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crackhead calling

2003-11-11 - 8:55 p.m.

I was driving home tonight and anguishing over this death complex I tend towards having. I don't know why the hell it comes, then goes, then comes again, but it does. I thought about this neighborhood - families, run down, bodega fruit truck, hot corn in foil selling guy, slight gang activity. A lot of times I drive home and I don't care. Tonight I thought, like I do on my off again nights,

I could be the one that gets shot in the head around here.

But then, heads are small enough not to be the main target of a shooting, especially while driving.

My head isn't that big.

What are the odds?

I made it home with no shots, actually no one was even really around, but I was all lit up tonight, because of the Kombucha I've been taking. It lights you up, really it does. Just you never know how it will light you up.I've gotten 1/8 of my workplace hooked on it, with probability more towards 1/4. So I got home and I was fine. Until I heard my name being called from outside. Thin walls.

For 10 minutes. _____. Where are you ____? hey _____! It's Jimmy! _____! _____! _________________!! I was not in the mood for this visitor, he's newly sober, maybe not at all, the cousin of an old friend, not a good track record with crack and unhealthy men, umm... oh yeah. When another friend of mine lived here, he stole her ring. Not off her finger though,the guy had some decency. Hey _____! And he might still have a key to my place.

The thing is, I really like him. He's a great guy, (Hey____!) the 3% I've seen him sober. I'm thinking he needed a place to crash. Not a hell of a great night we'd have, me watching him, him watching my jewelry.

Of course I don't answer the door, nope. I call my fatalistic friend Roxy. She never makes me feel better.

"He's a psycho, I'd be so scared. You should leave, now. Leave!"

Nope. He's still fucking yelling my name out there. Well if I had any doubts about his sobriety, I don't now.

I just went next door to the adjacent apt. where John lives. The guy's been working out for at least 3 years since I've been living here, and I swear he's gotten smaller. Hasn't gotten tougher.

"I don't think I should go out there, ____. He probably won't leave. Just wait it out."

Ok, pectoral notatalls, I knew I couldn't count on you. I'll just wait it out in your apt. until you tire of me or I tire of you or Jimmy tires of calling my name, a name I now loathe with all the energy I had left for the day. Just screw everyone.

Jimmy finally left, because the alley cat over here drowned him out, and I think Jimmy was on his spot. What if I had just said whatever and answered the door?

"Hey! Why didn't you answer the damned door honey? I was out there for an hour calling."

I know. I know. Believe me.

"What are you doing can I come in? How are you? I've had the longest day...life. NOTHING is going my way I lost my job"

Yeah, not a good time, really. Call me tomorrow.

"And go through THAT again? Please! Honey! Do you have any food?"

Umm...

"For the week? I got fired from "Jizz Eats". Fuckers. Anything, I'll eat glass. GOD KNOWS I've been smoking out of it all week, ha ha haaa haa HAAAA Cough coughhhhh Haaaa! "

Get out. Just go. Get out of my daydream, you sick junkie, go. Go.

***Everything in this story was true except the last dialogue.

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