Shouts of despair from a lonely soul. Screams of anger that lash out at a neglectful world. Meet the D.C. crackhead. Actually, judging from the volume of his annoying screeches, you probably can hear his punk ass as well as I can. Am I evil for wanting to open the window and yell, “Just overdose already?” Well they do say ’tis the season to be jolly — and this loud obnoxious asshole is thwarting my suddent attempt to conform.
After I managed a couple of days of freedom from Washington, D.C., I’m back for two more weeks of joyus research papers, projects, and exams. Imagine the smile on my face.
Normally when I return to D.C. from Houston, I cringe. But, since I’m living somewhere where I don’t fear losing water and electricity, I didn’t offer some random stranger $10 to board the plane and return to Howard for me as my body double.
Then I hopped on the bus (look for a future post on public transporation in the near future) to go to the grocery store — wishing I was on WIC the entire way. It’s cheaper to look like Nicole Richie than eat, but I digress.
The scent on the bus hasn’t changed: must, ass, and failure. The people all look the same, sans one interesting bus rider sitting directly in front of me. Caramel complected, overweight, hairy, tacky, with blue contacts.
Sky blue to be exact. Is there a new drug I’m not aware of, because I’ll be damned if this fool actually spent money to buy some blue contacts? I hope he’s not trying to recreate Cloud Nine i.e. his eyes and his white rock.
Speaking of rocks, a crack head was almost hit by the bus. Possibly in search of a high, a middle-aged woman ran towards the bus as if it were a huge pipe. If you’re going to kill yourself, that’s surely a way to do it. You know, besides doing crack.
This all happened within five minutes of the bus ride.
Never a dull moment in the District of Hell.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to close a window as if it will actually help.