In which I'm briefly mistaken for a drug dealer

I'm coming up the hill from the city, and just at the edge of the park where the junkies hang out, a man is busily tying his shoelace, only they're already tied. He eyes me intensely on the way up, trying to look inconspicous and failing miserably. He's razor-thin and unshaven, and looks half-dead from sleeplack, but still isn't your average breed of junkie fauna: he has a cell-phone in a holster, and a leatherman tool in his belt. He looks a little too together. A little too alert. As I pass him, he mutters into the air, but obviously to me, because I'm the only one around: "Are you the guy with the speed?"
-Do you have some speed?
-Um. No... Sorry.
And I walk on, thinking "I seriously need to shave more often."

I love this part of the city. It's never boring around here.


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