"There's no fuhgiveness in Denvuh-town," he sings. "Never no fuhgiveness in Denvuh-town."
---
The first time he asked me for some spare change, I tried to smile. "I don't have any cash on me, sir," I said.
"SIR?" he laughed. "Sir is my father. You call me Bones, young lady. My name's Bones," and he took my hand and shook it. My whole damn arm flailed with his hand. I was dead-fishing the guy, my face in a tight, please-let-go-of-me stare. He went in for a hug, clap-on-the-back included, like he was welcoming an old friend.
"Bones," he said again, his breath loud and stale in my ear. "Name's Bones 'cause alls I got left is my Bones."
He laughed like that was the funniest joke he'd ever told, pointing at the sky again with a rot-tooth smile as he walked away. He sang it out, a deep cough interrupting his tune, "No there ain't NO fuhgiveness in Denvuh-town."
---
For a good while, Bones gave me the creeps. Every time I saw him passing the windows near the restaurant I was bussing at, I would feel this sick twist in my stomach. I would remember that hug, that stenchy homeless man hug that left me feeling dirty for days afterwords, the way his big, dusty, cracked hand had enveloped my little one, and I would feel like he had gotten too close. Something about him had sunk into me, and I couldn't make it go away.
---
Bones sleeps in what we call the Broadway triangle. Skinny white girls like me know not to walk in the Broadway triangle alone at night. The neighborhood around it is trying really hard to clean up. These trendy twenty-somethings keep moving in and moving up. Bars and breweries are making their home here, surrounded by the homeless. The cops that come into my restaurant tell me that the biggest problem in the Broadway triangle is crack cocaine. A sleeping-bag town thrives under the surface of this clean city, humming with desire, trading rock for food, trading rock for sex, trading rock for dignity. Old women, young men, black and white, all of them disheveled, creep through the alleys, covered in bruises and waiting for their ship to come. The local liquor store sells foil and those rose pipes more often then they sell liquor.
Across the street from that liquor store, these modern condos just got built. A woman stands on her patio, smoking a Parliment in thick sunglasses and manicured nails, watching people starving just two floors down.
I'm not saying it's wrong. I'm just saying it feels wrong.
---
One time Bones was out by the dumpsters at the restaurant while I was taking out the trash. He was just sitting on the concrete, looking up at me with glassy eyes. "Whas a guy gotta do to get some love around here?" he asked. He staggered to his feet between me and the dumpster. My first thought was, he's going to hurt me. My second thought was, Bones would never hurt anyone.
I stared at him and realized I wasn't scared.
"Love is everywhere, Bones," I said, and I flung the trash bag over his head before I walked back inside.
---
"No fuhgiveness in Denvuh-town!" I hear it now and welcome the sound. I give Bones cups of ice water. I know he'll spend my dollars on drugs, but I give them to him too.
Would Jesus give money to Bones? I guess I don't know. I just do what feels right.
Maybe my stomach sinks every time it happens, but I let Bones hug me every day now.
---
They wander the streets with bugged out eyes. The rich sleep above and the poor below. At least it's warm these summer nights. When other people are grateful for the rain, I just worry about Bones and his sleeping bag.
They wander the street with missing teeth. People hand them spare change. They give them pity and cigarettes. "No fuhgiveness in Denvuh-town," he sings. He takes the money and he takes the high. He's grateful for what he gets, but he knows that death will find him before the love he wants ever has the chance.
