"[One defendant] was talking about let's cut his Achilles' heel," Alex says. "Somebody
was talking about let's get a gun and blow his brains out .... [Two other defendants] had
gone to the hospital once, and they stole a 16-gauge syringe. [One of the two defendants] pulled up some lighter fluid in a fuckin' needle. I said, 'Damn, tell you guys to kill somebody, man, you all come up with some real original ideas.' Somebody said, 'Why
don't we throw him in the bayou?' "

Before they were going to leave, Alex says he sat Meinecke down on a chair in his
bedroom, Meinecke still naked and half-delirious. "I said, 'Rudy, if you can hear me,
squeeze my hand,' and I put my hand out, and Rudy grabbed my hand," Alex says. "I
said, 'Rudy, if you can hear me, and you know who I am, squeeze my hand,' and he
squeezed my hand, not hard 'cause all his strength was gone, and I said, 'What's my
name?' and he said, 'God,' and I was like 'We got problems.' I mean it wasn't hilarious,
but I said, "We got problems.'"

While transporting Meinecke, Alex and some of the others were stopped by the police.
They said their friend had been gay bashed and asked if there was a number they could
call to report hate crimes.

 

 

Jason, Shaggy and Boy scout are sitting outside up against the wall of Covenant House
one night, waiting for the 8:00 curfew, smoking and drinking takeout coffee (the milk and
sugar stirred in with the spoon unbent from around Boy Scout's wrist). Boy Scout, who
wants to get the hell out of Montrose and doubts any mainstream magazine will print the
true story of what it's like to be on the streets, has just split a can of Manic Panic purple
hair dye with Shaggy. Shaggy, who now works at a fast-food restaurant and only smokes a little reefer, is talking about trying to avoid walking into "nigger town," where he'll be tempted to buy crack. He's amused that "somebody would actually pay you to come here and write about homeless people .... You came all the way from New York just to meet us?' his laugh suggesting that both of us should get a life.

 

 

In one letter I got from Alex, who is now keeping track of the number of HIPY clients in
jail (21, he says) and waiting for his trial date, he writes about how people don't
understand life on the street:

". . . nobody has ever had a trick who gets too rough and tears you wide open so bad you
almost think you're going to bleed to death. This is no bullshit, this is the way it
happened, it is a reality. Society thinks just because they turn their backs and close their
eyes that the damn problem will go away. No, it all but does that. It comes back in a
much worsened form, much like a strain of bacteria will alter itself to defeat a known
medication. . . . Everybody says they listen, but they don't listen in the right way, they
need to hear with their hearts; that would help out a whole lot, more than what people
know."

He also writes:
". . . even in jail I hold Montrose honor, so does all the people from Montrose.
Everybody's been talking along the lines of a mass suicide going down in here. I don 't
know who would give the order, or it might go down to a vote. On a scale of one to 10 it
has about an 81/., of it happening. If it does, I can say with a clear mind, I will probably
be with them. I may have lost my leadership and face, but I have not lost my honor."