Donny walked through the slush of the sidewalk. The cold feet really were a buzz kill. It was bad, ruining the high. It was everything to him now. Nothing else. 

"Oh, daddy," Donny says aloud, as he bursts into tears, "Ronald, I'm so sorry daddy.  I miss you so much, Ronny. I love you dad. Oh, God, why?!?! Why?!?!" 

It was all about his dad dying. That's why Donny started on drugs. Not just the Oxy, but all the pot and booze in school. Donny didn't believe that weed was a gateway drug. It was more so that Donny was determined to go through all the destructive paths he could. He sought out all the gateways on his own, and lunged through them. 

He never really took college seriously. At one point during his attempts to make up work, Donny searched online and found answers to some of the school tests. He began cheating, in an audacious move to make it through his schooling. But the money ran out. Donny couldn't afford to drive to class anymore. He had no vehicle, and relied on car pools and rides. His schedule was mostly night classes, however, and Donny was never able to set up a dependable car pool with his fellow classmates.

Donny had given up on himself. The drugs were an immediate fix for his jumbled emotions. They ended up worsening his entire life. Ronald was not there to support him, either financially, or emotionally. It's what it really came down to.

Donny needed therapy. NOt just drug therapy, but some work with a psychologist as well. Donny had just now started contemplating what drove his actions. This seemed like a key step. Why had he put it off for so long?

Donny understood he was a bad person.

Things made sense, somewhat. Addiction had a pathology, just like any disease. Donny traced back the origins of things. He lived in the past too much. It was another epiphany. Not bad, Donny. You can make the connections now, but what about when the drug is filtered out of your system? What happens when you must rely on your own chemicals, and they are insufficient for the task??? What then?

Donny weaved his way through town to the graveyard. The tombstones were nestled tightly together. The rows of dead were packed. It is peaceful. The deceased make no sound. Donny searches the markers for a particular name, his own.

Grieves. Ronald Grieves. Ronny. Dad. Daddy. Gone now. He was 43 years old at the time of his passing. Donny kneels, unmindful of the snow which dampens his pants. 

"Hey dad," Donny croaks, "how ya been, my old man?"

Donny brushes free a pile of powder. It has been snowing, and hasn't let up. Donny has escaped through drugs all this time. He needed to face it, and come to terms. 

"It's not fair, dad," Donny says pitifully, "you left us alone. I know it wasn't your fault, but why did you have to smoke so much? Didn't you know I followed your example? We were so much alike, pops. So much the same, it was almost scary."

The apple doesn't fall from the tree, and addicts are are like apples, in that regard. Ronald had tried quitting cigs, but it was awful. It was the only time Donny saw his father angry, violent even. Ronald tried it all. Nicoteen gum, the patches, you name it, he attempted it. He eventually switched to light cigarettes, as a compromise with Marissa. It didn't stem the growth of cancer. Donny followed in stride, his own cancer subsisting of opiates. 

"I wish I was dead, dad," Donny bawls, "I wanna be with you, Ronald. Take me away from here."

Donny stoops to his hands and knees. His palms feel the slightly raised surface of the grass. Donny digs downward, to meet the lawn. The displacement of space was Ronny's body. He is so close to his dad, within 6 feet, but couldn't be farther away. Donny would give up his life gladly if it was guaranteed he would see Ronny again.

The falling snow piles onto donny, like flakes of cold dandruff. 

"Ok," Donny mutters, sniffing loudly, "ok. I'm not gonna give in, dad. I'm gonna beat this. I swear to you, I'll beat this."

Donny rises to shaky legs. Being now frozen, the pants tug free from the icy ground. Donny wouldn't just live for the idea of his dead father. He had to find his own reasons to exist. Donny turned and walked away from his fathers grave marker.

Donny is almost all the way out. He's near the front entrance, where most of the newer plots were put. Donny halts. One grave in particular has grabbed his attention. Donny walks with purpose over to this particular burial mound. He studies the carved letters spelling out the name. Donny unzips and promptly urinates on the area nearest the gravestone, where the deceased head would be. He shakes every last drop free, sprinkling the area with beads of urine.

"Fuck you, you evil sonovabitch," Donny says, zipping up, "you've ruined more than one person's life, but Greg got the best of you. I hope you rot in hell."

Donny turns away from Jessie Baxter's plot, and leaves.

