Leo wasn't sure if he could take another phone call from his parents.
Wasn't he coming home for Thanksgiving? When was he coming home?
They were upset with Maggie, for running off with Rhys. They thought they went to Mexico, but they weren't sure.
"Why would they go to Mexico?" Leo came back with his own questions. Did anybody know how Garvin was doing? Leo didn't want to care. He promised himself he didn't. But it was true. He was sure he would always love Garvin.
That was another world to him, now.
He'd been so busy. Yes, Leo was working, but his parents didn't seem to call that working, evidently. Mowing the lawn was working. Oh, he knew how his dad's brain functioned.
"I don't care." Leo finally said as if he was done with them. He believed it now, his sister wasn't nearly as wonderful as he was always taught to believe. She was just as unpredictable as anyone else. "Maybe..maybe she's happy..ever thought of that, Mom?" He sighed.
It was ridiculous to even listen to his mother. Suddenly, they were dependent on him, to be the good son they expected.
"Are YOU on drugs?" His mom wailed.
"God! NO!" He didn't go anywhere except to where he was suppose to be. He dressed the way the designers wanted, which was always in drag. Once it was done, he was the Leo they'd always known. And he was catching up on GAME OF THRONES, paperback edition. A book was always so much better to hold than a tablet or his phone.
Yes, he still lived with Sal and Laska and her sister. Did his parents not know how hard it was to find a place to live in this city? He wasn't going anywhere, but to bed.
Only by the time he got off the phone with his mother, he had to get some fresh air. Leo couldn't possibly stay put. He was too wired from these problems he couldn't do anything about.
Soren wasn't so sure about the bright lights and the big city. It hadn't exactly paid off. Coming here. Yet, he knew it could be a lot worse, living on the streets for life.
But he was here for his music. Thinking this was the place to be, but he got more handouts in the midwest. There were some places he could make 500 bucks in an hour or two. He guessed some people were more generous than others.
"I thought that I've been hurt before...But no one's ever left me quite this sore..." He started to sing again as he played his old guitar on the urban street corner in the dead of night. Maybe if he was lucky, someone rich in the neighborhood would give him a few bucks to suffice. He kept his head down. It was true, he was a genuine vagabond, but they weren't at all popular, these days.
He caught a stare then, out of the corner of his eye. Naturally, he went to town on the strings of his beat up Martin. Trying his best to make it work. Like it might be his shot of fame. Somebody, important might be watching him. He hoped.
But instead he got an unimpressed sigh. He should have expected it. Damn, if these New Yorkers were hard to impress.
"Why are you here?" The young man asked, who was probably in designer sleep pants.
"Its a quiet street corner," Soren smiled. Not many were out and God knows, he's seen enough pain and grime on the busy streets.
"It was." His deadpan stare left Soren with the impression that he better get going before this high end fellow called the cops.
Soren only sighed. He hadn't spoken to anyone in so long in this crowded place, that he didn't know what to say. He put down his guitar in the old case and slipped in the few bucks he did get, into his front jeans' pockets.
Honestly, he didn't want to bother anymore. It didn't take him long to walk away, from any further questions.
After all, the guy scared him a little with those Steve Buscemi eyes of his. He acted like he was better than the rest.
"Wait a minute?" The tall fellow called to him. "Where are you from?"
Soren looked over his shoulder and for a moment wanted to say he was from Timbuktu, but he didn't. "Iowa." Yeap, he'd came out here by train. Lord knows, he'd walked enough since then.
"Is that really true?" He winced as if he found that hard to believe.
"I would not lie. This little place, Glenwood." Soren kept straight lipped.
"I know where that is," he said.
Soren almost let a smile slip, but he bit his bottom lip instead. "Well, isn't that nice." He'd keep his guard up.
The lean fellow asked him if he'd had breakfast yet.
"Hell, I haven't even had supper." Soren sighed, thinking nobody would want to be seen with him, Especially, when he smelled like a dirty old sneaker.