“Shane?”

I turned and looked back at her.

“I hope you found what you were looking for out there.”

I smiled faintly and nodded, “Maybe I did.”

I turned to leave again when she once again stopped me.

“Shane?”  I looked back at her again.  “You might want to take a week before calling John.  Get cleaned up, get some rest, and get some food in you?  Not that I’m lecturing you or anything…”

I smirked at her and walked out of The Edge.

My roommates also were not holding out for me.  Rent had been due two and a half weeks earlier and they found someone to take the room immediately and cover the missing rent I had left behind.  The new roommate did, however, give me $75 for the futon I had left behind.  They too were apologetic, but in the end, I had nothing to get mad about in either situation.  I had, after all, just taken off.  But after two strike outs in a row, the thought of then facing the girls seemed far too daunting.  Surely they would be the third strike out.  I’d have come back to a place I left, only to end up unemployed, homeless, and friendless in a matter of a few hours… no way.  I had come through too much to be left with that little dignity.  But where to go, what to do…  I pointed my truck down Santa Monica Blvd, as I had done on so many occasions.  I pocketed most of the futon money, and found someone I used to know to score some blow from.

After a line, I started wandering around the old neighbourhood.  I passed some people I used to know, some recognised me, most probably thought I was just some girl, buzzed and lost in the area.  It was still daytime, so most of my old crowd would not be out right now, or if they were, they wouldn’t be working, so they wouldn’t be seen.  Somehow in my wanderings, I found myself at the church connected to the shelter… I smirked at the irony of it all.  Not only had I come back to a place I ran from, but now I’m returning to a man I left not once in Austin, but twice when I left him that day here?  I smoked two cigarettes across the street from the front door of the shelter before making a move to head inside.  The lady at the sign-in desk pointed me towards Father Joe’s office.  He was sitting at his desk reading through papers.  I stood back from the door for a minute and watched him, concentrating on the writing in front of him.