Where would he sleep now? The laundromat. It always came back to the  Soap-a-Rama, just inside a little strip mall off of sycamore street. It was Donny's home away from homelessness. 

Donny stirs from his sleep on the bench. The lighting is weird. He rubs his eyes. Everything is red and blue. And pulsating. Oh, fuck. Donny turns and sees the cop car parked just outside the front.

Donny shields his eyes from the epicenter of the cop's blinders. That stupid little light mounted on the side of a car could burn out his retinas, it seemed like.

The cruiser door opens and shuts. The dark outline of the cop is all that can be seen. Please, don't be Whynzinger. Not him. The front window of the 'mat is opened. Buresh steps through.

"Donny?" Buresh asks, with surprise, "I thought you'd be dead by now."

"Not quite, Buresh," Donny corrects, "but I'm gettin' there."

Donny stretches and gestures around at the empty place.

"I'd tell you I was doing laundry," Donny says, "but there's no machine running. And we both know that's not true."

"I haven't seen you on the streets lately," Buresh says, taking off his stocking cap and resting a foot on one of the seats. His lengthy arm rests on the leg, making him look like a casual cop. "I heard you were with some gal, living over by E street."

"We broke up," Donny says ,"now, it's back to my humble beginnings."

"Have you thought about what we talked about?" Buresh asks, "About getting into the clinic, and stuff?"

"I actually filled out their forms today," Donny reveals, "It's gonna be awhile, but I'm in the Methadone clinic's computer database now."

"Well, that's good," Buresh says, removing his foot from the chair, and putting his hat back on, "but I'm here about complaints of loitering, from the manager. He drove by here earlier and saw you, then called it in."

Buresh points towards the exit with a hooked finger, telling him where he needs to head.

"Let's go." Buresh says with a trace of sadness. 

Donny chats a little before they leave. Donny asks to be given a ride across town, but Buresh cannot. The department was cracking down on expenses. Every mile on the car was logged now. Buresh was in his assigned sector, but could not leave. 

"I did a background check on you," Buresh says, "to keep a tab on ya."

"And?" Donny asks.

"You've got fines, I saw," Buresh mentions, "and you plead guilty to the public assembly thing. So you can't fight them. You'll have to pay eventually.

This is stupid. Why was Buresh grilling him about such belittling things?

"You can't jail me for fines, can you?" Donny asks smugly.

"we can take your license, if you don't pay them."

"What the fuck do I need a license for??? I ain't got a fucking car. I don't even have a moped. It doesn't affect me one bit."

"I'm just trying to tip you off," Buresh explains, "I think Whynzinger is gunning for you. He'll look for any reason to bust you, fines included."

"Thanks for the hint," Donny says, walking past Buresh's cruiser into the harsh night. Just when Donny couldn't be any more down and out, a ray of hope comes his way. Donny recognizes the Blazer from several dozen yards away. The rusted area on the hood gives it away. It's Gus, the Carpet King. Thank goodness. Donny could now get his sleeping bag. Donny sees the old man curled up in back, a red and green afghan wrapped around him. Donny knocks on the plastic window on the back. Gus' head jerks towards the sound. Donny smiles tiredly.

Gus awakes, and lifts the hydraulic door on the back.

"Donny?" Gus asks foggily.

"Sorry to bug you, Gus," Donny says, "but do you still have my--"

Donny's words fall short. Gus is resting inside the very sleeping bag Donny was inquiring about. Donny felt a strange surge in himself. The selfishness was apparent now. Donny wanted his sleeping bag back. A dull anger was centered around Gus now. Donny had no one and this guy is looking to steal his stuff.

"That's my sleeping bag," Donny says distantly.

"Sorry, I've been using it, since you left it in back," Gus says, already unzipping from the bag, "I wasn't gonna keep it."

Donny's nerves cool. The looming withdrawal was making for jumps to conclusions. Gus was a pal. The Carpet King rolls up the bag and offers it to Donny. 

"Gus?" Donny whispers.

"Yeah, Donny?"

"Can--can I please crash here with you?" 

Gus' eyebrows furrow together in displeasure. If he says no, Donny will leave. But the refusal must pass Gus' lips first. Donny will not digress.

"I thought you were with a girl, or something?" Gus asks.

"We broke up tonight," Donny says, "I've got nowhere to go. Please, Gus."

