After taking two hits, Darryl passed it to Roscoe. He took in a deep drag, holding it in and exhaling loudly.
“I want to get out of this place,” Darryl said, taking the joint back from Roscoe. “You ever been to the beach?”
“A few times. White Dunes is a three-hour bus ride.”
“I wanna go there, but I’m scared. I don’t have the money to leave, and Ramón wants me to take over this shitheap.”
“He’s got cash. Ask him for some money to get you started.”
Darryl laughed. “You don’t just ask Ramón to give you money with no strings attached. He’s been guilting me into working under him since he gave me a place to stay. I want to repay him, but I don’t want to live here anymore.” He looked up at Roscoe. “I’ll end up like you if I stay.”
Roscoe coughed and snorted, seemingly hurt. Strange considering he seemed to revel in his lifestyle when I first met him.
“Yeah, you don’t want that.”
“What’s your deal, anyway?”
The werewolf shrugged. “Don’t know. Can’t remember nothin’, but I know that’s probably for the best.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a fat wad of cash before casually dropping it on the table. “Was gonna use this for something harder, but I think you should go to the beach.”
Darryl’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Makin’ sure you don’t end up like me. There’s five hundred. It should be enough to get you there. It’s gonna be hard for you.” He sniffed the air before turning to Darryl. “That ain’t weed. It’s you…”
“What do you mean? You don’t know me.” Darryl pushed the money away. “What do you want?”
Roscoe picked up the stack and pressed it into Darryl’s hand, then stood. He walked over to the front door and slipped outside before looking back. “I want you to find what makes you happy, and you got the talent to do something good. Don’t waste it here.And when you change, don’t let it ruin yer life.” With that, he disappeared into the night, closing the door behind him.
The scene shifted to outdoors. Rows of blue tarps over refrigerator boxes lined the sidewalk of the city’s outskirts. Trash bags full of belongings were stacked in grocery carts, discarded needles and balled-up aluminum foil were scattered along the street. Roscoe walked along the encampment with bags of hot food next to a one-legged middle-aged man who hobbled along using a rusty walker.
“Here ya go sweetheart,” Roscoe said, handing an old lady a plastic container, giving her a wink. “Made yer favorite.”
She blushed and graciously took the food from his hands. “Thank you, handsome.”
“You sober now?” the man asked as they walked by another tent. Roscoe set the last bag in front of it.
“Nope,” he replied as they continued toward a wooden bench. The man sat and Roscoe joined him, crossing one leg over the other. “Youbetter be, though.”
“I am, I swear.”
They both took deep breaths through their noses.
“I just love the smell of piss in the morning,” the man said, leaning back and pointing at all the tents. “Behold. The foundation of the richest country in the world, and everyone ignores it. We get used up, and when they’re done—” A gunshot in the distance made the man scream as he held his face in his hands. “It would have been less of an insult to die in the war.”
Roscoe slipped an arm over the man’s shoulder. “Lean into me. Don’t worry. No one’s gonna do nothin’ with a big scary monster around.”
The veteran cried out, grabbing tufts of Roscoe’s fur and burying his face in it. The episode went on for a few minutes before he pulled away.
“You’ve got some powerful pits, dude.” He wiped his face with the dirty collar of his coat.
“They’re good fer what ails ya.” Roscoe patted the man on the back. “Sometimes we all need someone to hold onto. I ain’t got the answers for ya, but I do got a soft shoulder.”
“You’re a damn saint.”
“Eddy, I’d burst into flames if I ever walked into a church,” Roscoe said before both let out stifled laughter. “I ain’t a saint; I just like people. I like hearin’ their stories.” He pointed to the old woman from earlier. She was slowly eating the pasta Roscoe had given her. “Mrs. Thompson had a son out of wedlock a long time ago. She never got married, but she’d do anything for her kid. Worked three jobs when women workin’ wasn’t a thing. He went off to fight in ‘Nam, but he didn’t come back. Good moms are—” Roscoe cleared his throat, holding back a surge of repressed emotion. “It’s good to listen, but I wish I could do more.”
“If there is a God and heaven exists, I hope you’ll look me up if I make it.”
“How ’bout you settle for keepin’ me company while yer alive?”
