The Outskirts (Re-Post)

We become what we fear.

11:22. It was the second brush with the law of the night. There would be no ease. The pavement still throbbing though the clamor is hushed by their temporary presence. The Pigs! And for now, the scrappers, their tiger eyes low in the lurking grass for the coast to clear. Wait for it to pass; then rap the tin can against the garden apartment security bars. Doors creek open. Sneakers mix it up with abandoned Twinkie wrappers and soda cans. Kids, scoreless, waiting for the next deal, propped against unused trash cans and bus stop signs under the watchful hover of a junk store’s fluorescents.

The irritable rasp of the El grumbling into the final stop, “Everyone off. This train is out of service.” And this is where they get dumped. To the outskirts with them! The outcasts! The unfortunate! The self-determined loners! The expats! Did they ever have a chance?

Some, from the mother’s womb, wrapped snug in a blanket infected with labels and judgments. And some, just did, they become what they fear. For those, the gravitas of blunt, faux indifference tamp their spirits. Did they have a chance? Did they break his heart first? Did they break her heart first? Did they try to pin it on the pimps and drunkards of their neighborhoods? Will they learn their lesson? Or will they excuse themselves; tie themselves up by an all too brainless, punch line label?

Learn to play dead, kid. Learn to play dead.

And once, maybe, they were incredibly booming and why fuss with integrity, right?

The world is full of suckers, kiddo. As you know. And we all, the suckers, take the fall. And them, snug as a bug, criss cross applesauced, under their blankets.