AFTER DINNER, I drive to the group home they're staying at. I swear that place is all grey and gloomy. I run past a grey hall with bars on the windows and has lights like a jail, buzzing and flickering on and off. I go into a huge room filled with voices big and small all over as the people get into their squeaky bunks. I see them getting their things on their beds. Ty's on the top and Busk is on the bottom. I race over to them.
"Hey, man," he says as he makes sure his little brother gets all of his things ready.
"Are you guys going to court later for the trial?"
"Next week. My lawyer said that she'll do something about it. Bench trial."
"Oh."
Ty points to two big men in the corner, "they're here."
"Oh shit, go! Go! Go!"
We run out into an abandoned church a lot of other people scattered about the place perfectly quiet. Talking in a low chatter.
"They? Who's they?"
"The guards," Busk explains, "we're not supposed to be in the group home. It's only for the people who pay and the people here didn't pay."
"We have to pay to live here, right?" Ty says looking at Busk for approval.
"Get out!" boom a voice from a corner.
"Oh fuck," Ty groans, "It's the paster.
The other people groan as they sleep beside dumpsters except a drunk man wabbling from all the drinking he does as he stands upon a chair he carried out of the church and the group home.
"Listen, homeless people," he wanders about.
Then a guy behind me says, "what's this guy yammering about?"
Another one goes, "I dunno but it's gonna be stupid."
"Listen, we're getting treated badly. We have to pay to live in a shelter," the people throw their food, items, and drinks at the familiar-looking guy we all must know.
Ty gasps, "That's my friend's father, Robert Wenson!"
"Oh," Busk and I simotanoiusly say.
I go home after that eventful day. They finally have a group home in the basement of the group home. They'll never find them there. I hope.