WORSE UP NORTH

Dave and I were walking down the road. Dave was my best friend, my sidekick if you will. We'd known each other for years.

"Where are we goin'?" Dave asked.

"Don't ask stupid questions," I replied. We hadn't known where we were going for a full year now and Dave knew that as well as anyone.

"Where are we?" Dave asked, changing tacks.

"Somewhere in the known world," I replied.

There was a grimace but nothing further. Dave thought I was an asshole, I knew, but he didn't dare say anything about it. Being as such I was prone to violent outbursts and spewing of diatribe and the like, which he'd learned for himself from past experience. I was one of those assholes who was comfortable in his own skin, who didn't mind being what he was. There had been a time when I'd been a nicer guy but those times were long since past.

Dave was looking hangdog and so I threw him a bone. "We're still in New Hampshire," I said over my shoulder.

"I thought you said we was supposed to be in Massachusetts by lunch."

"What lunch."

"I mean by noon or thereabouts."

"Well, whaddaya want from me. We ain't there yet."

We'd been walking for hours along the same goddamn road and all there was was trees. Big tall pine trees, standing at attention like pronged erections. Exactly two cars had gone by and neither looked prepared to stop for anything. Which wasn't surprising, nobody stopped for nothing these days. Hitchhiking wasn't what it used to be.

"I'm hungry," Dave said, trudging along behind me.

"Quitcher goddamn bitchin'," I said.

"No, c'mon, we ain't eaten in a day and a half. Ever since that lady gave us them rolls at the bakery."

"What the hell you want me to do about it, Dave? You want to try eating the pinecones? Do you know what those taste like? Any idea? Huh? Or you could try catching a bird and skewering it on a stick and roasting it over a fire. That is, if you could build one."

I was no rugged outdoorsman and neither was he, and therefore every so often we had to endure a little hardship, go without for a while. It wasn't unusual for us to skip a meal or two, or three, nor was it in any way unusual for Dave to grouse endlessly about it. I was going to have to get myself another sidekick at some point, one who didn't whine as much.

The little square sign rose up in the distance, planted like a flag in the shoulder.

"There, we're in Massachusetts. See? Progress is being made," I said semi-triumphantly.

"I don't see how Massachusetts is goin' to lead to any more food than New Hampshire did."

"Wait til we get to Boston. They have all the food in the world there, and it will be far easier to get." Normally I would have ignored that comment as well but in spite of my own hunger I was feeling magnanimous.

We bumbled along for another few hours before finally chancing on a truck driver who let us hop in the cab with him. We thanked him profusely, told him our story, about how long we'd been on the road, about how damn hungry we were. He had a couple of premade sandwiches in the back and told us to help ourselves. Again we thanked him. We'd been living on the kindness and generosity of strangers like this for so long I couldn't remember anything else. There had been apartments and jobs and things way back in the hazy past, Dave had even had himself a wife and kids at one point, but it was all so far removed from the present day that it might as well have never happened at all. We were both pushing forty now, we were getting old. We were moving from intrepid traveler territory into broke-down hobo territory rather fast and both of us could feel it. But the job and apartment thing was no longer an option, there was no way in hell I was ever going back to that. I'd starve to death first, I'd freeze in the gutter. I'd lie and cheat and steal and do murder just to keep from getting dragged back in. The world was a trap and I'd escaped and maybe they'd eventually find a way to catch me again but I sure as hell wasn't about to go quietly.

The truck rumbled down the highway and soon we were in Boston. We thanked the truck driver dude for about the fifth time and got out. We were somewhere on the outskirts, I didn't know exactly where but we were along the river and so the course was easy enough to follow. Down a long depressing avenue with big depressing buildings fucking along in a slight drizzle and then there was Fenway Park just off to the right.

"God damn it, I'm sick of walking," Dave complained. He had blisters the size of coconuts on his feet and I didn't care, I just wanted him to stop making noise.

"If I hit you, I'll bet it will quiet you down," I said with as much menace as I could muster.

"I'm serious though, we been walking for a goddamn week straight. I can't walk no more, my legs are about to give out."

