“Sir, please don't raise your voice at me. We are here to help all of you.” He replied with a crack in his voice. “I'm so sorry that you believe that, but it's the furthest thing from the truth. Do you want dinner or what?!”
“Still trying to play with my head! Ain't going to happen, fool!” The grouch coldly mentioned.
“Look sir, we are in a bad place right place right now, and don't need this as we have lost someone dear to us this past week. Please control yourself!” Gracie said in a stern voice.
“Someone get some help please!” James said in feverish tone.
The blaring call for someone's help echoed within the exhausted clients and throughout the crowed sidewalk and rapidly reaches to the end of the corner of the transitional shelter. And, there is an unwritten rule in transitional housing that among the clients, they will take care of any outbursts as the plea for assistance reached the crowd of clients. It reached one of the transitional leaders while he was eating, and this didn't set well with him.
Black is an average-built African-American standing at 6 feet 1 inches tall with an ever-glowing quiet, demanding confidence that makes him standout in any educational or social crowd. He is well-dressed and ambidextrous in street and educational language. He could have been a successful athlete, and/or honor student in high school.
But, unfortunate incidents in life such as; - the death of his parents have led him to this transitional shelter. Yet, he knew how to make people come together as a family. And, family on the streets is what they needed. Most transitional clients are feuding with their family, and having this at the transitional shelter is special to all of them.
He overhears the blaring commotion and hurried over to deal with it, and nothing can disturb his perfect, well-developed Utopian kingdom.
“I bet at the end of the day all of you wish we weren't here!” The grouch firmly states in a tense stance.
“Pardon me, ladies and gentleman.” Black turns to the volunteers. “I can handle this confrontation as we're sorry to disturb all of you.”
“What are you doing fool? Are you trying to ruin it for all of us?” Black yells.
“Nah, man. Just trying to set these fools straight. Telling the truth about how they don't care for any of us.” The grouch says with a shock and nervousness in his voice. “I can handle it.”
“You’re tripping dog. You better clam down or I will handle you!” Black affirms with a stern stance.” And, I will bring it to the table!”
All of a sudden the ARCH door opens around the corner where Matt and Jessie come out to investigate all of the commotion, with inquisitive faces that are on their mentally alert minds as it's a common occurrence at the shelter to have confrontations every day. However, there is always a special protection with volunteers as the liability and reputation of the transitional shelter is on-the-line.
Matt is the driven, college-educated Anglo-American day manager standing at 6 feet 3 inches tall with a slim built, but is a well-renowned czar of reason where “talking people down” is his gift. He is an incredibly bright, well-liked mathematician where all of the transition clients can find a warm-heart in all of their relationships with him.
Jessie is an Anglo-American employee standing at 5 feet 8 inches tall with an average built, but is well-liked, full-time single father of a 9 year-old daughter where the mother struggles with alcoholism, and he has become the custodial parent. He constantly talks about his concern for his child to his closest friends and clients as he is an unknown great father to most women. They would appreciate him. He is just as loving to the transitional clients as his own flesh-and-blood.
“What's going on here? Matt inclines. “Are we having any trouble, Black?” Matt asks.
“Man, just a fool acting like a fool, but we can handle it.” He replies.
“Well, as long as the volunteers are not disturbed or threaten. They come here for all of you. I know it's not easy dealing with all of this, but they're here to help.” He affirms.
“We have it under control. He won't be eating dinner tonight.” He laughs.
“Are all of you alright? Was he bothering all of you?” Matt turns to the clients out of concern. “I can have him leave.”
“No sir, I'm not offended at all.” Muhammad mentions.
“He wasn't doing any harm. He was just voicing his opinion. It is a natural self-evident right of the First Amendment here in America.” Gracie softly says. “We take no offense although we are struggling with a death in the family.”
“I would like all of you to take a break if possible. I'm sorry for your loss.” Matt gently says.
“That sounds like a good idea.” James replies in exhaustion from passing fliers and talking to the clients. “I sure can use it.”
They all begin to put aluminum foil over the not-so-warm(without proper heating equipment) hot dogs and bags-of-chips, close the lid on the jug of punch, and lay the bottle water on the ends of the tables. There is an empty spot in the alley between the Salvation Army and ARCH so they “casually-stroll” and make their way to it in order to preserve themselves from the transitional clients. Trusting the clients with food is something that is revered from previous engagements, and tonight is no special night.
“Look, I can take all of the food. I can sell it.” Jaime jokingly giggles. “I can donate it to my lovely figure. Remember, I'm fluffy.”
“Man fluffy. What about your lovely figure?" Alex laughs.
“It won't damage it as my good looks are more than lovely figure. It's all about the hair!” He laughs.
“But, you don't have any hair! You're bald!” A stunned Alex replies. “Anyway, you’re not like that.”
But, the pedestrian crosswalk on the suddenly turns to the white-cross-handed-signal across from the ARCH where the mysterious gentleman has made his way from one corner to the next. He stands there puffing on his Cuban cigar while grinning as if something has gained his confidence, yet with a tilt-of-the-head, it's an undying sight to watch him figure out his surroundings.
And, from the end of the street, there comes another transitional client walking towards the weekly reverence, and just-so-happens to walk near the mysterious privileged gentleman. It happens to be warmer on the end of the street that night as the light-warm breeze continues to enhance the foul smell of the gutters.
“Hey buddy. Would you like to make a few extra bucks? I'll make you a deal?" The confident mysterious gentleman asks.
“What do I have to do?" The client responds.
“Just go over to the innocent, used crowd and mention to them that the non-profit organization serving all of you is corrupt. They are using governmental, designated funds stolen from the transitional clients.” The mysterious gentleman whispers.
“Sure, I can do that. I wouldn't want any stealing from me!” The furious client blares.
A dime for a soul,
Perfection takes its toll,
Deception from a story told,
I have your soul,
A dime for a soul
“Hey, a gentleman just said that the ones feeding us are stealing from us!” The unknowing client reveals to the crowd of clients.
“Man, that's just wrong!” One client expels. "Are you sure?”
“Yes. He is a high-society, privileged man who probably has great connections.” He replies.
The mysterious gentleman inhales another deep puff from his well-crisp Cuban cigar. And, he exhales, blowing the thick cloud of cigar smoke towards the transitional shelter.
All of sudden angry voices begin to ring-out-loud as a transitional mob is now forming throughout the building and most of them are now conferring with each other. Their hearts now begin to become completely numb with the heart-wrenching toll of the swift, swarming mindful instances of proposed immoral behavior from others. They begin now to intently vocalize their utter disapproval of the fabricated deception of information throughout the social crowd. And, now to blare out it loud so the passive-aggressive social technique can reach the servers.
“Now, I can't stand anyone who plays with our money!” One client yells.
“They should be dealt with!” Another directs his frustration from the patio.
“That's just wrong! Are we rejects of society that will take it! Hell no!” One gleams with utter disapproval.
“Matt, this is getting out of hand. Should we call the police?” Jessie asks.
“No. Patience, Jessie. Let's see how it turns out.” He responds with a concerned tone. “Let reason take its course.”
“This ain't right. It's time we bring it to the table!” Another response rings out loud.
“Yeah buddy. It's time!” Another one is in the making!” Yell a couple of clients.