“Edwin is walking down Spring Street. Edwin is looking at a homeless woman who is sitting under the awning of a family-owned business. Edwin is turning right on to Seneca Street. Edwin is thinking about bashing in the storefront window at McDonald’s. Edwin’s head hurts. Edwin is adjusting his duffel so that it doesn’t hurt his shoulder so much. Edwin is scratching his eyelid. Edwin is feeling very angry. Edwin is thinking of taking an Uzi and blowing some unlucky motherfuckers to smithereens. Edwin wants the pain to stop. Edwin is turning left onto 3rd Avenue. Edwin is picking his nose. Edwin is entering the Seattle Public Library.”
This voice plagued my daily existence while I was homeless in Seattle, Washington in the late summer to early autumn of 1996. Every waking hour of every day, it wore on me like the cloak of the Grim Reaper. The voice was neither female nor male; however, as gender-neutral as it was, this voice, a running commentary of my daily existence, was a nuisance.
I’ve had other voices, but this was the clearest and most audible of the bunch. And, it was outside of me. I heard it like I would hear anyone standing beside me talking. I thought everyone heard voices. I couldn’t imagine that anyone didn’t experience them. Still, I kept silent about mine…for the simple fact that others kept silent about theirs.
In the mid-1990s, that was part of my world. I hope yours, at that time, was more wonderful.