"Suck it up there, son." I thought about hurling further insults but having arrived in Boston was improving my spirits rapidly and now I felt like some chitchat. "The Common is just up ahead, we can grab a coupla hot dogs there or something. Sit in the park and vegetate, have ourselves a rest."

"How we gonna get hot dogs? With what money?"

"I got a few bucks off that bum we rolled back in Burlington."

"And you didn't tell me?? We coulda been eatin' good all week."

"I was saving it for Boston. And anyways, it's my money, not yours. I found it, not you."

Dave mumbled downwards into his jacket, redirecting his objections. It was late May and fairly warm and both of us were wearing coats that were way too heavy for the season, but such were the joys of vagabonding. We'd certainly needed them a month ago, believe me. New England springs are about as bad as most folks' winters.

We got to the Common and sat down in the grass. The drizzle had stopped and the sun was coming out. People were sitting here and there, on the ground, on benches. The adjacent streets were abuzz with activity. "Look at all the dumbasses," Dave proffered.

"Yes, there they all are," I concurred.

Neither of us cared for people too much, which was part of the reason why we were on the road as much as we were. Staying in constant motion tended to keep them from bothering you like they did when you were welded in one place. I'd always been that way but Dave had slowly evolved over time. I felt slightly guilty about having influenced him like that in such a negative way but that was life. You ran around bouncing off this and that and some of it inevitably stuck. Dave had bounced into me and he'd stuck and now he didn't like people. It was only reasonable considering I was the only thing he had to listen to for months at a time, I mean some of it was bound to rub off on him.

"What you suppose these people think about while they're sittin' there like that?" Dave asked.

"About eating, drinking, fucking. About money, the job, all the bills that are piling up. About how they're going to pay for junior's education. All that kinda shit. Nothing terribly interesting, I'd assume."

I sat and watched. "Not a brain in the lot," I said, validating my own previous conclusions.

"You're right, most of 'em don't look none too bright."

"Thought processes akin to birds."

"I suppose so."

"I vomit upon them."

"So do I."

Dave had learned well under my tutelage. I reached over and gave him a pat on the back, and then the motion morphed into a shoving-over sideways. He took it in stride. Dave was a trooper, in spite of all the bitching he did.

"I wanna get somethin' to eat," Dave said.

"Yes, so you've told me. Okay c'mon, let's go," I said.

We got up and went to the Irish bar on the corner. Half of Boston was Irish bars. I'd been here before.

"Barkeep, a mug of your finest ale," I said, slapping a few bucks down on the bar top. The barkeep was a large rotund fellow who didn't care for what I'd just said, or the manner in which I'd said it. He was in the process of rolling knives and forks into napkins and looked like he wanted to drive one of them into my hand.

"He means we want a coupla beers," Dave said with an outthrust thumb in my direction. I grinned goofily. I had to admit I liked to fuck with people like that. These days it seemed like everything offended them so why not just go ahead and get it over with right up front, get everything out in the open right away.

The large rotund fellow procured our beverages and reluctantly placed them in front of us whilst simultaneously swiping away the dirty greasy bills. I sipped and smiled. One felt more like oneself with a frothy mug of ale in one's hand.

"What about the food," groused the idiot.

"Beer first," I overruled.

He found a little dish of nuts to inhale and shut up for awhile. I relaxed. I began to survey the surroundings. There were guys and gals scattered around, youngsters for the most part, looking all hip and smug like they always did. I had no idea what day it was but the size of the crowd at such a premature stage of the day led me to suspect that it was most likely a weekend. Not a huge crowd really, but big enough, probably a Sunday. Yep, I looked up at the TV and saw football on, Sunday it was. That was fine, Sunday was a day of rest. And so rest we would. There was a brunette sitting on Dave's other side and we'd both ogled her a few times already.

"I ain't gotten laid in centuries," Dave murmured as he watched me sneak another peek.

"Forget it, you stink. You need a shower," I said.

"Shit," Dave said. He took another pull of his beer. The bartender was passing through again.

