The following was taken from the diary of Malcolm Steadman. Doodles edited out for clarity and decency.

Monday.

Garry sighted at the bus stop at three in the morning, sleeping. Cold night tonight, but no rain. The skinny bastard can’t be generating much heat. I wonder what it says about myself that I want to give Garry my blanket. Am I weak, or compassionate? He does not deserve the kindness, but maybe “deserve” has nothing to do with it. It is too cold for me to sleep, the heroin probably helped him though. I’ll walk on a little further, but nowhere near the park. I don’t feel like getting my ass kicked again.

Tuesday.

Drinking coffee today when I sighted one of Garry’s “friends” by the McDonald’s. I’ve seen them doping together before, so I left just in case Garry was near. I can’t have him sighting me yet. On my way out I ran into a flock of pigeons. The dirty bastards flew up at me at the last second, and it got me thinking. I hate thinking. If pigeons have been around humans and inhabiting our cities since the start of creation, haven’t they owned as much of it as we have? When Rome burned were the pigeons as depressed about it as we? Were they like “shit, there goes our city, we liked Rome” before following us to the next big thing? God this sounds stupid when I write it down, thank god nobody is reading it.

Wednesday.

Oh god. Oh god. Another Wednesday. It hasn’t happened yet, but I know it will. I don’t want to deal with the existential terror today. The pigeon thing was just a distraction, I know it. It is going to come on strong today. It is always strongest on Wednesday. Oh god! Please be merciful. I bought a muffin for breakfast with my coffee, please, just let me eat it in peace! *Four lines of writing missing because of a coffee stain* but if it is expanding forever outward *Ten words missing because of coffee stain* the edge? How can it be expanding into nothing if space itself is nothing? Is there nothing over the edge of nothing?! Oh god. Oh god. I hate Wednesdays.

Thursday.

Talked to Karen again today. She is really nice, and is always interested in what I have to say, but not my type. I’m not sure if I even have a type, what’s the point after my plan? I might have been interested months ago, but I’m pretty sure she isn’t into me like that anyways. Am I fretting about fretting over her? I don’t know what I want anymore. It’s nice having someone to talk to though. I didn’t tell her about the pigeons, or the ever expansion of the universe, I don’t want to scare her away, having a friend is nice.

Friday.

The bus stop was empty tonight. I suppose there is nothing wrong with that. I often do not see Garry there. I’m not sure as to where he goes when he isn’t there, but he has to sleep sometime and this is usually where he sleeps. Crisp night tonight, but not too cold. Maybe I’ll sleep tonight.

Saturday.

McDonald’s breakfast burrito and hash browns again today. The homeless woman who hangs around here was kicked out just as I entered. My clothes are getting dirty. I could wash them at the laundromat but the dollar detergent dispenser is broken, and I don’t have anywhere to keep a full bottle. My clothes would just get wet and keep their grey color, so what’s the point? Soon it will be obvious that I’m homeless. Soon they’ll kick me out as often as they do her. I don’t know what I am going to do after breakfast. It saddens me that I hate the weekends now. It was the only part of my week I looked forward to for so long, but now? Well, now I have nothing to do. Work kills time, and work is warm. I have a full day ahead of me, and nothing to do with it. The boredom is getting to me.

Sunday.

No sign of Garry. This doesn’t mean anything. It’s the weekend, I’m sure he is out drinking or doping. That’s fine, it gives me an excuse to leave this nice neighborhood. I have not seen the man who beat me since that night, but I don’t want to risk it. I miss my tree.

Monday.

Working was nice. The time passed quickly, and I did not have to worry about the rain. But now, work is done and I’m taking refuge in the library until it closes. Hopefully the rain will be done by then, but probably it won’t. I’ve been reading Benjamin Fondane while I wait. Good read, but so much of it is just shit talking. Half of all of philosophy is just shit talking. Fondane talks shit about Hume, thinks his ideas on history are all wrong. I never realized it until now, but philosophers and rappers are in the same game. Talk shit, start beefs, then spit out some words on why you are better, or more real. Karen might think that is funny, I only tell her about the funny ones. I hate to admit it, but I’m scared of the day she wants to know more about me. That’s what friends do, isn’t it? They get to know one another. Well, I’m homeless, and mad. I’m scared because I don’t want to lose another friend.

I’m scared because my last friend betrayed me.

Tuesday.

Bus stop empty again. Now I’m worried. Worried in two parts, which is confusing. The first part: what if he does not come back? My plan is garbage then. I must fulfill my plan. The second part: what if he’s dead? I am actually worried for the bastard’s safety. This might be good, shows I am still capable of empathy, but that’s a moot point when you are actively stalking somebody. Why do I care for these occasional sanity checks? I spent a whole morning thinking about the rent history of pigeons, that ship sailed long ago. They could have had a different Malcolm, they could have had a tax paying citizen, but that’s not what they got now. Malcolm with a side of sanity and a heaping of humanity? Sorry, it spoiled, was left outside for too long, can you order something else? Why do I care?

I’m not sure what I am going to do if I can’t find Garry. I need time to find him.

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