I went to a meeting a few days ago and was struck by the discussions people were having.

One guy, in his mid twenties, came in late and spoke as soon as the last person finished. At first I thought he was drugged, he was speaking in a slow, monotone voice and complaining about how hard his life was. He was talking about being at work and lying to his boss so that he could leave a few hours early that day and how hard it is to stay sober etc. “It’s important that I don’t beat myself up over it.” He said. The rest of the meeting he put his head on the table and appeared to sleep. Being toxic is very tiring work.

I disagree. I think he should beat himself over his behavior. Not for the rest of his life but certainly for the day. It should feel bad to lie. You can be fired for lying to get out of work - so that seems like a pretty legitimate fear. It probably is difficult to stay sober if you focus on how hard life is and continue to do the same shit you’ve always done.

For some people life is a dull grind, filled with negativity and complaints. They have to share their negative thoughts and complaints with others- negative needs to breed more negativity. They complain as a way of explaining to others, and more importantly themselves, why their row is more difficult to hoe. It must be that their lives our more difficult, otherwise they would be to blame for their own misery. Negativity begets negativity.

I have had a few toxic people in my life but I have, over time, weeded them out. I no longer feel the need to extend conversations with these types of people in the name of civility or politeness. Life is too short to spend time with the nay-sayers, whiners and complainers. I avoid toxic people like the plague.

After the meeting this guy’s energy was restored when he saw an attractive girl and bolted over to meet her. Hopefully she had the sense to run.

I called him Dr. Tom because he once said to me, "I ain't no Doctor but I know when I'm losing my patience" How can you not like a grown man who quotes Popeye? He worked at the Club House and was several years sober. He and I always got along- he looked like a hippy with his long hair and grey beard- he resembled an aged Zonker from the Doonesbury cartoon. Dr. Tom told me this story several years ago which you might have heard- it was new to me.

A guy finds a snake on the side of the road. It's injured and close to death. He takes it home and nurses it back to health, keeps it warm, feeds it. The snake quickly recovers. One day, the snake, out of nowhere, bits the man in the face. The man is surprised, "What did you do that for? After I nursed you back to health- why would you bite me?" The snake responded "Because I'm a snake, you knew I was a snake when you took me in"

I would have forgotten this story except that Dr. Tom, about a week later -fucked up and enraged- beatup of his girlfriend- raped and tortured her. He went to jail for 2 years. It was strange that he told me that story so close to doing that to his girlfriend- it made me feel connected to his actions. I don't want to have any connection to that kind of evil. I started to pull away from the Club House- I was losing interest in being in the front lines of recovery.

It's odd as I re-read this story and a few others they almost sound made up. They fit too nicely or end too cleanly- they are 100% true. This entry is creepy, sorry about that

Talking about Wheelchair Jerry got me thinking about The Clubhouse. I got sober there, my brother took me to my first meeting there in 1997. I had been holed up for 6 months before that unable to leave the house except to get booze- paranoid, drunk, panicky I don't remember much of that time but things had gotten progressively worse for the previous 10 years and then the final year was a spirally downward plummet. Like a plane falling out of the sky.

Fast forward 2 years. I'm still sober and I'm selling raffle tickets at the Club House- the tickets are $50 each- more than most people here can afford. I sell to groups of 5- "share a ticket for $10". I sell my tickets quickly but I'm also in quite a few of those groups of 5. If I can only get 4 people together I would throw in the other $10 myself. It was a $10,000 cash prize- nothing to sneeze at. The other $10,000 will go to fix the roof- 6 years later that roof still isn't fixed- go figure where the money went. Anyway, one of the many tickets I was in on was with Bones and three others. The night they drew the ticket, they had a dance(there's always a dance in recovery) Our ticket won. We split the pot- $2,000 each. None of the other ticket holder were at the dance that night. At around 11:00 pm the manager lead to the back room. the opened the safe and started to count out $2,000 in 20 dollar bills.

"You're going to give me 100 20 dollar bills?" I asked somewhat surprised.

"Well, yea, how else would you propose we do it?" Was the response.

