Confessions of a Man on the Run!

I thought that I had gotten away from those guys.  I thought that lifestyle was far, far behind me.  I guess you can't always run away from your poor choices of the past.  Everything, eventually catches up with you. 

Twenty years ago, I was stuck in a bad, bad way.  I'd been stranded in Washington, D.C., my summer internship was over, my stay at the YMCA was nearly over, my father had told me never to return  to the midwest, and I was flat broke.  That was alot for a 19 year old kid to digest.

To gather my thoughts and plan my next move, I decided to drown my sorrows in this McDonald's down the street from Howard University.  So, I'm sitting there, minding my own business (and trying not to cry).  If you know the neighborhood, then you'll know that's not an ideal neighborhood for a young man to be seen crying over a strawberry milkshake. It's better to be seen talking to yourself (and thought to be crazy), than it is to be seen crying and for no apparent reason.  So, I sucked it up, and stared blankly out of the window, watching three rats negotiate over some spilled french fries on the sidewalk.

Caught in my own world, I vaguely heard the voice of a man (with a Spanish accent) call to me saying, "Yo, what's up, my man?  You, good?!"  I nodded to the affirmative without even looking into his direction.  Boldly, he pounced into the seat across the table from me and (with a smirk) said, "I assume this seat is open.  Thanks, Bro."  Not in the mood for any humorous banter or conflict, I didn't even question this very forward action.  The only response I could muster was, "Whatever, Man.  It's a free country, I guess."  This 'I guess' part must've sparked his interest because he chuckled and then said that this was a strange kind of freedom in this country. "Don't you think, he asked?"  I shrugged my shoulders and returned my attention to the rats on the sidewalk.  What was once three rats, was now five rats gathered at the french fry buffet.  Fearful of rats, my eyes bulged and a faint gasp escaped my body.  The stranger chuckled once again and  introduced himself as "P".  "Most Americans, he went on to explain, are like those poor rats crowding over those discarded french fries and gratefully consuming the leftovers of someone with too much on his plate.  So, let me ask you, my man, are you like those rats (searching for and thankful for scraps), or are you like the person who discarded those fries (because he had too much)?  Which one are you?  That is the only thing you must decide, and the rest will be decided for you." 

After his little speech, I must admit that this dude, somewhat, caught my attention.  I wasn't sure of my emotions, however.  Was I mad that this guy might be calling me a "fucking rat"?  Or, was I mad that I didn't really know if I was one or not?  At this moment, I noticed that Rolex watch gleaming from his wrist, as well as that gold ring (scattered with diamonds) on his pinky finger.  He must be someone important, I thought.  And, why was he talking to me?  I placed my hands into my pockets, only to be reminded that $22.50 was all that remained of my summer of work.  Finally, I responded, "Well, I'm no rat."  But, honestly, I really didn't know who or what I was.  All I knew is that I was lost.   

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