An Escapade.
I wouldn't quite call this a hotel, B&B or a friend's house, nor would I call it awful, but I feel it'd be a fitting answer to the question nonetheless. For the sake of anonymity names and places have been changed, though the events in this are completely false as far as legalities are concerned.

Maybe this happened recently, maybe it happened a long time ago, but as a teenager I found myself in a spot of bother with my arduous, yet unhinged mother. I say unhinged, she did things like shout at the television, put clothes in the fridge to cool them down during summer, and defended her ideas with a ferocity I've never seen matched. Anyway, in a bout of teenage drunkeness and single-mother battling I was, as they say, "tossed out". Informed I was never to return.

I returned, but not after a couple of incidents that I'm not quite sure if I'm proud of or ashamed. I best get on with telling you about them.

We lived a little bit away from a large city in old Blighty, and thinking of myself as a homeless rogue I made my way there to find a pack of similar-situated scalliwags to pass the days with. The little money I had went fast on cigarettes and Carling, and as the city grew darker and the streetlamps brighter the roads grew quieter and that night cold came down, the cold that's all the more pronounced if you're alone, young and curled up on a bench with an empty bag but for your trusty inhaler, a smoker's best weapon. And a book, God bless you.

Eventually it hits one o'clock, I was awake and stumbled off the bench towards the rear-entrance of some club, hoping I could curl up beneath a ventilation shaft. It was pissing rain and I didn't have a coat. I was lonely, cold and like some ancient cliché from a film demanded it, a voice shouted, "You selling any drugs?"
Erm. Nah. "Nope." I replied to a gentleman and his lady friend who seemed nice enough and suddenly near to me.
"We're waiting on a draw." Said they, or something to that effect, and as the conversation went on I informed these two outstanding citizens of my predicament and was offered, in no short measure, a place to stay for the night. In the gentlemen's car, if I wanted. "It's dangerous out here at your age." they said and I agreed.

So, we spoke, and the gentlemen engaged me in a good conversation, he was drunk and E'd up a bit. He told me his lovely lady friend was a prostitute and they were waiting for rock. He was very adament he didn't usually do it, it was just a one night thing. He told me about his work to the top, from a similar position I was in at the time. Just GCSE's, no great ones, he worked hard, spent his money wiseley, invested it and had a great car, great apartment, and a great life. The whore and drugs confirmed this in my opinion. His car eventually came anyway and they took me to their apartment for a cup of tea.

I was expecting this to be some little flat. Maybe exaggerating. Let me say it wasn't. Obviously I need to retain some sense of anonymity for this fictional character, but let us say if I told you the city, told you to guess where these expensive and picturesque apartments were, you'd know them straight away if you were in anyway acquainted with the city. Inside was lovely, art-deco, awesome and beautiful and all. I was given a cup of tea which was lovely and a cigarette too whilst they punctured a beer can and smoked out of it. Apparantly it was bad rock however and it didn't do much for either of them, except his lady friend said it made her horny.

Que a couple of phone-calls, threats of people getting shot, and in between these this guy telling me about his family. Girlfriend, children, etc. After a while another deal was made and we went on a long walk through the city at about 2:00 am, to the dingiest, shadiest, most back-alley pool hall in the world. There occured a crack deal, a fascinating thing, and afterwards we went back to this guys apartment where they got high and the guy told me he'd be able to get me a job, I could work for him and he'd find me a place to stay - at that time I was tired and amazingly grateful I was inside. I realise in hindsight I'm almost quite critical of the event, but he's the one who's brought a stranger into his house and kept the kid warm, given him cigs, tea, crisps. After that he gave me a place to sleep inside. I didn't manage to sleep though, tried to ignore the sounds made between himself and his lady friend. In the morning, come-down, he said he wouldn't be able to give me a job, it was silly, my mother'd be worried and I'd be best heading home. And so I thanked him for the place to sleep and after a cup of coffee went home.

The next day I got arrested for getting attacked by some chav who accused me of stealing his wallet, spent that night in a cell, but that's another story. Essentially my point is, drugs and the hope of a job and new life aside, it was damn generous of that fella to give a homeless kid a place to sleep for a night, even if that kid was only homeless temporarily. So, if he's a b3tan, and can remember this event that transpired all those years ago - thanks. I went home eventually. Wasn't the last time I was homeless mind.

Length? I spend five hours in that apartment watching the sky brighten through floor-to-ceiling windows. I was really thankful too. And warm, and alive. All of which are positives in my book. My point being, it's all well and good to complain about your wet mattresses and extortionate prices - but it sure beats kipping in the rain. Also it's better than AIDS, and that awful goatee the Maddy McCann rapist has.
(sorry., Wed 23 Jan 2008, 3:23, 3 replies)

...
Great story. Not sure I believe it, but nicely told all the same.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 23 Jan 2008, 16:01, closed)

Thanks.
It is true, if my word counts for anything.
(sorry., Wed 23 Jan 2008, 22:17, closed)