good job in New Jersey, you’re probably wondering: ‘why not find a new place in New york?’

I don’t know, this city and the people in it are really pissing me off.

Don't be surprised if you dont hear from me for awhile....

You have been the type of child who charms the lollipops off people.

After work I came home and stole the internet off the lady down the street, it was the only connection seeing as my building was full of people who couldn’t afford it…

Like myself.

I guess it’s strange being in a house full of whores. I seriously mean whores the kind that wander around at night with their slutty red miniskirts and too tightly tied corsets and ankle breaking high heels.

Whores they bring their men home and you can hear them from a mile away I am not kidding, these are the ones with the pimps I feel bad for the dumb bitches.

Next on my list of people I love in my apartment buildings is the crack heads:

Druggies, the guys and girls on meth, cocaine, weed, LSD etc. I’m sure there were people I the building complex that mixed up different drugs to create new ones I heard a rumour one guy created a drug which he called FDP. I only really met one, he broke into my apartment to steal some cash, he was god awful looking and smelling. He had scabs over his face and body his clothes smelled like urine and sweat and he didn’t brush his teeth ever, his skin had turned a yellowish colour and was dry.

As he grabbed hold of my arm I could feel skin flake off and whatever was left of his hair fall onto me, the smell of his breath was vomit inducing and he kept talking in as if I knew what he wanted.

“Got any Con, hey got any? C’mon baby I kow you have it, ill give you something for it..money, sex, anything you want con”

I felt his dry flaky hands reach into my ass pocket and I slapped him across the face, Jesus Christ I slapped him hard because he flew to the ground and whimpered. Without proper food, water or care he was shrived into something that could never be called human. I tried to call the cops, but the phones were always dead around here and I always fucking forget that.

Even as I picked up the white plastic he ran towards me again, it was useful in a sense; I tossed it at the druggy’s face and heard him tumble to the ground crying in pain I felt proud.

So I’ve only felt proud once.

I felt sorry for the poor bastard and wanted to put an end to his life, hell how could you not feel sorry for someone who is curled on your floor covering his scarred and scabbed face crying in pain?

I couldn’t.

I wanted to.

How badly I wanted to.

I just shoved him out and told him to fuck off. That had to be one of the most eventful days of my life.

Who else lives it this shit hole? Drunkards, they usually don’t ‘cause too much trouble one tried to knife the older lady upstairs I could hear her screaming so I ran up, saw Matthew my own next door drunk dirt bag holding a hunting knife over his head. Mrs. Johnson, the older lady, has a lot more in her apartment then I do; china plates, bar stools, toaster ovens, toast. I grabbed the closet object at hand, which sadly happened to be a beautiful hand painted plate and busted it over Matthews head, the white and blue shards of glass went everywhere and Mrs. Johnson was shaking in fear. That skinny runt fell to the floor faster than I had seen in my life, I stepped over his body and helped Mrs. Johnson up. She was small and now crying in fear I know she didn’t want to live here but she couldn’t afford much else and her children wouldn’t pay to give her a nice home. She thanked me kindly and I helped pat her cooking apron clean.

“Sorry about your plate”

“It’s ok, I’m glad the angels are watching over me, I’m so glad god sent you in time”

She patted my face, I could forgive her for calling me an angel her little mind was not working properly anyways the way I seen it back then she was going to die soon anyways.

She did too, three days after I helped her she died in her sleep, I was the one who found her, I had bought her a plate like the one I had broken when I walked in she didn’t answer so I walked into her bedroom and there she was fast asleep with a smile.

I still have that plate somewhere, now that I’m writing this I think I’ll go look for it later.

She left a will, as I said before she did have a lot more than I did, but that’s not saying a lot because I hardly have anything.

In her will she wanted to leave the angel a message: ‘don’t forget me’.

I still have that will too, god damn for someone who don’t have a lot I sure keep some stuff it’s been years now like I told you I’m 24 all this happened when I was  19.

Fuck.

The only other person in this complex is a young woman she’s 22 and has two children, Emily who is 2 and Jacob who is 4.

I babysit all the time for her, I never ask for money or anything just I ‘unno I guess I feel bad for her, she works two jobs and her husband left her when she found out she was pregnant.

I take them out a lot for supper, not just the kids I take Rebecca out too.

I always tell her children that: “You have been the type of child who charms the lollipops off people”

Then I buy them each one lollipop. Thank god rent is cheap, seriously its 250 a month hell half the time I don’t pay seeing as the owner never comes around to check anything.

Thinking about it maybe I should live with my mother, she lives in New Jersey after her and my father divorced she got together with another guy.

Maybe I have mommy issues.

I never write/email/call hell I never try to contact her. Maybe I should?

No she never even really gave me much attention as a child; then again communication works both ways. I’m not going to waste my goddamn day thinking and arguing to myself if I should call my betraying bitch of a mother.

Plus I’m exhausted, thinking about how I actually help people and give a damn makes me depressed, no one really cares about me so I don’t see why I give a shit about them.

Wow it sounds as if I want to die….Hardly even that I want to live, and for fuck sakes I’m going to.