The money began to dwindle, and Keith didn't care. Desperation, once assuaged by making love in rhythm to the refrigerator's odd banging and clanking, had drawn itself into a circle that surrounded both husband and wife, and Keith didn't care. Angie arrived home from work, and with an utter honesty that probably sought the quick-fix of a hug and nothing else, said, "It's like my life isn't mine anymore. My clients take without giving. They tell me the worst stories about addiction, rape, abuse, violence, and they always make themselves out to be innocent. Even though I want to help them, still, they're not honest with me. I'm tired. I'm sure when I go to work tomorrow I won't care. I don't care anymore." And Keith didn't care either.
More often than not Keith left Angie on the couch and took refuge in aimlessly roaming the streets. During the days, under the pretense that he was looking for a job, dropping off resumes, doing research in the library; and with the evenings he displayed a more brazen attitude, offering no excuse whatsoever for his quick departures.
He thought of getting himself a whore and he'd ravish her as he did the angel hair pasta, but at best his ten dollars was probably just enough for a quick generically-bought spaghetti suck from some toothless, haggard, old slut. Angie chewed her fingernails and thought about looking up her friend the assistant principal to see if maybe there was a way she could get her hands on a little coke, but Angie remembered her clients, and how she didn't want to be anything like them, because secretly, even unto herself, she hated them.
****
Blind Man had always listened to Melvin's convoluted stories without attempting to garner from them what was actually true. It had taken him years to understand that the only way to live on the streets was to accept whatever daily reality presented itself. Beside the dumpster he clutched a telephone pole while Melvin rummaged through the discarded lies of others' lives. Melvin tried to get him to drink an inch of thick viscous gunk from the bottom of a Campbell's Soup can. Pushing it under Blind Man's nose, he told him not to worry, that whether he drinks or not ain't nobody gonna be throwin nobody in the river tonight.
Before the darkness, rivers and memories had no place in Blind Man's life. These ephemeral images floated within walls. On the streets people shared their shame and had no use for memories, there was nothing to uncover or figure out.
