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Saints and Martyrs ˜ 285<br />

ple around him. It was only after he got mugged here in Atlanta, and the<br />

bankroll that he had accumulated to buy into another restaurant was stolen, that<br />

Bob began to live on the streets. Three years on the streets nearly destroyed Bob’s<br />

spirit and his pursuit of life.<br />

During the past few months, if you have called or come by the <strong>Open</strong> <strong>Door</strong>,<br />

you have probably been greeted graciously by Bob. Now his main job is handling<br />

the huge number of requests and donations that come in every day<br />

through our front door and over the telephone. It is wonderful to have Bob here,<br />

still reading everything he can get his hands on. Our lives have been enriched<br />

because we share life with Bob. We hope that he will continue to entertain us<br />

with stories about his past and that we will continue to have wonderful stories<br />

to tell about our life together. 2<br />

Breakfast with Curtis, by Ed Loring<br />

J u l y / A u g u s t 1 9 8 7<br />

Curtis rolled over. His foot was trapped in the kudzu vine like a moth in a<br />

spiderweb. “Oh Christ,” he prayed in disgust. Slowly, he pulled himself up, dislodged<br />

his foot, and began his ascent toward the dumpster behind Hardy’s<br />

Liquor Store.<br />

Only yesterday afternoon Curtis had been released from the city jail for the<br />

seventh time in three years. He had walked and walked until the city-sick, pale<br />

darkness had covered his. Hidden, he had crept toward his cat hole. He cursed<br />

the night and felt the fear juggle in his abdomen as he clambered downhill to<br />

his weed-webbed home. “Crap, what if some dude is in my hole,” Curtis mumbled<br />

inaudibly. “I’ve been in hell for ten days.” Wet vines flung their arms at him<br />

while giant leaves pursed their putrid petals and spit in his face. The angry earth<br />

denied her child, throwing rocks in his shins. Suddenly, an invisible tree cracked<br />

Curtis between the eyes. Red blood flowed into his wiry mustache. “Jesus<br />

Christ!” he confessed, falling to his knees. He was lost.<br />

Today was another day. “One day at a time”—he remembered the line from<br />

the fathomless lessons he had forgotten at detox. Finally, he arrived. Leaning his<br />

shoulder against the giant green dumpster’s side panel, Curtis opened the beggar’s<br />

version of a drive-in window at Wendy’s.<br />

2. Bob eventually left the <strong>Open</strong> <strong>Door</strong> <strong>Community</strong> and moved back to the streets,<br />

where he later died (ed.).

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