"Barkeep, another - "

"Fack ahhf with tha bahkeep shit, just ask fer a fackin' beah," he said, rather forcefully. He was one of those feisty Bostonians, I could see. Some of these people got a mite bit aggressive.

"Two beers then." Two beers were brought, and this time they were slammed down.

"Better cool it, we're gonna get tossed," Dave said. I drank my beer more peaceably this time, and my sidekick did the same.

We drank through the first football game, then through the next one. We were out of money and hadn't eaten anything yet. Dave was back to complaining.

"There's practically nothing left, we just drank it all," I said to him.

"You moron," he said back to me.

"There's enough for soup. Get some clam chowder," I said.

We ordered two bowls of clam chowder and wolfed the stuff down. All it did was reawaken my slumbering hunger, which had gone dormant whilst drinking the beer. "Let's go back outside, maybe we can bum a few bucks off someone out there," I said.

It was cold out on the street, way colder than before. People were bundled up and milling around, going here and there.

"Screw this cold," said Dave.

"My God, you whine like an old woman," I said.

"It was better out west. I don't know why the hell we came back here anyways."

I didn't know why we had either, to be honest. Just your basic wanderlust, I supposed. Like I was saying, it was better if you didn't stay in one place, if you stayed on the move. But I had to agree with Dave on this one, the cold was getting into my bones and chilling me off completely and beginning to screw with the wires in my head. This place was like friggin' Canada, it was ridiculous how cold it was in the so-called Spring.

The people on the street went to and fro. We watched them do it. All that wasted energy, all those stupid useless lives you'd never know anything about. I didn't want to know about them, the futility would probably drive me to suicide. It was a waste of time no matter how you did it. An old woman shuffled by, Dave asked her for some change, she ignored him. The next one all but snarled.

"They're mean here," Dave said.

"I know," I said.

We heard a commotion coming from the alley next door. We went over to investigate. A bum was within, staggering around in the chilly gloom, trying to relieve himself against the wall. There was a bottle of something lying at his feet, he looked pretty damn drunk. The staggering ceased and he toppled over to one side, going down like a sack of potatoes. We waited for snoring and then crept forward to inspect the remains.

"Nah, he's got nuthin'," said Dave, rifling through his pockets. "Just a busted down old drunk."

"Shit. Take the bottle," I said.

There was about three-quarters of the stuff left, he'd just switched over to a new bottle. The old one was still lying there next to him. We took the bottle and made our way down the street and went back to the park to sit in the dark and try to get drunk. The liquor always took some of the sting out of the cold and it wasn't winter where you'd freeze to death in your sleep or anything so we didn't really have anything to worry about. We found a tree to lean against and started hitting the stuff, taking long nips and passing it back and forth. We told stories, we laughed. We made a little party out of it. We commiserated, expostulated, did a bit of hooting and hollering. We made fun of the people passing by, told each other what we wanted to do to them. Everything was fine until a cop came by. He was walking the beat, apparently they still did that here.

"What are we up to tonight, boys? Is that a bottle there I see?"

He came over and confiscated the bottle. "You know you can't do that in a public place, don't you?"

Dave was feeling the liquor, he was starting to get up. I tried to put a hand out to restrain him but he was just out of reach, a finger's length too far away.

"We weren't doin' nuthin', officer. We was just sittin' here mindin' our own business."

"You're slurring your words, you're drunk," the cop said.

"No I ain't, I'm just sittin' here and so's my friend and..."

"Yes you are. You're both coming with me. Let's go."

The cop took us by the arms and led us to his cop car. We were given a free ride to the station and they booked us and then threw us in a cell. A bunch of dirty smelly hoodlums and derelicts were all penned up in there and none of them looked happy about it.

"You idiot, why did you have to open your goddamn mouth," I muttered.

"It wasn't right. It was like I said, we weren't doin' nuthin'."

"It doesn't matter, you still keep your mouth shut."

I had to fight the urge to turn around and punch him in the nose. We found ourselves a spot in the corner and sat down. The guys in there were really a sorry lot, about as down and out as you could get. The biggest one was a bald fellow in an old army jacket with hair coming out of his ears and nose and everywhere else, he looked like an enraged bull about to charge. He had his eyes on Dave in particular.