Gus leans out the back of the tailgate, his knobby knees and legs exposed to the night air. Goose dimples dot Gus' chicken-like flesh. Gus knows what it is like to have no one to rely on but yourself.

"Oh, okay," Gus says in an agitated way, "but you can't stay up front. You'll get noticed, like last time. You'll have to share the mattress with my old bony ass."

"No problem," Donny says, climbing immediately into the back, "and thanks, Gus. You're saving my life by doing this."

Gus had learned a thing or two from Donny's exploits. Gus was parked beside a utility pole, which had an electrical outlet near the base. Gus had a space heater, too, and used it in combination with the outlet to make the back of the blazer nice and toasty. It was right next to Donny's feet, however, and started to get scalding hot after a time. Once Gus was asleep, Donny turned down the setting to low.

No cops disturbed their slumber. However, their obstacle for the day does not involve a man in uniform, but electrolytes and current.

The blazer won't start. Gus turns the key, but there is only the click of the ignition. 

"Fuck." Gus says, scowling.

"Dead battery?" Donny asks cautiously. Gus is afraid. It's the first emotion that communicates from the old bum's eyes. It is not good. The Carpet King wears a downturned mouth. Gus is too old to go walking around, looking for a place to charge his battery. 

"I know what it was," Gus says, as his hand falls to resting on the steering wheel, "That tailgate door has to be shut just right, otherwise the overhead light back there stays on, and drains the battery."

Gus peeks into the back cab through the sliding glass partition. 

"Yup, goodness to Christ, that's what it was," Gus says, and Donny feels dreadful. If Gus didn't have Donny to contend with, the door would've remained shut properly. Then, they both wouldn't be in a predicament where freezing to death might be a likely outcome.

"What do we do?" Donny asks fearfully. It is like a child asking a paternal person. Gus is a father-figure. Maybe that's why Donny has always trailed after the old dude. Donny's survival skills were limited. Starting out, he had relied heavily upon Gus. It is the same now. Donny has done nothing to improve his situation.

"We--" Gus says, staring blankly ahead. Snow still covers the windshield. The wipers haven't wiped, because the battery wasn't charged. And the battery wasn't charged because of one little light bulb. They may perish for lack of a power source. For want of a battery, the kingdom was lost.

"Maybe we can get a jump," Donny offers. Gus nods blankly. 

"Yeah, a jump start," Gus mutters.

"You got cables, gus?"

"Yeah, I got em." Gus says, opening his door. Donny follows. Gus goes through a decent-looking tool chest. The box is in good shape, most of the tools still polished and clean-looking.

"There they be," Gus says, pulling the alligator headed cables from the drawer."

"Let's go bum a spark," Donny says, with a solemn face.

The wind was picking up. Donny huddled into the bears coat, trying to cover what skin he could. He should have grabbed his stocking cap from Amanda's. Too late now. Unless he went back there, to pick up some more stuff. Nah, fuck it. It would be easier to just get a different hat.

A passing motorist decides to help the poor men out. The guy drives a hulking Ram pickup. It reminds Donny of Benjamin's own ride. The guy looks like a farmer. There are many bags of Morton salt in the back, most likely to melt the icy walkways around a farmhouse. 

The bulky man popped his hood and affixed the jumper cable jaws to his battery. Gus made sure to hold the two cables apart, to prevent any sparks. He put the positive on first, for safety, then grounded the negative clip on the blazer's engine mount. 

After a few seconds of charging, Gus got in and cranked it. There was ratchety click, as if the starter were clearing it's throat.

"Just give it a little bit more time!!" Donny yells over the prevailing wind, "your headlights are back on, at least. So, it's working."

Gus rests his head against the steering wheel, looking as though he may not rise again. Donny sees a man old enough to maybe be his grandpa, reduced to such indignant battles. Gus should be in a retirement home, or in a vacation house, enjoying his workless years. Instead, here they were, trying not to die.

Gus is finally able to start the motor. He revs the engine defiantly against the elements bound and determined to swallow them whole. 

Gus thanks the man for his assistance, and they both unhook their respective jumper cables. Donny hops back in, putting his hands in front of the heater.

"Where to now?" Gus asks, "we've gotta keep her running, so the alternator can charge it, so we might as well drive somewhere."

Donny tries to list priorities. He had drugs. He needed money, for more drugs later. Where could he get some greenbacks? A lightbulb goes off in Donny's head. 

