*

*

   Alex pulls the gray cap down over his eyebrows.  This snow can’t last forever.  His feet are wet and freezing in the sodden sneakers.  Gram was right about the boots, but Alex had been getting high with friends so he clicked off her voice on his iPhone.  Blah, blah, blah, that’s what they sounded like, Gram and Dad.  Blah, blah, blah.  Don’t you need your boots?  It’s snowing!  Have you looked for a job?  If we give you money, don’t use it to buy cigarettes.  Blah, blah, blah.

            Alex walks past houses all lit up and glowing warm against the night and the falling snow.  He imagines being inside with a happy, noisy family, and he knows he’d like it for an hour or so.  But then he’d start to feel edgy, and everyone would be looking at him, criticizing his clothes or what he did, and asking him about his life.  He’d have to leave.  Like Christmas Day at Gram’s.  All the noise and laughter and all those questions about plans and jobs and school.  Blah, blah, blah.  Alex had left before the pies and ice cream.

            Alex says aloud, “I’m a survivor.”  He knows he can stretch twenty bucks into two or three days of hanging out in town.  His friend at the taco place slips him the leftovers.  And the diner has a breakfast special that’s under $5.00.  He gets by.  His stuff is stashed behind the couch in the coffee bar.  He doesn’t have much stuff.  Alex is proud that he’s not attached to material objects.  Except his necklace with the old house key.  This is one thing he can’t lose.  It opens the door to his mom’s loft in the City.  Right now he’s pissed at her because she kicked him out.  But he may want to go hang out there sometime.

            Alex bums a cigarette off a drunk student who is leaning against the wall outside of the pub.  He keeps walking.  His iPhone dings with a text message.  It’s from Gram.  R U OK?  Call me.  Alex decides not to answer.  He already has a place to stay tonight.  He picked up this coed from NYU.  It’s her last night before the dorms reopen down on Union Square.  She’s got a friend whose roommate is out of town.  Alex can sleep in the girl’s bed for one night.  Lisa—that’s the coed’s name—says he can stay there if he takes a shower first.  Alex needs the bed but he’s a bit insulted.  Like he smells or something.  How long has he been wearing these clothes anyway?  When did he and Gram choose them at the Salvation Army?  Was it a week ago?  They picked out a good shirt, a jacket and tie, and a pair of black slacks.  The clothes were supposed to be for job-hunting.  Job-hunting.  That’s another one of those interminable lectures:  wash your hair, brush your teeth.  Always check back with the secretary or the manager.  Blah, blah, blah.  They just never shut up.