Sunday afternoon, I was sitting in my car watching the ghetto zoo that has become the Dollar General at 21st and Sheridan. Pine and Apache has just moved south.
As I watched, I noticed two older guys who were obviously street people. They had just bought their lunch. One had a coke and some chips. The other had an energy drink and some chips. Both probably paid for with a state EBT card. One was also charging his Obama-phone on the outside outlet in front of the store.
As I continued to
watch them, I noticed that one was watching the curb, picking up
cigarette butts and smoking them. When he got close enough to the car, I
saw that he was wearing a baseball cap from a Viet Nam era air cav unit
that had a reputation for sending 18 year old kids into the jungle and
sending them home either in body bags or as drug addicts and head cases.
I took a close look at the guy. He looked clean and sober. The age was right and the eyes were right. He might not have even been a vet but the eyes had the mixture of crazy, wary and weariness that made it entirely possible.
Then, I remembered what it was like when I smoked. The intense cravings. It embarrassed me to think that a former air cav trooper was now sneaking snipes from a ghetto curb. I figured that if the worst addiction he was dealing with now was tobacco ... well.
So, I bought him a pack of smokes and wished him a happy Fourth.
I took a close look at the guy. He looked clean and sober. The age was right and the eyes were right. He might not have even been a vet but the eyes had the mixture of crazy, wary and weariness that made it entirely possible.
Then, I remembered what it was like when I smoked. The intense cravings. It embarrassed me to think that a former air cav trooper was now sneaking snipes from a ghetto curb. I figured that if the worst addiction he was dealing with now was tobacco ... well.
So, I bought him a pack of smokes and wished him a happy Fourth.
