the wind filled my grocery bags today as i coasted down lansdowne hill and the weight of my headache and the weight of the bags made the bike unstable and i barely retained my balance as my speed increased. afraid and unsure, i walked the rest of the way home and was briefly intercepted by a crackhead sighing, “ah” at me as he walked by. fantasy. sex. briefcase. thirst. suffering an anxiety induced hangover or a hangover induced anxiety attack, i forgot my sweater outside on the sweaty, rot soaked ground. i carted my yoghurt and lettuce up half the stairs and went back for it. the crackhead was back- a different corner of the street, walking towards me, emerging presumably from a dark corner where the users congregate. he looked at me and said “hello”
maybe i was lonely, but i didn’t say hello back. In my head i kept reciting “mom told me not to talk to strangers” and concocting elaborate situations in my head where we would become familiar with each other in the course of one conversation and he really wouldn’t seem so bad until one day we established a rapport and he became creepy and stalker-ish and killed me via a knife to my solar plexus after climbing up my fire escape in the middle of the night. i’m broke. i need money. i need an excuse.
*note: the above image is the first result I got when I googled "crack"
