The smell of alcohol wafted my way several times during the wee hours of the morning as this gentleman, whom I estimate to be early-forties, yelped in pain at a foot injury. He was loud and fidgety mouthing gibberish and obscenities throughout the night. I suspected he was a methamphetamine user. It was too dark to tell.
At 3 a.m. this morning he let out let out a blood curdling cry that startled me to a sitting position. It was time to talk to this guy…
“Dude quiet the ‘F’ Down or the people that live here are going to call the cops.”
He said, “You startled me.”
“Dude, I’m lying here sleeping not even moving — please go to sleep.”
He wakes up in the morning and starts conversations with people passing by. The conversations were harmless, other than the fact he was disheveled and bare foot totally immersed in his role as a man on a bender. His face was hollowed at the cheeks and acne stained. Clear signs of a tweeker, the most unpredictable and dangerous type of person there is on the streets.
As he got ready to leave he turned his conversation towards me.
“Call the cops, your a ‘F-ing’ cop caller. I’m talking to you sir. Some people don’t know shit.”
I let that go in silence. Alas he continued to talk nonsense as he walked away. A response was required.
“Chill out man.”
He continued muttering on his lonely walk to Loaves and Fishes.
Note: I have permission from the owners to stay on their porch.
Without a Roof 