"Take me to the park," Donny says excitedly, "where I used to live. I know where to get some cash."

Why hadn't he thought of it before? Because Donny's brain was damaged. No joke. His cerebellum was like a crash test dummy. It had been jostled too much, and didn't function normally. Drugs kicked the shit out of his ability to recall, and communicate. He was in a stupor most of the time now. If Gus had handed him the cables, he wouldn't know what went where. 

Donny crept back to the gazebo bungalow. He borrowed Gus' hammer to pry back the lattice. Gus had looked at him seriously, and asked Donny not to steal his hammer. Donny had to promise to come back with it. Even Gus knew the depths Donny had sunk to. Donny was trolling the bottom, filtering in whatever came his way.

IT was actually a pretty funny thought, Donny decided: a crackhead, running through the park, with a hammer, trying to pawn it and get money for dope. Yep, Donny laughed. It was easier than crying anymore. 

Donny crawled on his back, and looked for the notch. Geez, it was really a tight fit in here. He had burrowed like a mouse into an area tight, but just barely livable. He moves the false piece of wood, which hides his stash spot. Donny had pried the board loose one night while feeling very hyper and productive from some good weed Eugene had sold him. It was all a body high, and Donny was pleased as can be, to tear shit apart. He then hollowed out a portion of the wood, to let his money accumulate. How much was there?

Enough to buy a car battery. Also, enough would be left over for some more Oxy. Donny wanted to spend all the cash on OC, but rationalizes that helping out Gus would ensure a place to stay. Donny had nowhere to turn. 

"She won't turn over," Gus says worriedly.

"Why didn't you leave it running?" Donny asks.

"I DID leave it running!!" Gus yells, "it just died. The battery's no good. That fucking cocksucking thing!!"

"I have the solution," Donny says, with a clown's grin as he pulls out the wad of cash. Gus stares at the bills, completely transfixed.

"Where did you get that?" Gus asks suspiciously.

Donny is hurt. Gus knew that Donny's past was more checkered than a chess board. 

"I didn't steal it," Donny says, and realizes that refusal may point toward more guilt than innocence. Me thinks thou junkie doth protest too much.

"We need another jump," Gus says, exiting the Blazer. Donny shoulders slump. Gus didn't trust him, at least not completely. 

It took around 15 minutes to get a car to pull over. Gus had his flashers on, to prevent a collision from a passing motorist. The other driver was a young college dude driving a station wagon. The car was a real grocery-grabber, looking like it should be driven by a grandma, rather than the slim lad currently behind the wheel. Donny notices that the wooden panels of the vista-cruiser style vehicle are blotted and splotched with various spray paint. The young were foolish, sometimes.

The blazer was resurrected like Frankenstein's monster, through the voltage and amps of the station wagon's battery. Gus thanked the young man and gave him 2 cigarettes for his troubles. They were Gus' last smokes. It was not a given that Gus would be able to get more of those cancer sticks. 

The two bums hurriedly clamor into the Blazer, and speed over to the automotive store. The Blazer quits again, just as they roll in. Donny and Gus share a laugh. They made it there, that's all that mattered. 

The battery cost $99.99. It was a grand total of 2,000 pop cans, at 5 cents for every deposit. The battery was an off-brand name, and it was the least expensive one they had. There was a core charge, but Gus got $15 back when he came back inside with the other DOA battery. Gus explained later that the automotive store would take the dead battery and refurbish it for future use. Gus would've bought a refurbished battery, but decided a new one was much more reliable.

The store owner checked the new battery, and even put it on the charger briefly to make certain it would work to full capacity. Gus handily swapped the batteries in no time flat. When the blazer started again, Donny couldn't contain his triumph. He hugged Gus awkwardly from the side. Gus pats him on the shoulder.

"That battery was old, anyway," Gus states, "it was time for a new one."

"Can I stay with you for awhile?" Donny asks, with gumption. It was best to ask now, while Donny's contribution was still fresh. 

Gus could've wormed his way out of this request. After all, Donny had been the one to shut the rear door on the Blazer to begin with. Gus might've gained leverage against this measure, but perhaps the Carpet King was weary of cruel tactics. Judging by the description of Gus' divorce, there was many a foul deed concocted against him. 

"Sure," Gus says, shaking Donny's hand. The Blazer was a mobile-home, now with 2 residents.