Friday, June 04, 2010

On colourful inner-city life.

A good friend of mine has moved overseas for a while, with his mail being redirected to my place temporarily. This morning I gathered the latest missives into a small pile with the intention of paying a visit to the post office. Stepping out the front door, I interupted a drug deal taking place in the stairwell of my block of flats.

The dealer left in a hurry. The junkie continued to arrange his spoon, water bottle and syringe on the steps that lead up to my front door. It wasn't until I suggested that there might be somewhere less public to shoot up that he responded.

To his credit, he apologised, gathered up his gear and shuffled around the corner into our block's car park and out of sight. A well mannered smackhead, as they go.

When I got back from the post office about 10 minutes ago I looked around the car park just to make sure he hadn't OD or anything. I found only a splash of water on the concrete, the top of a swab sachet that he'd torn off and dropped, but nothing more. He'd had the courtesy not to leave his used needle lying around. Thank you junkie, but don't hurry back.