Diary of a Teenaged Hustler

By Ed Petty

Strong Adult Content Rated PG 17

Seventeen year old Ricky Devlin didn't have a life like other young boys his age. His past was filled with memories of alcoholism, drug abuse and family discord. It seemed to him like his only outlet was to write about it all inside his so-called "diaries".

ISBN 1-59431-488-8 Novella / Gay / Suspense

Cover Art Shelley Rodgerson

Also available in RTF and HTML formats.



Part 1

Ricky Devlin was startled awake early that morning by traffic sounds on the overpass above him. Was it by something else, though? Bad dreams were too many for him since he’d been thrown out of his home three days earlier. Most of them featured his father Walter shouting at him in an alcohol-induced tirade for some inconsequential thing. Walter usually ended these arguments with his son by saying, “You’ll never amount to anything. You’re just a pansy-boy.” Ricky almost believed him.

Although Ricky was glad to be free of his dad and out of a house that smelled like cherry cigars and whiskey, he didn’t know what to do next with his new life on the streets. He couldn’t ask his mother Ruth for advice. She was inside a rehabilitation clinic doing her best to kick a cocaine monkey, and she wasn’t one to talk about steering clear of the so-called “seedy element.” Ricky’s only plan for that day was to eat breakfast. He only had 80 cents inside his blue jeans. How much nourishment could he buy himself with that?

Ricky walked away from Laurel Canyon Boulevard’s freeway overpass toward a coffeehouse that was two blocks away on Moorpark. He sat down at a table inside. A red-haired waitress took his order ten minutes later.

“Good morning, Cutie,” she said. Her verdant eyes sparkled. “What can I get for you today?”

“I’ll take coffee with cream and sugar,” he told her. “Is it 50 cents a cup? I don’t have much money.”

“Yes,” she said. “We all need to eat, whether we can pay for it or not,” the waitress said. It was like she understood Ricky’s situation almost immediately just by looking at his disheveled hair and unkempt appearance. “I’ll bring you some toast with butter and jam, too. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Please make it strawberry,” Ricky told her. “That’s my favorite.” He looked at the waitress’s nameplate. “Thanks, Cassie.”