All dressed up for the homeless (part 2)

A small lady with a blonde ponytail stood on the corner of Milwaukee and Belmont.

"Maria?" Dad asked. She spun around.

"Oh! Vasya," she gasped. "Let's go."

Milwaukee intersects Belmont at a 30 degree angle. Cars with red flags and white eagles shot puddles of water in the air. An old ford with baskets of apples stood on the corner. A few Latinos warmed themselves under the Shell canopy.

Turning into an alley we walked past a row of self-standing garages and 90's SUV's with tinted windows. A man with a Bears hat leaned back against a garage door, pissing straight at his feet. Maria turned away and faced us for a few seconds. I stared at the stream of urine.

We walked around the block and came up to three men under a loading garage. They wore winter jackets and hats. One of them sat on a cardboard box. "You boys have a ruble for cigarettes?"

"Where do you live?" Maria asked.

The man sitting on the cardboard banged the ground, "Cement." One of his pant legs was up, exposing smooth dry skin.

"You see where they live," Maria said. "He's probably got gangrene." The man grunted at his leg. "Do you know where Andre is? He's a tall guy."

While the man mumbled something in Polish Maria started walking around the block. We stayed under the overhang. "Coffee," I asked.

"Sure," the guy said. I handed him my excuse for parking at Dunkin. The stale smell of urine and hard liquor soaked the air. I kept my hands in my jeans...