Archive for April 2, 2015





Happy Easter, Dennis. I was talking to a friend of yours earlier, we were talking about suicide. I guess she felt comfortable talking to a street person about such a sensitive subject. She had mentioned it yesterday and I didn’t have any response, but I thought it over. We talked about it today. There were many times, especially when I was drinking, that I thought about ending it all. I wasn’t going to take a gun to my head or take pills. I was just going to drink myself to death.”

I said, “That’s what Shakes did. Everyday he drank until he couldn’t stand, then he’d sleep where he’d passed out. He’d told me previously that he was in poor health, but he didn’t go into detail.”

Chuck said, “Then there was Alphonse. He’d talked to me about suicide. I told him, ‘Why don’t you go back up north where your mother and other family live? Turn your life around. I thought he was going to do that. Then he was beaten by that big guy with the dog. That shouldn’t have happened. Then he got into some trouble in Montreal. He went to court and they asked him how he pleaded. He said, ‘Well, of course I’m pleading guilty — I did it!'”

I asked, “Do you know what it was that he did?”

“I don’t know, some drunken stuff. It doesn’t take much to cause a disturbance. Then he decided to hang himself. It was such a shame. He had a good heart.

“I still see his girl friend. She’s a hooker, but I don’t talk to her. I didn’t like the way she treated him. He was willing to raise a baby, that probably wasn’t his. He would have made good father, but she could never stay away from the drugs. Whenever she needed a hit, she’d go off and find a guy who wanted sex.

“There was this big guy who lived in the same rooming house as I did. I didn’t have much to do with him. One morning he went downstairs and killed the super with a knife. Then he car-jacked a cab. There was an old woman who tried to get in the back seat. He stabbed her. The cops finally caught him, not far from our building. It took six of them to hold him down. I had a hold of his leg. He was throwing everybody off.

“When he went to court, asshole that he was, he decided to present his own defense.

“The judge sentenced him to twenty-five years to life, with no chance of parole. The guy laughed. He said, “My doctor said I only have ten years left to live. What are you going to do with the other fifteen years?”

“One time I was at a British pub playing darts. The waiter brougnt me a rum and coke. I asked, ‘Where did this come from?’ He pointed to a friend of mine sitting at the bar. I went over and sat with him. He said, “I want to share a last drink with all of my friends. I held off until the end of the month until my welfare check came in. There’s no way I want the government holding onto this money.”

“That’s happened to me three times. It’s not that people want to kill themselves. It just gets too depressing to keep on living.

“I went to McDonald’s yesterday, bought a coffee, then took it to the food court to sit with my friends. I know a lot of people there, but most of them drink too much. I don’t associate with them. There was this one guy cursing and swearing about how rotten the food was at the Mission — the food he gets for free. He’d killed his wife. She was the first person I’d know who was later murdered. Since then, there’ve been lots. I knew this young native woman. She was working as a prostitute, but I don’t judge what people do to earn money. She was always friendly to me, not that I ever paid for her services. She was just a nice person. I don’t think the cops even investigated her death — just another native hooker.”