About three years ago I first noticed him walking down the street, dirty with raggy clothes. In one hand was a giant convenience store beverage, in the other his penis. He walked and tugged down the street oblivious to everyone around him.
He's just one reason I despise and deplore meth. I could tell other stories.
I've seen him walking down the street talking to himself. Crying. Yelling at cars. Panhandling. Once I saw his arm was bleeding badly but I kept driving.
What do you do? What do I do? It's not my problem, is it?
I observe. I lock my doors. Ever since I saw him walking down the street that morning three years ago I watch. I know it's meth, because of the other meth heads in the area. Everyone knows it's meth, hell even I know where to buy it and I'm as straight and narrow as they come.
They all have the same look about them. When people joke about a zombie invasion I always think, it's already happened. Meth is Arizona's zombie apocalypse.
Not long ago I saw him again, he'd been gone for several months. Not sure where. Jail? Does it matter? He was quite a good deal thinner and was wearing a trashbag around his waist like a diaper. He was digging through the ashtray outside a nearby office building.
I'm surprised he's alive. I wonder where he sleeps. It's damned hot out here in Arizona. Will he be sheltered under an off-ramp? Will he find somewhere with air conditioning? I don't know.
And despite all of this, or maybe because of it, when it comes time to vote in November I will be voting to support legalizing medical marijuana. From what I've seen our current laws do nothing of significance to help the drug problem.
Today it might reach 115, and I wonder what my meth head will be doing.
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& somehow painfully beautiful.