1... What hell was

The old man ambled down the crowded streets, ignoring the looks and words sent his way. He was used to them. His torn and tattered clothes held together with grime and refuse, more than anything else. He watched, though hazy eyes, the faces of people who got too close to him; he knew he smelled bad. The stench of homelessness, age, and trash. He had long since gone nose-blind to most things, most likely a positive in his current situation. Slowly moving, he tried to keep a positive outlook. Though the years had not been kind, he still had some memories not befuddled by age and station. These memories were the only things left in this world. Everything else was gone.

As he moved into an alley behind several restaurants, he hoped he would find something good in the dumpsters. It had been a few days since he had felt well enough to go scrounging for food, or well, anything that may make his life a little easier. He wished he could go to the casino dumpsters, but the last few times he tried, he was either run off by security or staff members. Or he was chased and beaten by the younger and healthier vagrants the desert city seemed to spawn. This was his first trip out after being beaten and chased. Though he was still sore and limping, he needed to find something while he could. Then he would try to stockpile whatever food and materials he could find for the coming winter. He would hit all the shelters and food closets he could, though that would take several days, and try to secure them in his hidey-hole by the marina.

Today was a lucky day; he had found several half-eaten pieces of chicken and ribs from the local barbecue joint. As well as some potato salad that still had a bit of chill to it. Climbing out of the dumpster and shuffling away with his meal, he tried not to draw attention from the restaurant. They would yell and call the police if they noticed him, and more importantly, it would be much harder to come back later as they would keep a better eye out. Finally, after 10 or 15 minutes, he made it to the marina park. Settling down under the shade of a tree, the old man began to slowly eat. He was tempted to stuff himself but knew from experience that would cause cramps and twist his bowels. Sighing, he took his time and ate just one piece of chicken and a few fingers full of the potato salad. Out of his pocket, the only one still capable of holding anything, he took out several crumpled Ziplock bags. Carefully, he put a bit of the meat and potato salad in each bag, then made sure they were sealed as well as his numb fingers could make them. Taking the bags of food with him, he wandered around the man-made marina, again ignoring the looks and curses thrown his way. People came here to run or walk around it or walk their dogs. It was busy most of the year, even in winter. Though when the snow came, it did get a bit more peaceful. When he got to the part of the marina that had homes worth more than he made in his life, he made his way down a small waterway made for paddle boats and the like. Most of the homes here had water access to the marina via several of these, though more often than not, they were clogged with algae and other types of detritus from the homes themselves.

There was, in this maze of watery paths, several drainage pipes and traps for runoff and garbage. He had found one a few years ago that had been totally blocked by the remains of a paddle boat, as well as trash from the nearby residents. This was where he was heading. Winter would be here in another few weeks, and the weather was already getting colder. If the pipe was still blocked, he would leave his place at the river and stay in the small, roughly 10x10 space a few dozen yards into the largest of the pipes. He hoped it was not unblocked or that someone else had not found it. While not exactly warm, it did provide enough protection from the cold to let him survive another winter. He'd stayed in it the last two winters, only leaving when the spring rains threatened to overcome the blockage and drown him.

Smiling to himself, he saw that the entrance was still like he remembered it. Getting closer, he also saw that the years' accumulation of debris had increased. This would help keep water out and make it harder for people to know he was there. After several minutes of digging and moving trash and branches out of his way, he finally made a hole big enough for him to squeeze inside. He was a bit worried about some random animal or person already taking up residence, but he felt from the way it had remained blocked, then covered even more, that it should be reasonably safe. After crawling a few dozen feet, he eventually made it to the space. Feeling around in one corner, his hand came across the shape of a small plastic LED lantern he'd got from the dollar store. Pulling the top up on the little lantern lit out a dim glow. He would need to get some new batteries for it to last this winter. But still, it was here and working for now, so that was a good indication no one had been here since he last left. Scanning the space, he saw that several items he left here was still in fact, here. He began to rummage through the small cache of supplies he had decided to keep here for the winter. There was a folding chair, a heavy-duty sleeping bag, that was found in one of the sporting goods dumpsters a few years ago, as well as a few pairs of sweatpants and shirts. In one corner, he saw a pair of combat boots gotten from a thrift store that fit reasonably well, and socks. He laughed a bit; he hadn't worn shoes, or socks for that matter since his found pair of walking shoes had fallen apart 2 months ago.

Settling in for the day to rest up, he knew the next few weeks were going to be long and tiring. He sighed to himself, knowing that he was only postponing the inevitable. He was old and getting older; this life was slowly but inevitably wearing him down. He knew he could make it through this winter with just a bit of luck and a lot of preparation. He also knew that each year he was getting less and less done he needed in the time he had. He also knew he had been extremely lucky so far and not gotten sick or caught the virus that has been plaguing the nation for a few years now. Add to this the fact that he was slowly losing his focus, and things seemed all the harder to dredge up from the soup in his mind. He had caught himself several times talking to people that weren't there and had not been there for decades. Or not having any idea where he was or why he wasn't home with his family. Until the mind sharpened again and he remembered he had no family, not anymore, and his home… His real home was gone and ashes now.

What was worse was the times he suddenly woke up so to speak, not knowing how he had gotten to whatever place he was currently at. Those were the worst; suddenly he was gods know where wondering why he was there or what in his addled state he was trying to do. The worst part was that there was no warning; he would be fine and mostly clear-headed, then blink and he was somewhere else with no idea how or why. Most of the time it was small, and he'd be a few blocks or miles from where he'd started. Sometimes he would lose days and have no clue where he was until he could find the time to look for bus routes or road signs. Once he was in a small California town, then he blinked and with no clue how or how long it had been, he ended up in his current city. Which was not in California.

Shaking his head, and not talking to his friend sitting next to him, he unrolled the sleeping bag and did his best to keep focused on the now and push out the not real. Someone once said it was hell getting old. He wasn't sure if they knew what hell was...