On Saturday morning on Ceres Ave, is the chicken line then on 5th and Crocker Street is Ray’s food line. Come on! Free Food! Have a feast while you dine. It comes real handy when my food stamps run out and I’m out of dimes. On Sunday mornings on Boyd and 3rd street is the Indian food line. They start serving at eleven. Then, at Winston and Los Angeles Streets are Han’s moist- golden-fried chicken and delicious potatoes salad which taste like pure Heaven.

Hey, if you don’t have a taste for meat, grab a chair and have a seat. Go to  Gladys and 6th Street so you can have a vegetarian treat. It’s the Hippie Kitchen. Listen. Grab a pen. They also have poetry readings and pottery classes. The talent there are like fine champagne glasses. Monday through Friday, the Union Rescue, Los Angeles, Midnight and Fred Jordan Missions serve meals throughout the day. “Please or thank you” I never hear people say. All I hear them do is complain because they want their food seasoned their own way.

Some Kings and Queens do not want to wait. They skip their subjects in the line and take the bait. Gluttony sweeps in, and the Knights begin to duel. Lucifer laughs as he watches them loose their cool. I am Abba’s fool. I am allowing the Holy Spirit to use me as his tool. I have learned to appreciate. I am not afraid to participate. My heart breaks as I gape at the maidens selling their bodies in the street Port-a-Potties; and the gentlemen smoking their crack pipes having a party.

Like a mule to a horse, I have to take a different course. I hold Jesus Christ’s hands. I notice I could sing in any musical band. I do not need any alcohol or drugs to make me creative. The cleansing fire runs in my veins causing me to be innovative. Societies misjudge me. They presume my residence makes me a deformed tree. I refuse to let their looks define me. I know my sturdy roots. I strap up my boots. I could sense their jealousy. Their pettiness is causing them not to see the genuine me. I have no time to waste.

I stick to my heavenly father like paste. This is where I am, at Palmer House, single room occupancy. I will totally follow their policy. I know this is not a palace that is fancy. At least, I have some sense of security. If I have any problems, I could call Mrs. Jackson at the housing authority. Pay the rent, pay the phone, send out more resumes and be patient. I have to be more diligent. I need a gig. Oh! I wish a casting director would discover me then, I would do a jig.

I do not want to be anyone dependent. I would rather be financially independent. Years later, I do not want to have any ifs while soaking my denture in a glass of Polydent. I sought to use my time wisely at Palmer House. I will not heed any male mouse. Can they see my heart I wish to mend. Why can’t they not comprehend I only desire to be their friend? Jesus was born in a manger. I want to shout, “What’s the danger!” So what, I live in Skid Row! My acting, modeling, singing and writing will be my arrow and bow.