I was wearing a green army pants and as I left the back room that Saturday night my loose pockets were full of money. I stepped out into the main room of our dark, beat up smokey recovery club house and 200 plus people looked at me with envy. With my pockets bulging from the 20 dollar bills every ne'er-do-well, thief, drunk, drug addict, prostitute, delinquent, punk, pedophile, rapist parolee staring at me and my new found wealth.

"I'll tell you what" Bobby V said surveying the situation-
"you walk slowly to your car and I'll make sure no one follows you."

I walked, as casually as I could, to my car with all eyes on me. As I drove home I kept watch in the rear view mirror to make sure no beat up car with whiskey dings was behind me.

Why the paranoia if these people are trying to quit drinking and drugging? There is a saying that many people have in recovery. You don't have to get good to get better

Which reminds me of another story...

He wheeled up to the main entrance, pulled himself out of the wheelchair and sitting on the lowest step he lifted himself up each step, backward.

Could you get that for me?” he said nodding to the chair.

I struggled to carry it up the stairs

“Damn, it’s heavier than I would have thought.”

“It’s even heavier when you have to sit in it”- he laughed in a mean spirited way, which I didn’t much care for.

He climbed back into the chair once we were inside and only then did he look at his surroundings. A smokey, beaten down building, once a large, private residence, then a cooking school now a smokey, beat up, recovery center. We called it ‘the clubhouse’.

Despite his initial gruffness Jerry became a favorite at the clubhouse. His drunk stories were entertaining and they always ended with the police trying to arrest him and he fighting several of them either in his wheelchair or sprawled on the floor swinging his arms. He had a huge laugh that would ring out when he told his stories of drunken debauchery.

He had become paralyzed in a car accident and was expecting a big payday after his lawsuit finished out. He was suing his former friend that was driving the car the night they were in the accident. Jerry and his friend had been drinking and drugging all night. His friend was driving the car when they ran into something, I never knew what. Jerry became paralyzed but his friend escaped any major injury. Jerry decided to sue this guy for the loss of his legs. It always seemed peculiar that Jerry blamed his friend, as they had both been drinking and Jerry could have just as easily been driving the car, but I didn’t say anything, because, despite his huge laugh, Jerry was an angry man capable of great violence, even if he was in a wheelchair.

Jerry was one of those who came in and out. He got a significant amount of time at first, maybe 9 months and went out one day when he was feeling sorry for himself, that’s usually how that happens. After his initial relapse he could never stay sober. He would always come back with stories of his exploits- each worse than the last. He was still getting into fights with the police and getting arrested but the stories were no longer funny. He asked me one day, after recounting the tales of yet another weekend of binge drinking, why the people at the clubhouse didn’t respond to his stories anymore. I decided to just answer with the truth, at least how I saw the truth.

“The problem with your stories, Jerry, is that they are happening now. Those kinds of stories are funny only after they are over, when they are happening they are heartbreaking. - That shit going on in your life now isn’t funny ...it’s just sad.”

I don’t think he spoke to me after that. That was about 8 years ago and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. Someone told me that he was in prison for selling crack and that the big court payoff never happened- but who knows- He may be fine. He could be telling the stories about fighting cops that happened a long, long time ago and how he's grateful that he doesn't have to live that way anymore...or not.

I went to an AA meeting while I was in Paris- actually a couple of them. AA is the same everywhere. It doesn’t matter where in the world you are the same characters are always represented. I could be in a meeting in the middle of the Serengeti listening to someone click and knock about their life in sobriety and I’ll think, “hell, he’s just like Junkyard John from back home.”

I have a lot of issues with AA- but I try not to bitch too much about it because it did save my life. But the one thing I will say about it is that there is a fine fellowship involved. We went to a meeting in the south of France a few years ago and immediately were taken under the wing of several very nice people. To not know anyone in Nice and after one hour to be enjoying the sun and a cup of coffee in an outdoor café with 6 people talking about things you couldn’t share with someone who hasn’t gone through the dark years, laughing about stuff that you’ve been through that others might find horrifying but your new friends not only understand but did.

There can be a creepy cult factor to AA- but only if you want to join a creepy cult. I use it as a stepping stone to what I think can be a higher plane. It’s a step- not the final destination.

