Pussyboy

Hostel Pt. 3

I forgone the grocery shopping and just focused on getting my mind off things.

There were a bunch if hotdog stands and taco trucks lining lengths of Wall St. I approached one that was slightly beyond Wall.

It was a truck like the typical ones you see in the city. Red and white stripes canopy and a narrow steel ledge, the hotdog guy was busy squeezing ketchup and mustard on a woman's sandwich. There was a handful of people orderin' a hotdog – namely four – and well since this was New York, they were pretty demanding.

"Hey, Sal I want a Hungarian, with less mustard and a lot more ketchup."

"I want a Italian with a lot of sauerkraut and onion sauce, with ketchup and mustard up and down those condiments."

"Get me those Cheesy hotdogs with some onion sauce, no sauerkraut, and a hell lot of mustard and ketchup."

I thought I was havin' a bad day, I'd look like the Queen next to this guy.

He was exhausted and it was winter. No one gets really riled up in winter with cold and all. When it was time to order, I just ordered something simple since I felt for him.

"I'll just have the Italian and a lot of onion sauce."

He smiled at me then went to make it. Fuck, how could he do that? He was wearin' a thick jacket and layers of jeans and some boots. Cap on with the Mets in front, he looked like someone who I could fondly remember.

Somehow, in the 8 million assholes inhabiting the city of New York — people tend to look like somebody because there ain't much room for innovation on how people looked. It can't be done.

People you pass by tend to look like your father, your mother, your sister, your dead husband — hell, they might even remind you of your old dog when you were a kid. It was stupid. But sometimes, I feel like a see my mother on the other side of the street walking, or my father buying coke from a bodega in the city. I even see Molly the old family cat in some of the bodega cats around the city.

Were they watchin' me?

Huh, was that mother on the other side of the street? Was she watchin' me? Did she entrust me to someone so that I could live good? Did she know I was working as a prostitute in the city?

Long Island was far but not too far.

Was the hot dog vendor my father? Did he smile at me because we met in the most weirdest place?

Oh god.

I was crying. The hot dog guy hasn't even finished my order. Oh god.

Do something, Niall.

I drove my left hand into my pocket and felt for $3. I was shaky, though. God, I hate crying — it was stupid. I rubbed my free hand to both my eyes, removin' those tears.

It was no use.

I began to full on sob.

Fuck, I hastily got the $3 and planned to make a run for it. Trying to save myself from embarassing myself, but when I went to hand him the money – he noticed.

"Hey, yo' okay?"

God, why do these things happen to me?