I saw the crack head girl from down the street a few weeks ago, well... I heard her first.
I heard this clomp, clomp, clomping. Almost like a horse, then with head down and fury behind her came the crack head girl from down the street.
I was kind of staring at her, I'll admit it, but she was making a racket, and her arms were wrapped so tightly around her body, yet she was pounding her feet into the sidewalk. I'd seen her the Saturday before when she'd jumped in front of us on LG, hands scratching at her acned scarred face, tearing at the wounds, demanding a couple of dollars "just for a beer". We didn't have anything, and were running late from a wedding reception to a gig. Even if I'd had something, I knew it wasn't going to beer but crack, that poor girl has a bad habit that everyone in the neighborhood knows about.
We'd had a horrible thunderstorm this day and the sun was just coming out, but the sky was still full of angry black clouds, moving as furiously as she. She came up even with my car and caught my eye but didn't stop... "PISS OFF" she shouted, then "Do you have any money?" "No," I replied, "but nice shoes."
She kept stomping and mumbling all the way down the street, those skinny arms wrapped so tightly around her waist, her legs driving into the pavement like pistons.
Nice shoes you ask? She was wearing the shoes from Wild Pair that I had loved for 10 years and had FINALLY cleared out of my closet. Doug had set them out back hoping someone had picked them up. She did... on the way to the crack house.
I saw her again this Saturday and she almost smiled on the way to the drug house, but not after...When she walked past after she was clutching her precious drugs, her hand held in front of her, a claw around her treat.