Sammy
The boxes, strewn on the sidewalk, moved. The crowd of pedestrians pulled back. Rats thought the few people who saw the movement. Then a box was cast aside by an invisible force. A middle-aged woman was caught unguarded, startled, and gave a faint scream. Fortunately for her, underneath the box was not anyone else but Sammy — a forty years old alcoholic. Sammy coughed and slowly sat up. The night had been hard on him. He had a large quantity of vodka, which he had found somewhere. Then he vomited and slept in the thrown-up. He had also pissed himself. Now he felt nausea because of the smell of vomit on his face and had the urge to throw up again, but he had nothing in his stomach, just mucous which he spat on a presentable man’s shoes, who had the bad luck of passing by the drunkard in that exact moment.
“I am sorry, dude,” Sammy managed to say. The presentable man was ready to swear, but then he thought that might not be safe and just frowned and hurried on his way.
The drunkard had made his den on the shaft above the subway, where warm air was coming out. Above, a scaffold was raised due to maintenance of the building facade, which didn’t allow the rain, which was falling, mixing with yellow leaves that the gentle wind was shaking down from the trees planted up along the sidewalk. It was eight o’clock on a gloomy October morning. The day wasn’t starting well — Sammy’s head hurt, and apparently, the alcohol he drank yesterday wasn’t of the best quality. His pants being wet at the front wasn’t the worst part, as Sammy had gotten used to that. He got up, using the side of the building for support, and hesitantly made a step forward, then another. He could walk, at least. That was good news. Sammy fixed his “bed” a little, then slumbered through the crowd, which split prudently in front of him. The drunkard made his way to the garbage can at the corner of the street and started rummaging through it, trying to find something that could be eaten.
“What a failure. What a riff-raff,” thought a well-dressed young man who was drinking coffee in a nearby cafe and checking the stock market fluctuations on his phone. “How could anyone end up like that? What kind of life is that” kept wondering the man, then disgusted, moved away his gaze from Sammy and focused on his stocks. He didn’t see the hobo’s efforts being rewarded with him finding a half-eaten sandwich. He bit into it ravenously with his two left front teeth and soon he divulged the sandwich and one of his immediate predicaments was solved. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Now he had to take care of another need, that of somehow acquiring alcohol. One of the ways to get money in New York is by begging, so Sammy positioned himself on a nice, sheltered corner with a good stream of people. He sat on the steps in front of the entrance of a tall skyscraper with a bowed head and stretched-out hand. It was the pose of “the miserable beggar, ashamed of his fall.” Unfortunately, the day was sad; people around, were grumpy, and he couldn’t collect much money, and also soon, a security guard came by and chased him away.
Sammy chose a new spot a few blocks away, where he was not as sheltered, but he still couldn’t get much more than rain in his hair. At least the rain stopped at some point. Sammy decided to take a walk around. Lost in his thoughts — mainly of how to get alcohol and memories of times when he had booze, Sammy strolled down the sidewalk. He didn’t have a direction but, lost in a daze, kept walking. He found himself in the midst of Central Park and realized that he’d walked farther than he intended. At least being in Central Park had it’s upside because he knew ewhere the toilets were and he found one and took care of a particular physiological need. On his way out of the public restroom, he passed by a small group of young people, crowded around a bench, who sized him up curiously. Sammy realized that he was a peculiar sight to behold — his clothes were dirty, including two sizes bigger than his feet boots, black jeans tight up on his waist by a string, and a very short brown jacket. The Park is a spot where people of all kinds of art congregate, such as musicians, painters, acrobats, and all kinds of performers. The beggar realized that the young people probably took him for one of those, and they wondered what his gig was. Sammy stopped in his steps and inspired did a little pantomime. He waved his arms like a bird, then he danced a bit, making strange faces, and at the end, when his creativity drained and due to a physiological need, passed gas noisily.
The presentation made a good impression on the young people. Being the sort of people with certain artistic inclination but unable to channel it into action, they could still appreciate the artist before them. They clapped, and even there was someone who shouted, “Bis!”. After that, in Sammy’s hand, as if by magic, appeared exactly seven bills of a dollar each. Thankful for appreciating his artistic creation, Sammy took a bow with a certain dignity and then left the stage promptly down a path, clenching the money. For awhile, he had not earned money in “an honest way” besides returning recyclables, and now he felt as if he had grown wings. He had created something out of nothing and received a fair reward. The feeling was beautiful, and it kept pushing Sammy down the path till he got to 5th Avenue, and from there, he sank into the zigzag of the City streets.
With seven dollars in his pocket, Sammy felt happy. His trust in good and fate was restored. Now, though, he had a dilemma. It was late afternoon, and all that crisscrossing the City had tired him, and he was hungry again. Of course, he was still craving some booze, as well. As always in a moment like those, the providence intervened. A MacDonald’s raised in the distance, and the sweet smell of fat and meat hit Sammy on the nose. Without much hesitation, he got into the MacDonald’s and bought a Big Mac and a soda which consumed his meager financial resources.
Sitting on the steps before the fast food restaurant, Sammy devoured the burger, but after he satiated himself, he thought that he had made a mistake. It would have been better to have a drink. It was getting dusky, and people tended to be afraid of beggars at dark. In deep thought about his future actions, Samy started down the street sullenly, and if it’d started to rain, it would be in harmony with his gloomy mood, but fortunately, the weather had other plans. At least for now.
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In front of a tall skyscraper, our hero walked past a big pile of garbage. It was a garbage collection day, and sometimes, one could find useful things in those piles. Sammy didn’t pay attention to a nice coffee table that could be worth something, nor by a rocking chair. His eyes fell on two garbage bags full of recyclables. Someone had tossed the bags on the sidewalk, they opened, and bottles and cans strew out of them. Quietly and hastily, Sammy gathered the recyclables. He took the garbage bags and carried them to the nearby supermarket, where he returned them. He got $22.35 for them. Wasn’t that a stroke of good luck, he thought. From the supermarket to the liqueur store were a few blocks, and it took Sammy as much time as it took a bird to fly them. He was winged.
Sammy got out of the liqueur store, carrying a big bottle of vodka. Soon he drank half of it and slowly wobbled towards his place. He didn’t see in the dark a well-dressed young man and bumped into him. The man was the same who had observed Sammy in the morning and after a long day in the office, had made a good amount of money for his firm and a hefty bonus for himself, as well.
“Watch your step,” the young man exclaimed angrily.
Sammy turned around and said with a blissful smile.
“Excuse me, good sir. I didn’t see you.
“Idiot”
“Maybe you are correct. Farewell”
Sammy thought that the man was angry for some of his own reasons, that he was feeling grumpy, but he didn’t know why, neither had time or desire to understand and to help the well-dressed man. The drunkard smiled again and went on his way, while the young man watched after him for a while. “What could have happened to that degraded alcoholic that he is so happy?” he asked himself, recollecting Sammy from the morning and something made him think that the alcoholic had had a better day than his. How could that be possible? Unable to find an answer, the man shook his head and started for home.
Sammy walked to his den. The cardboard boxes were at their place; no one had touched them. Along the way, he finished the bottle with vodka and collapsed on the boxes, dragging some over himself. He felt warm like that. The night wasn’t cold anyway. Sammy closed his eyes and smiled happily. It turned out to be a good day after all. The last thing he felt before passing out was a pleasant warmth in his pants when he peed himself.
