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NEIGHBORHOODS surrounding south Dallas used to be filled with middle-class families living life to the fullest. In the past decade, things had changed.

Before I moved to this strange city, I did a little research.

On one of my last days in Talkeetna, I used the computer in the library—and the help of the librarian—to learn about my new home.

At one time, property around Fair Park, the site of the Texas State Fair, was highly sought after.

When the real estate market crashed, values lowered and people who didn’t have much money moved in.

Now, the area is home to those without jobs, without homes, without purpose. Sounded like I’d fit right in.

I found a cheap motel on the south side of town which reminded me of the place in Anchorage, drunk men and all. Five men stood in a circle at the other end of the building; their voices carried as they passed a bottle in a paper bag .

Sun beat down on the pavement, warming the space to an uncomfortable temperature. If I were in the crowd, I would have suggested going somewhere cooler. But I wasn’t.

I needed a place for the contractor to return a call and I hadn’t bought a cell phone because it was too expensive. The screen door slammed behind me, closing me into a small reception area of the motel.

“Hey, friend. What can I do for ya? You need a room? It’s fifty a night.”

The name tag on the man’s shirt read Quinn. “Do you rent out by the week or month?” Exhaustion took over and I felt light-headed. My eyes grew heavy, and a faint throbbing formed behind my eyes.

Quinn held my gaze; he must have been trying to determine if I would be a good tenant. “I’ll take four-fifty for the month. You pay up front. If you leave early, I’ll give you half back. I force you to leave, no refund.”

“I’ll take it.” Not knowing if that rate was more or less expensive than other places around, I jumped at the chance to have a warm bed. I would have preferred to compare prices but wasn’t in the best position to do so. Wandering from hotel to hotel didn’t sound like the best idea.

Quinn seemed glad for the opportunity to fill a room. “We don’t get many tourists or out-of-towners.” He grabbed a key off the wall and wrote the number in his book. With his hand held out he continued, “It’s a pretty quiet place, most of the time.”

After I paid in advance for the room, I put on my nicest voice. “Do you have a phone I could use? I’m new in town.”

“Sure thing.” Quinn placed the receiver on the counter, nodded, and left the room.

A slip of paper with the contractor’s cell phone number had practically burned a hole in my pocket. I couldn’t wait to have a real job and a real promise for a better life. I dialed the number; it rang four times before voicemail took over.

“Hello. My name is Jake Knight. I was given your name by Oliver Moore in Talkeetna, Alaska. He said you had open positions, and I was hoping I could meet with you to discuss working for you. I’m staying in South Dallas for at least the next week.

You can reach me at my motel.” I picked up a business card and rattled off the number. “Thanks. Hope to hear from you soon.”

As if he had listened to my one-sided conversation, Quinn returned as soon as I disconnected.

He didn’t need me to ask if he would mind receiving a return call.

“I regularly take messages for the people who stay here. I understand the situation of my customers and do what I can to help y’all out while you’re in the in-between. ”

“Thanks, Quinn. I appreciate your help.”

DUSTY SCREENS covered the open windows of the second-floor room.

A mild breeze had been refreshing considering it was close to ninety degrees.

It would have been nice to have air conditioning; if I had known it was going to be this hot, I might have decided against Dallas.

But now that I'm here I need to figure out how to make it work.

Mom always taught me to make the best of what I had.

Stains spotted the green carpet and the cream-colored walls.

One lamp offered light from an end table between the two small beds.

A TV took up little room on top of the dresser and the closet door sat crooked on the hinges.

The room also reminded me of the motel in Alaska.

I put my clothes in the dresser and lowered myself to the bed.

I made a promise to myself: if I get this job, I’ll do whatever I need to keep it. If there was a God, I might pray and ask for him to put in a good word with the contractor. I needed a job and I needed to make up for what I had lost.

With nothing else to do, and suddenly wide awake, I decided to explore the area and pick up some necessities.

More men had gathered in the parking lot, and along with the bottle, they passed a joint, each taking a small hit and holding their breath.

Drugs and alcohol never appealed to me, so I made it a point to steer clear.

The group chatted and laughed. They seemed like a fun crowd. An additional three men formed their own group and two women stood at the far corner, waving at passing cars. I didn't feel threatened, but I did feel a little out of place.

