And now that ya know what I'm wearin' today, I've gotta story to tell (and right now yer probably sayin' to yerself "jeez, when DON'T she have a story to tell?")
I'm on my way over to the other side of town this mornin' to get juiced up. I happen to run into a known real-live-but-damn-near-walkin'-dead crackhead who spies me gettin' ready to walk into the juice joint. I can see that he's hangin' around the front door of the joint just a tad too long for my likin', so immediately I know what's up. He's gonna hit me up. For cash. For the same cold hard cash that I damn near crawled my tired ass into work for every day this week. Oh Lord, here we go AGAIN. I'm so freakin' tired of these low-life beggers. Let 'em getta damn JOB for crissake! If *I* can do it.......
So anyway, the moment arrives. He quickly steps up, says "hey" 'n asks me for "a couple of bucks". Now, I dunno how or when in the hell the "spare change for a cup of coffee" story turned into "a couple of bucks" but I'll be damned if I'm gonna part with a couple of bucks for ANYbody.....even my own flesh 'n blood has to either a) work HIS ass off around the house or b) damn near kiss MY ass to get that kinda cash outta me. But, I actually KNOW this guy. And whenever he ain't got his lips wrapped around a crack pipe, he can be a pretty nice crackhead. A gay black one, butta nice one at that.
So stupid me opens up my pouch to see precisely what I've got stashed in cash. I can see a one dollar bill on the outside of the roll which is neatly wrapped around a five, a ten 'n a few twenty dollar bills. So I slip the one dollar bill outta my pouch. I go to hand it to him. "I only got one, J...will that do ya?" I ask. He snatches it up 'n says "its a start", then begins to walk away.....without a "thank u", without a anything. Alls I hear him say as he's damn near runnin' down the sidewalk presumingly headed towards the local area cop spot is "its my mother's birthday tomorrow and I've gotta get somethin', ya know?". Seein' as tho I KNOW what time it is with this dude, I bark back at him "yeah J, what evvvvverrrrrr". I HATE when crackheads lie like that. Why can't they just be honest? Why can't they just come out 'n say "hey D, I'm really hurtin'. I need to get me somethin'. Can ya help me out here?" or "I'm tryin' to get up five bucks for a hit o' crack. I got two. Ya got anything ya can gimme?" or ANYthing of the kind...other than a bold faced lie. It just pisses me the hell off. I mean, most of 'em know I've been there. I ain't no fool. So don't try to play me for one. Be honest with me 'n I'll help ya out any way I can. Bullshit me 'n I won't give ya much more than a buck 'n a bunch o' attitude.
Case in point: Last week while on my way to work I ran into another dude who I met probably 20 years ago while I was deliverin' food on a weekly basis to homebound HIV patients. He's a real sweetheart 'n he ended up gettin' close to not only me but to my youngest daughter as well (cuz she always delivered the food with me) but he just ended up gettin' caught up out there, as we sometimes do. He approached me 'n gave me a hug as usual 'n we exchanged pleasantries for a few. I asked him what the hell he was doin' out so early in the mornin'. He told me he was tryin' to get up a few bucks. When I asked him for what (which I already knew the answer to) he said to me "yer my friend Donna and I ain't gonna lie to ya. I'm tryin' to get up five bucks so I can buy me a stick from that guy" and he proceeded to motion towards some asshole standin' on the corner. He went on to say "I've only got three dollars and he won't lemme go for the other two". Now, I honestly didn't have ANY money to spare that day, but I WAS able to help him out in the long run.
Ya see, about a year or so ago (or maybe even longer) somebody I know gave me a couple of stix cuz they owed me $10. I had planned on givin' 'em to an elderly disabled friend of mine so she could finally getta good nites sleep (her leg had been amputated due to a county bus runnin' her over) but in the meantime she got a scrip for 'em from her M.D. so she didn't need 'em. So I put 'em away 'n didn't think another thought about 'em, until that day (I don't normally take 'em....if I DID, they woulda been loooong gone by now). Anyway, I reached into my handy dandy pouch 'n pulled out the bottle that I keep my vertigo 'n blood pressure meds in. And that's when I saw 'em, right where I had left 'em....those two stix that were given to me so long ago. I spilled 'em out into my hand and my friend's eyes lit up. He said to me "yer REALLY gonna gimme yer last 2 stix?". I told him the whole story above. He went on to say "yer gonna make me cry right here. I can't believe yer doin' this for me. Thank you SOOOO much" and the tears started wellin' up in his eyes. I handed the stix over to him and he hugged me again and said "God bless u, Donna". I said to him before walkin' away "Now, aren't ya glad ya didn't bullshit me? Do ya see what honesty can do?". I just hope I left him that day with somethin' to really think about.
Soooo, gettin' back to today's story about Mr. J Crackhead: what ARE ya gonna get for yer Mom's birthday, J? A couple o' hits? A new pipe perhaps? Oh yes J, I'm sure she'd LOVE to see ya for her birthday....sportin' an un-ironed orange jumpsuit 'n some of them used silver linked bracelets around yer ankles 'n wrists. I hear it's all the rage these days.
Damn these lyin' crackheads, anyway. I reckon I just shoulda worn THIS tee today: