“Its a hard luck ROCK, for us.
Its a hard luck rock, FOR US!”
“The pipe will come out, tomorrow.
Bet your bottom bitch that, tomorrow, there’ll be crack….”
This visual is killing me.
Out in front of the supermarket, is a folding table.
Taped to the front of it is a poorly xeroxed pictures of smiling kids.
A sign on the table asks for donations for foster kids.
The little honey behind the table, I assume to collect the donations as they roll in, is a human being that has lived a hard life.
Meth is not even in question, there has DEFINITELY been meth.
Missing teeth tell a story all their own.
But, and here is the kicker, this is all about her.
Meth will do that to you, make you the main character in every story.
And she is on the phone.
“These fuckers want me to sit here like a retard, begging for change for minimum fucking wage!”
Let that sink in.
Take a minute.
Lets move on.
If we take our clues where we may find them, we have the tragic tale of Little Orphan Meth Head.
She is not homeless.
How do I know this?
She has a house arrest ankle bracelet, so she lives SOMEWHERE.
She is making minimum wage, but has not walked off the job, so, at some level, she gives a shit.
Lots to love, lots to hate.
Plus she has a potty mouth and doesn’t give a shit who hears it.
Sliding over into love here.
I am hiding just inside the automatic doors in the store, out of sight.
However, my presence is making the automatic door stay open.
When no one comes out but the door stays open, eventually she will notice and the jig will be up.
Next epic line.
“I don’t give a fuck where they put those little bastards!”
Big step to the hate.
Do what you want, but don’t fuck with the kids.
They have a hard life too, but they had no choices, unlike our orphan.
Run your whiny mouth all you like, addiction is still not a disease.
I contemplate for a few minutes what to do.
Do I get involved? Complain? Try to talk her down? Something?
Something it is.
I play wallet roulette.
I reach into my wallet and grab the first bill from the middle and pull it out.
I don’t organize my money, so today, it could be any one of 3 ones, 2 fives, a ten or 2 twenties. (I am really sweating the $20s. I am charitable, not rich.)
In the end, I folded the ten and stuffed it into her box while holding my finger over my lips.
Crazy bitch actually smiled at me.
I left before Annie attacked Daddy Warbucks.
It was a beautiful moment, but lets not try and fool ourselves.
The sun will come out……Tomorrow!