Heavy plastic bags hung from my hands as I returned to my new home; I nodded to the men as I climbed the stairs. The few necessities I brought from Alaska weren’t enough to last long.

With nothing to do but sit on my bed in the stuffy space, I decided to make a presence outside, who knew how long I would be in the motel. It was always better to make friends with those who knew the area; in a new town—a big city—there might be a reason for someone to have my back.

“Vato!” A short, skinny Mexican guy lifted his chin. Seven other men stood with him in a circle. “What’s your name, amigo?”

Spanish had been the only language of which I had picked up a few words. I understood “vato” and “amigo” were friendly terms. If I wanted to have any type of relationships in Texas, it probably wasn’t smart for me to retort. “Name’s Jake but my friends call me Moose. You?”

“Felix.” He lifted the bottle to his lips, took a hard swig, and held it out toward me.

An offering from a stranger; I had no idea where his mouth had been, but figured the alcohol would kill any germs. Even though I wasn’t much of a drinker, I understood it would be best for me to accept the drink. I nodded once and took the bottle.

“Dallas has always been home,” he rambled as I drank. “But I left for a few years. Just got back about a week ago. Where you from?”

“Just got here from Alaska. I’m waiting for an oil contractor to return my call so I can get to work.”

“Alaska, eh?”

Shit, I already forgot to spin my lie.

HEAT PUNCHED me in the face as if I had walked into a convection oven. The office screen door slammed behind me as I stormed outside. Dammit Texas is hot. Frustration encompassed my entire being. Why would Pete’s brother lie to me?

“Moose.” Felix approached and stopped short. He tilted his head; he’d never seen me upset. “Vato, what’s up? You look like someone just killed your dog.”

“I’m empty.” Not a lie, but not the reason I was so pissed. “Need to refill.”

On my heels, Felix bounced behind me like a Chihuahua. Both of us grabbed a bottle of liquor and sat it on the counter beside a register. I paid the clerk for both, and Felix slapped me on the shoulder in thanks.

“Okay, Amigo.” After a couple shots, we strolled back toward the motel. “Now, tell me what’s really bothering you.”

Felix had become a sounding board to bounce ideas off of and an empathetic ear. We had discussions about life, but neither of us had revealed deep truths.

“I can hardly believe I’m saying this. A buddy promised me a job with an oil contractor down here. Gave me his number and everything.”

“That’s great.”

I stopped and stared at my new friend.

“Sorry, continue.” He took a drink.

“I left three voicemails, and the dude never called me back. Finally answered today—my fourth call. He told me he had never heard of my buddy; no one ever contacted him about a possible hire from Alaska, and he doesn't have any openings. Doesn’t expect to in the near future.”

“Awe, Moose. That’s rotten.”

“I gave up my entire life for this job. I had almost nothing, but I placed all my cards in one basket.”

“I don’t think that’s the right saying.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Annoyed, I sighed and shook my head. I was done talking. The whiskey had already started to soothe my anger. In the last two weeks of waiting for the guy to call me back, I had become accustomed to having a drink with my new friends.

“I have something for you in my room. Got it from Dennis. Follow me.”

Some of the guys were sharing rooms to split costs. Felix and another Hispanic guy kept their minimal belongings in a room on the first floor. Four men sat around the coffee table and didn’t bother to stop their activity when we entered. I had never done coke, never had the desire.

Felix went into the bedroom and came back with something in his closed fist. “It’s hot and crowded in here, let’s go sit on the stairs.”

“What’s in your hand?”

Two pills sat in his palm, he took one and nodded for me to take the other. Without any idea what it was, I popped it into my mouth and chased it down my throat with a gulp of whiskey.

TIME SPENT with my new friend helped the days pass. After we got to know each other, we agreed to share a room to save money. Felix’s roommate had decided he was too pushy and chose to room alone. They’d been friends forever, so Felix took the rejection in stride.

“Maybe when we save enough money, we can rent a house. Wouldn’t that be cool? A place we could call ours. Maybe in Cedars, a nicer area than this. I can already see it. A little white house with a little fenced-in yard. Maybe we can get a dog. You like dogs?”

“I do. I like all kinds of animals.” The dream was a way to fantasize about a different life—a better life—and I liked it.