Got the union behind me now. They’re putting pressure on the brass to put up or shut up: bring a case against me, or drop the charges. Enough of this bullshit.
I’m stoked. My whole body’s vibrating. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. No matter what the outcome, I’m not going down without a fight.
It feels good to stretch my fighting muscles. For too long I’ve stood passively on the outside looking in at the world. I let them shut me out, make me a nothing, their shadow. I holed up and licked my wounds—poor little Luc, little homeless bum; nobody loves him. Like I said before: enough of this bullshit. My bullshit.
Guess I’m the dope who’s the last to know I'm stigmatized by my life on the streets. I never thought I was; I’ve always crowed about those days—how I survived, how tough it made me. I wore it like a badge of honor. But deep inside, Little Luc has been gnawing on a bone of contention: he feels shame.
I'm ashamed of my past.
That’s a kick in the head, huh? But yeah, as a street rat I longed to be loved and accepted by the People. When they rejected me, I guess I rejected myself, shamed myself—same as I did when I got suspended. It makes sense now. It all makes sense.
I thought I learned to get on without the People, told myself I didn’t need them. But I do.
Now this scrappy homeless kid is gonna come out of his hole and fight for himself. Like I did when I was on the street, I’m gonna fight for my life—but this time, it’s not for a scrap of turf; it’s for my rightful place in the great big world.
