You hit rock bottom
While dividing a bean into thirds to share with two other bums, you realize that you have hit rock bottom. “How did it come to this?” you ask yourself as you gnaw on an apple core. You draw your harmonica from your pants pocket (indeed, your tattered pants have only one pocket), and begin to play a melancholy tune. You realize that the bum on your left has been talking the whole time.
“I think there’s fries in here,” he continues, rummaging through the refuse.
“It’s proper to say, ‘I think there are fries in here.'”
“Don’t make no sense. I seen fries in here earlier this morning. I ain’t sharing ’em if you don’t help me look,” he says.
The bum on your right never talks. He just sits there with his hat pulled over his eyes smoking cigarette butts. In a way, you admire him. He answers to no one. He keeps to himself. He finds plenty of cigarettes lying around, and he even sort of looks like Jean-Paul Belmondo in Breathless.
“I don’t eat french fries anyway,” you explain, “especially not ones from the garbage.”
“What makes you too good for fries? It’s not like they’re chewed on or nothing.”
“Well,” you begin, “It didn’t used to be like this…”You decide to: