Meth zombies by the bridge

Crackheads let the light shine in

It’s important to watch your step around here these days. The frost really messes up the roads. There are cracks showing up everywhere.

If it’s not cracks in the sidewalk, it’s crackheads in the streets.

There’s one lady who panhandles at the bridge. She’s a cute little nasty thing, all dressed in pink with pig tails.

Spends her time walkin’ between the cans with that sassy look on her face. Here eyes are all sunken - they’re craters really. And her teeth? She looks like she eats coal for breakfast and dog shit for desert. Yeah, her teeth are that fucked up.

With every step it’s as though she’s telling the pavement to fuck off.

And she’s got the sort of warm, inviting smile that says I’ll suck your balls for a dollar.

She reached into my truck and stole some of the Christmas shopping that I was doing. It was some Victoria Secret stuff. No, not me, for my wife.

I told her Give those back! Those aren’t for you!

Her reply? You’re no better than me!

I thought about it later. I should be more kind. We are similar. We both have hopes, dreams, concerns and pain.

Some things though, like meth?

Its an acquired taste.

And dark shadows like her eyes?

She’s got an acquired face.

And teeth like hers?

Acquired space.

And the underpants she stole from my truck?

Acquired lace.

The moral?

Acquired taste, acquired face?

Sure.

But acquired grace?

That something neither she nor I possess.

She may have a sassy walk and few fucks to give and a love of meth.

But me?

I’ve got a nice old red truck to drive away in.

And how she got there?

Not my problem.

Vroom vroom you fools.