Wake up Call on the Corner of Church and Adelaide

At ten a.m. that bitch came with the rake. She dragged it across the cement, cold bottom of the gazebo, next to our prickly heads. "Wakey, wakey," she said. Those words will always send chills: Wakey, wakey...? We don't say that in Ohio.
I was so damn tired. I was afraid to fall asleep before the sun came up. My boyfriend sat up and asked her who the fuck she is. "I work for the park. Wakey, wakey," she said.

"Give me a cigarette," my boyfriend said, and she did.

Others started to move on leaving a trail of Fuck off!s, and my boyfriend rolled up our Scott Mission blankets. I didn't move. "Is your friend awake?" that bitch asked my boyfriend.

"I don't know," he said, and clubbed me in the back of the head. "Get the fuck up," he said, and hit me again while that bitch scratched the concrete by my ear.
"Business men like to eat lunch here," that bitch said. I stumbled off the gazebo and fell back down in the grass.

"Watch our shit," my boyfriend said, and dropped the big green army bag next to me. I put my head on it. "I'm gonna go try and get some cigarettes, and maybe lunch," he said. I nodded. The Anglican church rang quarter after in its noxious English style.
The next morning that bitch came in at nine a.m. and the eight a.m. every morning after. "You know," my boyfriend said, " an alarm clock never woke me up, or the phone, trains, coal trucks, gun shots, nothin'. Nothin' but that bitch with the rake and wakey, wakey. Nothin' but that hellish scraping by my head."

We found a new place to sleep.