“And when there is no hope, I’ll smoke some crack I’ll shoot some dope”

I was returning home one day from East Boston, a place I rarely venture. I hopped on a busy green line train home. I found a cozy spot to lean and I threw on some headphones. Usually if you pretend to listen to some music, no one bothers you.

Wrong.

In the seats directly across from me, there appear to be two crack heads making out. Making out is an understatement. Sucking face to the point of ripping clothes off might be more appropriate. The couple seemed to be about my age, very early 20s. Everyone around them, like me, was trying to ignore the possible public sex act.

Suddenly, the passion ends. I mean, they literally pull away like NOTHING happened. The very fine male specimen looks around the train car briefly, and then spots me. Okay, so I might have been watching whatever those two were doing. Not in a diddler sort of way, more in a “I want to see that hideous car wreck” type of way. The man gets up out of his seat and approaches me. For some reason, I thought turning my music UP was going to do something to make him go away.

I take off my headphones because obviously I’m dying to hear what this guy has to say to me. He starts with “Excuse me, excuse me miss”. Someone calling me miss is always bad news. I look up. The man then rolls up his sleeve. His arm is covered in tribal tattoos and those Chinese symbol tattoos. I can only imagine what inspirational words he has permanently written on his arm in another language. He then points to a wound of some sorts on his arm. Small, round, surrounded by bruises. He asks me if it’s a spider bite.

No, sir, that’s an injection mark.

Honestly, I have no idea what a spider bite looks like. I’m not a drug aficionado. And if I can identify what that is, then you’re a scary person. After my diagnosis, I realize that I have to tell this dirty doper SOMETHING. I glance back to his seat and see his classy girlfriend patiently waiting for my response. And the best response I thought up? “Uhhh…errrmmm….I DON’T KNOW WHAT A SPIDER BITE LOOKS LIKE!!!”

I hardly finished my sentence before I hustled to the complete other side of the train car. I put my headphones back on and took a moment to reflect. Did that guy seriously whip out his injection mark at me? I tried to pretend it didn’t happen and continue with my subway routine of staring at the floor.

At this point, the train is pulling out of Park Street. I glance back over and I see the same fine male specimen walking over to my end of the car. When he approaches me, I’m a little smarter this time, and I don’t take off the headphones. I can still hear him explain to me “Yo me and my girl gotta take the commuter rail home. It’s $3. We got like…$1. You think you can help us out?” I apologized and said I had no money, which was probably true.

The couple of the year gets off the train at Boylston or Arlington or something. You know, a place NOWHERE NEAR A COMMUTER RAIL. Not that a commuter rail ticket would cost $3. Oh well, I suppose this is another day in the life of a crack head.

~ by meladori on January 14, 2008.