BooksBarbecue
Back At Dawn
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 1
  6. 1
  7. 1
  8. 1
  9. 1
  10. 1
  11. 1
  12. 1
  13. 1
  14. 1
  15. 1
  16. 1
  17. 1
  18. 1
  19. 1
  20. 1
  21. 1
  22. 1
  23. 1
  24. 1
  25. 1
  26. 1
  27. 1
  28. 1
  29. 1
  30. 1
  31. 1
  32. 1
  33. 1
  34. 1
  35. 1
  36. 1
  37. 1
  38. 1
  39. Copyright

I tiptoed out of the apartment as quiet as a mouse with my smaller bag, inside of which I had a legal pad, a few pencils, and a book. Outside I walked until I found a coffeehouse on Clark. I sat near the window and removed the legal pad and started writing figures. If I busted ass the following week searching for a job, I could potentially start work the following Monday. Scratch that, I had to start the following Monday. When I started—ten days from this exact day—I could expect a paycheck two weeks later, three at the most. I could assume that I’d be paid for one week of work two weeks after starting. It would take luck, and if it worked out that way, then the soonest I’d be paid was in twenty-four days. After buying a cup of coffee, I had $260. Divided by twenty-four, that left me with $10.83 per day. How could I have three meals a day on that alone? Or even two meals, for that matter?

I closed my eyes, ran my fingers through my hair. I double-checked the figures. They were correct. I wasn’t sure what I could do. The only person in Chicago I knew was Jeff. I had nothing left to sell. I realistically needed another hundred to make it, maybe a little less if I really pinched. Perhaps I could find some short-term work in the meantime?

I crumpled up the sheet of paper to keep from looking at it and walked outside. A cold rain began to fall and I stood beneath the awning to keep from getting wet. The blurred streetlamps looked bleak and desolate standing alone in the dripping mist. People ran for cover into bars and restaurants. And where was I? At a coffeehouse because coffee was the only damn thing I could afford, and even that was a stretch. One coffee, two dollars and some change, nearly a quarter of my daily budget. I couldn’t make it on what little I had.

In a feeble attempt to reestablish my wits, I stood outside until I was shivering. Then I walked back in and gathered my things and left. The rain had stopped and the air smelled of wet pavement. I walked for an hour along the streets glistening in the November cold. I mostly kept my head down and hands pocketed. When I returned, the lights were on in the apartment and Jeff ’s silhouette passed by the front window.