Breakfast with Neruda Read Online Free PDF Page B

lean, heartbreaking machine.
    I don’t want to be greedy, so I only take two each of the shirts, pants, shorts, boxers, and pairs of socks. Besides, I don’t have room for much.
    Shelly is standing at the kitchen sink texting when I walk in. She whistles. “Wow, you clean up pretty good for a homeless guy.”
    I snort, and set the clothes on the counter. “Are you sure it’s okay if I take this stuff?
    “Yeah. Let me get you a bag.” She rustles through a cabinet and pulls out a plastic Kroger bag and hands it to me.
    “Thanks,” I say. “This matches the rest of my luggage.”
    “Here,” she hands me another. “Don’t put the skanky ones in with the clean ones.”
    “Yeah, good thinking.”
    “Do you want something to eat before you go?”
    “Okay.”
    “What do you want? I can nuke up some leftover steak, or chicken. Any of the carnivore’s delights.”
    “I’d really like a salad,” I say. “I hardly ever get fresh food. It won’t keep in my massive refrigerator.”
    She goes to the fridge and pulls out an armful of vegetables. “What kind of dressing?”
    “Ranch.” She pulls a bunch of bottles and plastic containers out of the fridge. She slices open a bag of salad and dumps half the bag on my plate, and the rest on hers. We assemble our salads. I choose tomatoes, carrots, celery, and cucumber slices. The first bite is the second most heavenly thing that’s happened to me today.
    “Will your parents adopt me?” I say.
    Shelly stabs at her plate, and I feel something in her shift. “Doubt it,” she says.
    • • •
    I end up working a double. The theater is packed since the mall has fully functioning air conditioning. I get off work at two, and drive around to cool off, then head for my spot behind the football field. As soon as I get comfortable, the thunder starts again. Shit. Just what we need. More storms.
    I roll up the windows and close the tailgate, and get almost no sleep while Hurricane Motherfucker swirls around me. I figure it’s about four when I finally doze off. The next thing I know, I hear tapping on my tailgate window. Shelly presses a $20 bill against the window and says, “Breakfast is served!”
    By ten o’clock or so the lack of sleep catches up with me. I move a bunch of desks back into Mrs. Fine’s room and sit down at one. I don’t remember setting my head down, and I don’t know how long I slept. A half-hour maybe.
    “Hey kid, get your ass up!” Earl bangs on the desk.
    I wipe my face. “Sorry. It’s been rough sleeping weather.”
    “Yeah, I hear you on that. You folks don’t have a generator?”
    “No.”
    He pauses. Thinks. “Go wash your face in cold water, and move on to Mr. Cox’s room.”
    It’s another day of intense heat, possibly worse than yesterday. Even though the temperature only reaches 95, the humidity is also about 95. “God, it’s so sticky out here,” Shelly says, as she and I walk out to my car to drive to lunch. “It’s like wearing gum.”
    “Yeah, I’m looking forward to my shift again tonight,” I say. “I’m exhausted, but the air conditioning makes me feel less like an amoeba.”
    We sit inside Wendy’s and bask in its full-fledged air conditioning. “Do you think Earl and Hess would notice if we don’t go back?” she says.
    “Yeah. They’d probably call the cops.”
    “The jails have AC, don’t they?”
    I smirk, and stuff a bite of my double cheeseburger in my mouth. I glance at the wall-mounted TV and read the news banner. “AEP says some power may not come on for another week.”
    “Bummer,” she says. “The generator helps, though. I can run a fan on my face all night. And our food is cold, so I guess we’re sort of lucky.”
    “I haven’t noticed any difference,” I say.
    She laughs. “You’re probably the one guy in this town who could survive this apocalypse.” She steals one of my French fries.
    After we get in the car, she asks, “So how come you, Jeff, and Annie all have different