Downtown

It's New Year's Eve's Eve, and I'm far downtown with three close friends. It's biting cold, and the frosty wind evades coats and scarves, slipping freezing fingers down our backs. Instead of sitting by a cozy, warm fire, reading a engaging novel, I've been dragged out by three pathodemonic assholes whom I have the misfortune of loving to the point of icing my nads for. I may have misjudged my friends' capacity for torture.

The overcast sky is swiftly darkening by the time we reach downtown, and the crowds upon crowds of tourists, bored teenagers, homeless wanderers, religious zealots, and possibly illegal immigrants are beginning to disperse back to their homes, vents, and caves. I keep my eyes peeled for the odd straggler - from previous experiences, the ones that stay separate from the crowd have a reason to be, whether it's drugs, alcohol, or just plain rebelliousness. Any way you look at it, it's the lone wolves that are dangerous. Call me a paranoid maniac, but I call it like I see it.

Fortunately, no one jumps out of an alleyway to steal my lunch money. I take the time to glance up, at the clouded sky. Not much to see, especially on a winter's night. The thick blanket of clouds obscures the stars, and any possible invading alien ships. Even so, the streetlights would drown them out anyways. There are no stars in the big city. Worse, it starts to rain slightly, a slushy mix of snow and water drizzling down onto our heads. I put my hood up, but it only focuses the wind into my face, and I accidentally eat a few strands of hair. Blargh.

We pass by a homeless man sitting in a doorway, and I drop him a dollar. "Find a nice place to sleep tonight. It's cold." I have an affinity with the down-and-out, probably due to a mutual understanding of the craziness of the world. I already have a lot of ripped clothing and hand-me-downs in my closet, so if I ever decide to live the free life of garbage cans and pigeon catching, I'm already halfway there. My friends are jumping on flower planters and screaming at passerbys. I grin. I'm nearly 3/4 homeless with the company I keep - I have the insanity part down pat.

Standing at the corner, underneath a shop overhang, is a young man with a binder under his arm. He spots us passing by, and asks for a few minutes of our time. Making a quick decision, I take the initiative and stop, because I really do enjoy meeting random street people and hearing their stories. My friends don't look too pleased, but they aren't going to leave me (I hope), and stand in an awkward semicircle around the stranger. I realize we're blocking up half the sidewalk, but I can't be bothered to squish together, in case he has a knife or an alien chestburster ready to kill me. You can never be too careful.

He introduces himself as a member of Doctors Without Borders, and a PoliSci major. I suppose he's not going to try and bite my neck out, so I take a step closer. One of my friends teases him for being an artsie, but he takes it with a gracious laugh. He explains his situation, citing many numbers and statistics, the rising AIDS problem in Africa, and the work MSF does. It's all very interesting, especially the comments he makes about how the entrance exam consists of being bitten by rabid wolverines. I shuffle my feet, trying to keep warm, as he rattles off complicated facts about AIDS, Ebola, and other viruses that would make your skin crawl (or dissolve). The same friend segues into a discussion about mongooses, which he vehemently declares 'pussies'. He redeems himself by claiming albatrosses are 'terrifying' and that platypussies... platypusi... platypusses... more than one platypus are 'awesome'.

In the end, he asks us for a donation of 2 dollars a day. In response, all of us gape open-mouthed. We often don't have enough money to buy lunch every day. 2 dollars is a king's ransom to a student. Instead, we promise to spread the word, and volunteer our time. In my head, I am thinking OH NO THE AIDS WILL COME GET ME FOR NOT DONATING. As we walk away, I watch him stop another couple, and wonder how dedicated a person has to be to volunteer to stand outside in the freezing rain. I stop when I realize I've been walking in the rain for hours hanging out with my friends. I suppose we're both in similar boats.

Shops are closing up left and right, and all the stores I normally frequent are locked and barred. Looking around, I notice the streets slowly emptying. The nightlife awakens, and suddenly the streets are full of music from open bars, blares of screeching horns from cranky drivers, and tight-knit groups of users smoking in alleyways. I smile thoughtfully, and then look for my friends. They're molesting a metal statue off in the distance.

Screw it. I run to join them.