Trevor (2)


We heard word that our shop is going to get torn down and that we have to vacate by September 1st. For some reason we’re not allowed to tell the public, which is a real shame because I think that would help our sales a bit. The whole day only 6 people came in, three of which actually bought anything. The very last person to show, just as I was closing, was Trevor.

He looks worse and worse each time I see him. This time he looked real drunk. “I’m not very happy! These fucking guys. I’m sick of ’em!” He was yelling and spitting all over the place.

“Who?” I was scared he was talking about me. The last time I saw him he asked me to put a jean jacket aside for him and I didn’t.

“Look at ’em, they’re everywhere. I’m sick of them pushin’ us around and fuckin with us.”

I looked out the window. There were a few people laying down on the sidewalk, passed out drunk. Most of them were Aboriginal. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about them as a people or just drunks in general. Either way it wasn’t very pleasant.

“And the cops don’t do nothin’ about it, pushin’ us around. I’m sick of it. Just look the other way, that’s it!” He’s pointing at me and stumbling backwards. “I’m third generation here. My father was around when they were still hanging guys like this. Here punch it up in that machine,” he suggested, pointing at my laptop.

“What do you mean?”

“Here punch up … fort… hanging…. jail. Just do it and you’ll see. We were here long before these bullies.” He was getting too close for comfort. I held my hand up and touched his shoulder.

“Whoa. Whoa. Just take it easy.”

“Well I don’t like it. They’re bullies and I’m sick of seeing this mess. And I don’t like bullies!”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s okay, man. Nobody does.”

He threw his little weird hands in the air. “This is my neighbourhood. I lived here first and I’m sick of seeing all this stuff going on.”

“This is my neighbourhood too. I live around here.” I suggested, so that he might not throw me into his hate pit.

“Well I’m gonna stand up to ’em and I’ll either die tryin’ or go to jail for defending myself.”

“No, no. Don’t do that. Those are both bad options.”

“Yeah…” he, said somewhat defeated. He walked towards the door and I followed after him, to lock it once he left. “You got nice eyes.” He told me as he stepped outside. “You came to my house that time and… you’re a good guy.” It’s like he was deciding then and there whether or not he’d try to murder me.

“Thanks.” I said. “Ok Trevor, you stay safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Good luck, right?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Have a good night.”

I still don’t know what he was going on about and I don’t know if I care that much. Maybe it’s a good thing we’re closing down.


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