Free Shattered by Eric Walters Page B

streets.”
    Mac shook his head. “Not for the people I deal with. I’m not talking about kids. They hit the streets because of physical or sexual abuse, running away from a bad home situation, drug abuse, or some, a very few, just because of the thrill of being on their own. They think it’s some sort of adventure. They find out pretty soon it ain’t and most go back home, especially in the bad weather. In the summer the streets are filled with kids. The first good snowfall sends them all back home.”
    We came up to another group of men standing around a big garbage dumpster. All four of them greeted Mac enthusiastically.
    â€œLooks a bit like rain tonight,” Mac said, looking skyward. It was overcast.
    â€œHope not,” one of them replied.
    â€œWell, if it does, you know what you can do, eh?” “Get wet,” another answered and they all laughed. “That or go into a shelter. Heaton House would still have space.”
    â€œThey can keep their space.”
    As Mac talked to them, they passed a bottle from person to person. It was offered to Mac.
    â€œThanks but no thanks,” Mac said politely.
    â€œHow about you?” the man asked, holding the bottle out to me.
    I backed away, holding my hands up, shocked. I couldn’t even imagine what diseases I could get sharing anything with this bunch.
    â€œHe’s too young to drink,” Mac said, answering for me.
    â€œNever too young or too old.”
    Mac reached into his backpack and pulled out a package of cigarettes. “You boys want to split these?”
    â€œThanks, Mac.”
    â€œYou’re a real buddy.”
    We started off again.
    â€œDo you give out cigarettes to everybody?” I asked. “Best way to gain their trust and that’s the best way to help them. Nobody accepts help from somebody they don’t trust.”
    I guess that made sense. Besides, getting cancer wasn’t what was going to kill these guys.
    â€œIf those men aren’t going to a shelter, where will they sleep tonight?” I asked.
    â€œI think they were standing right beside it.”
    â€œThe building?”
    â€œThe dumpster,” Mac said.
    â€œThey’re going to sleep in a dumpster?”
    â€œIt gets them out of the wind. They can pull down the top for protection to keep dry if it rains. Not a bad place.”
    â€œBut a dumpster … how could they sleep with all that garbage?”
    â€œThere’s garbage and then there’s garbage. That dumpster is used by a furniture factory. The stuff they put in there, pieces of wood, bits of leather or plastic and foam, it makes a good place to sleep.”
    â€œBut why wouldn’t they just go to that place you mentioned … what was it?”
    â€œHeaton House. It’s a men’s shelter. They can get a bed and a bath there.”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound bad. Why don’t any of these guys want to go to a shelter?” I asked.
    â€œLots of people do use shelters, but just as many others don’t.”
    We crossed a busy street and headed off into the dark of another back lane.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t everybody go sleep in a shelter?” I asked.
    â€œLots of reasons. It can be crowded and loud and sometimes dangerous. There can be fights, people rippin’ off your stuff. Some people can’t stand being around people who’re mentally ill. And some people just can’t go. They’re banned.”
    â€œBanned? What would somebody have to do to get banned?”
    â€œStealing, beating on people, or just being too crazy—” “Don’t you mean mentally ill?” I asked, chiding him. “Nope. Crazy. Maybe being up all night screaming and yelling.”
    â€œStill, that has to be better than sleeping in a dumpster.”
    â€œThere are some places that are better than both. Sometimes some of the boys get together, pool their money, and get a motel room or even a room