"I believe that fellow wishes to sodomize you," I murmured into Dave's ear.

"Sodomize. You mean..."

"Yes. That."

Now Dave looked as unhappy as the others. It was not a happy place to be. The drunks were lying on the floor and every so often one of them got up to empty his bladder and we all had to watch him do it. No one said anything, they all just sat around glowering, vegetating like cattle, waiting for the end of the world. It looked like they were used to the routine, like they'd done this about a thousand times before.

"When they gonna let us out, you reckon?" Dave asked.

"In the morning," I replied.

"How you know?"

"Cuz this is the drunk tank, that's what they always do."

"How you know it's the drunk tank?"

"Because it's full of drunks. Look around. And anyway, that's what he brought us in for."

Properly pacified, Dave leaned into the corner and tried to get some shut-eye. I had no idea how he could even try to sleep in a place like this, what with that gorilla eyeing him so covetously and all, but he was able to manage it with no problem. The little bastard could sleep through anything, he'd always been that way, ever since I'd known him.

They let us out in the morning. It was raining again and we were instantly sopping wet and freezing cold.

"Look, there's a McDonalds," said Dave, pointing at a McDonalds. "Let's go in there."

We went in there and sat in a booth until we were kicked out by the manager. It took about fifteen minutes. Back out in the rain, fencing with the elements, trading blows with the cold cruel world. Moments like these tested your resolve, your determination, your dedication to the cause. I was feeling strong. I was never going back, never, there was nothing they could do about it. I'd die first. Dave was griping once more and he was seriously getting on my nerves, even moreso than before.

"Shuddup with that shit," I advised him. He was in no mood for it either, he glared back at me with big baleful eyes.

"I'm sick of you bossin' me around," he said. "Not gonna take it no more."

"Shuddup anyway. I'm tired of listening to your sorry ass."

We went back and forth that way for awhile, shuffling down the street bickering like some old married couple. We were heading towards the financial district, or towards the water, I couldn't be sure which. Toward the areas where all the money was. These places always reminded me of death and it was adding to my already compromised mood. We reached a busy intersection with two lanes of traffic rushing by both ways.

"God damn it, I wish you'd tell me where in the hell we're goin'," Dave exploded.

"Why don't you tell me, Einstein. What are you contributing to this situation? Exactly nothing. You're dead weight, is what you are. I'd be better off without you dragging me down."

"Fine, then let's jes go our separate ways then. I'm good an' sick o' you too."

Dave stomped off in a huff. In a matter of seconds he was five blocks down and still moving fast. This had happened before, many times, in fact it happened about once a month or so on average. Somehow we always found each other again and hooked up and hit the road to resume our wanderings together but some times it took longer than others to do it. Depended on how long it took for the remorse to kick in on my side of things. In this case it took about ten blocks. I grabbed up my pack and huffed it down the street, gaining on him little by little. He stopped for a rest on the edge of a little square and it allowed me to make up the remainder of the distance. I'd been correct, we'd been headed for the water; there it was underneath that bridge.

"All right Dave, let's kiss and make up. I'm sorry for what I said."

"No. I ain't goin' with you no more."

"Come on, don't be stupid. We gotta figure out what we're gonna do next."

"Don't call me stupid."

"Okay fine, I won't."

Dave hesitated, considering the options. The rain was still coming down and we were both thoroughly drenched. He stood there helplessly. I knew as well as he did he wasn't going anywhere without me, he wasn't exactly what you'd call the self-sufficient type. He had a substantial amount of trouble buttering toast.

"All right then. Whadd're we doin' next?"

"Look what I found," I said, producing a twenty dollar bill and dangling it on front of his nose.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Found it in my inside pocket, didn't know it was there."

"You're lyin', you been holdin' out on me again."

"No, honest, I didn't know."

He glared at me suspiciously. "All right, let's go get some food."

"Deal."

"No beer first this time. I want food, for real."

"No beer this time."

"I ain't kiddin', I'm about ta die."

