Something has been bothering me today. Last night, during the final song of the Pixies concert at Southside Ballroom, the overhead lights came on at 10:55 as a, "Get the fuck out" kind of signal. My friends from Oklahoma City, the buckle of the bible belt, were in town for the show. We decided to head over to Deep Ellum and find some more music, grub, and booze.
When we arrived there was electricity in the streets, people crowding the sidewalks… kind of like the "old" days… or at least not like the recent days where a steady vacancy has occupied the streets and shops of Deep Ellum over the last few years. The weather was warm, Three Links had their garage wall up so you could see the band easily from the street, the bass and kick drum at Trees were booming, and donuts at Glazed were selling like hot cakes… err… I guess technically they are hot cakes and they were selling like them. My friend noted that it seemed like a good place to be homeless, and I suppose he's right… it's just a good place to be.
As we continued walking toward food, there was a man lying on the sidewalk, his head only separated from the cement by a few pieces of paper. He had a hooded jacket on and appeared to be in his 20s, maybe 30s. This is not a typical Deep Ellum sighting… someone lying out on the sidewalk that you actually have to step over or go into the street to get around. He was on his side, a red leash in his hand and a beautiful, stoic, pit bull sitting near his feet. Despite the dog's solid stature and strong posture there was concern in his eyes. Pit bulls are like that. They have loyalty like no other animal I have ever seen and you can read their emotions easily. I'm not sure which had more impact on me, a young man homeless and on the ground at 11pm on a Friday night, or the look of concern but steady guard that the pit bull sustained despite the steady human traffic.
We walked a few blocks and stopped in at Buzz Brews for a few bites. I ordered a kombucha and Tito's from our waitress, Bogart. I always wanted a name like Bogart. Everyone else downed a few shiners before we were walking back the way we came but this time there was no man… no dog… only an outline of his body made from papers, food, and small stacks of change people had left for him. Skele informed some of the other bums that there was money on the ground and one of them said, "No sir, that's not mine. What goes around comes around. But those Orioles, they are going to win." Why did he leave the money? Maybe junk, it makes you forget about the things you need most.
Another block and we'd made it to the car which was parked near Reno's Chop Shop. And then when we drove down the alley, there he was, standing in front of a pile of at least twenty, glorious food and beer bottle filled garbage bags and dumpsters. The dog's tail was moving at a stiff wag; it was clearly dinner time.
It's stayed with me all day. I've seen people dumpster dive, shit, I've talked to people while they are mid bite, eating out of the trash. Maybe that's it, I usually talk to bums, I talk to everyone. But this guy wasn't interested in talking, he wasn't aware of his surroundings: the boxes of food left for him, the money he could have easily used to buy a few things at the sevy. I felt that even if I called out to him he wouldn't have been able to hear me. But his dog, if his dog could have talked he would have talked to me. I'm sure he had a lot to say. You could see it in his eyes.
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