Morning to nowhere

Light, cruel sweeping light, smothered my face in morning as I struggled from my air mattress to a stumbling position, managing to avoid a dreaded tumbling position. I left on the boxer briefs from last night and pulled on some shorts and a shirt. I fell in love with the gallon jug of water I'd bought yesterday and devoted my mouth to its opening for what seemed like a long time until I started choking. I opened the door and the stupid cat sprinted in before I could shut him out. I don't even know the furry thing's name, I just know the sound it makes at night when its on the balcony outside my window meowing at the world below. Things were unclear. I walked through the living room to the door out of the apartment and passed the couch pulled out into a bed with some stranger sleeping there. We looked at eachother for a moment, an awkward exchange of curiosity, fuck him though I had keys to the place; I lived here if only temporarily. The white walls of the 33rd floor seemed very serene, like a mental hospital and it was cool out here, much cooler than my room which liked to heat up like an oven at night when I tried sleeping. Not having air conditioning enabled these effects. The elevator arrived to this top floor and I was surprised when I saw 3 people in there not getting off. As I walked in one of the guys in a building uniform told me the elevator wasn't working very well and they'd trying getting to the lobby twice only to be shot back up to pick up more people. I nodded trying to understand but not really doing so. The doors closed and there was a cute girl in there and I looked at her but she didn't really look at me. The elevator arrived safely and they exhaled big sighs of relief as I exhaled a .3 BAC. Pathmark was a couple blocks up on 125th street and seemed a good destination. I couldn't remember last night but I felt that it was probably better that way. I passed the recycling machines where people were already lined up with their trash bags and carts depositing collected bottles and cans, new york city's chief foragers and experts in living without homes talked and laughed, some wore gloves peeling bottles one at a time from their coveted stash and pushing them into the machine, the cents jumping up with each new deposit. It was hot and I was sweating and I smelled. I tried peeling my shirt from my body, but I realized I was outside and Pathmark probably wouldn't like that. I bought an eight pack, but of orange gatorade. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't as hot as outside. My stomach suddenly felt weak and I didn't think I could drink anything so I just walked back to the recycling machines and gave people the gatorades. I walked back towards the Miles, the tall apartment building where some of my stuff currenlty resided. It wasn't going out that was the problem, it was finding a home