I let him bitch for once. I'd already begun to miss him, just in the time it took for him to cover those ten blocks. I may have been an asshole, but I was an asshole who got lonely just like the rest. The road was a tough place to handle when you were all on your own. It just about ate you up if you tried it for too long.

We got out of the rich man's mess and then about a mile later there was a diner on the corner, right next to some old railroad tracks. We went in and ordered steak and eggs and the price wasn't even too steep. Dave attacked his steak so ravenously you'd have sworn that he was the one who'd pulled the beast down, it was quite a sight to see. He really had been hungry, he hadn't been kidding.

"Let's go south next," I suggested, staring out the window at all that rain.

"We're mixin' up the seasons," Dave said through a mouthful of food. "Supposed to be headin' north in the Spring and south in the Fall."

"Who cares, I'm sick of this northern crap."

"Gotta say I am too."

Looked like we were going south. I thought about the last time I'd been down there, it had been at least three years, maybe more. I'd gotten myself in a spot of trouble in Atlanta once.

"Didn't you say you spent some time down there, when you were younger? At least for a few years?" I asked Dave.

"Yep. Spent five years in Jacksonville, 'tween the ages of nine and thirteen. Were the worst years of my life."

"We should check it out then." I smiled at his upraised face, the eyes showing a touch of incredulity. "Whud I just say?"

It was carry-over, he was still pissed at me from before. I let it drop and things simmered down and Dave returned to attacking his steak. He finished with the meat and then vacuumed up the eggs and then went after the coffee as well, then ordered some more.

"Still think we should go back to Denver," he said.

"We'll go back afterwards. After we get some warmer weather."

"So you say. Fine, I'll go along with it. But I don't trust you none to keep yer word. Been plenty o' times you said something similar and then didn't follow through on it."

"We'll go back to Denver. We'll get there eventually, I promise."

We left the diner and headed on down the road. There was nothing there but industrial waste and iron ships in the water and all that cold hard New England, sitting there like it was just waiting for us to die, like it actually wanted us to. It had been a mistake coming to Boston. I hadn't known what we'd been thinking. I couldn't even remember whose idea it had been in the first place. I dug in my pockets and did a quick inventory, there were still a few dollars left.

"Let's hop on a bus and see how far south it'll get us," I said.

"Fine with me," Dave said.

He was hobbling somewhat, his feet were bugging him again. I could tell he would have been happy to do anything so long as it didn't involve any more walking. We needed to find a place to hole up in for awhile and get ourselves an extended rest. Maybe Richmond, that was a pretty good town. You could sleep outside in a place like that, without worry of being accosted by the cold. We turned around and went back to the city and after an hour's worth of circling found the Greyhound station. It turned out we only had enough for a couple of tickets to DC. DC it would be. I hated that city with a passion but a man had to do what a man had to do.

The bus came, we climbed aboard, stowed our packs overhead and took a pair of seats in the back. We smelled and we looked raggedy as hell and our fellow traveling companions didn't care for it one bit. I didn't mind that at all, they'd always bothered me just as much, in the opposite direction. The river ran both ways. Anyways, what did they want from us, the facilities had been somewhat lacking as of late.

The bus shuddered into action and just like that we were back on the road. Dave was asleep before we even got going, his head drooping down to rest on my shoulder and his tongue lolling out and the snores coming hot and heavy. The whole country was in front of us and we were free as birds. I was able to keep my own eyes open until we got into Connecticut and then I lost the fight and was fast asleep as well. I dreamt of palm trees and coconuts and warm sand where you could lay like that forever and no one would bother you and no one would even know you were there. Richmond didn't have any sand but there were places further down that did.

Scott Taylor hails from Raleigh, North Carolina. He is a writer and a musician, and an avid world traveler. His short stories and poetry have appeared in numerous print and online publications, including Vast Chasm, Adelaide Literary, Unlikely Stories, Literary Hatchet and Swifts and Slows. His novels 'Chasing Your Tail' and 'Screwed' have been released with Silver Bow Publishing, and his novellas 'Freak' and 'Ernie and the Golden Egg' are slated for inclusion in an upcoming anthology with Running Wild Press. He graduated from Cornell University and was a computer programmer in a past life.