I was standing outside Oak Street, finishing up a cigarette before the AA meeting began. I saw a red sports car pull up and out of the passenger side stepped a woman. The car sped off as she crossed the street to go to the meeting. She was all dolled up, make up applied, hair just right, you could tell it was her first time at an AA meeting.

It’s easy to tell when someone is there for the first time they are either beat down mentally and often physically, they shake and they are full of shame or they come strolling in as Kristen did put together extra well. Yes, they will go to AA as they were court ordered, but they will make damn sure it obvious that they don’t belong with a bunch of drunks. I liked her right off the bat and she and I, with time, would become close friends. She asked where the meeting was, I pointed through the doors, she smiled, took a deep breath and walked in.

She never could stay sober; she’d get a couple of months and then go back drinking. She died in June at the age of 28. Between the alcohol, drugs and the eating disorder her body just couldn’t take it. Her family had a closed casket, because her body and face showed signs of the struggle. Some of her friends were bothered that it was a closed casket. I, for one, was glad they did it. Kristen liked to look good, she wouldn’t have wanted us to see her any other way- of course maybe that’s what killed her.

The Sunday Scribble prompt for today was 'Goodbyes'. Who have you had to say goodbye to? For some reason I’ve written about goodbyes this week. Goodbye to the Midwest, D.P. -the laughing Buddha and D- the heroin addict waitress. It’s a week for goodbyes. When I saw the prompt I thought about my heroin addict friend that I had to say goodbye to. I also felt that I didn’t have to write today because I had done my submission. On the drive to work, I reconsidered. The deal I made with myself was to write 5 days a week Monday through Friday at the very least. It doesn’t matter if its crappy or good, just write. I have to keep an eye on myself, I can be slippery when it comes to keeping a commitment to myself.

So I thought about ‘goodbyes’ again. It’s the nature of who I am that I will say goodbye to a lot of people, often very young. It’s not by accident that I am acquainted with a lot of drug addicts and alcoholics. These people, by their their very nature, have a high mortality rate.

All the goodbyes I think about are sad. Kristen died from drugs, but also anorexia, her heart just finally gave out. Michael overdosed, Ray shot himself in the head, Joey is in prison forever. There are almost too many to list. Where are the happy goodbyes?

…and then I remembered, 9 years ago I said goodbye to the person I had become. That was a happy goodbye.

Update: I re-read this post and wondered what is that a picture of and what was I thinking when I included it? Then I remembered, it is a phoenix, as in a phoenix rising from the ashes- which was meant to represent me. It actually looks more like a turkey that's been thrown in the air while someone took its picture. That, too, is a fair representation of me.

D.P., a guy I used to chum around with is a smart and clever guy. He has a great sense of humor and a huge belly laugh. He reminded me of a big laughing Buddha.

He receives social security checks which I never understood. He usually held a job and other than being a little weird about women he seemed ok. In my early days I was as liberal as they come. Social services are the price we pay to live in a civilized society was my motto, (actually it was, 'another one over here barkeep').

DP had a guy who he used to be friends with as his payee. Essentially what a payee does is have the SS checks sent to him, help the recipient with a budget and basically make sure that all the money doesn’t go to hookers and crack.

DP felt the guy was screwing him over and asked me to take over this role. I was fine with it, although I did tell him that I would take these duties seriously and that he needed to consider that before he got me involved with it.

I was planning a party at the house on Hays for a friend of mine who had just had their second child, DP was co-hosting this party because he is good at organization and food preparation. We had a great day going to Cosco, and planning the festivities, etc. As I said DP is a smart, funny guy and a joy to spend the day with. Afterwards we would go to social services to arrange the change.

When we got to social services I had to be interviewed, DP immediately changed. He started talking to the social services rep in a child’s voice and he kept saying “I don’t understand”, at one point he started to almost cry with frustration. …”but the guy my last guardian stole my money.” It was all an act. It was complete bullshit, DP was working the system and he did it shamelessly, profitably and very well.

I still believe that social services are the price we pay to live in a civilized society but I would be curious to know how many people milk the system. If you want to be uplifted by the struggle of people to get better and then depressed by the number of people that work it, go to a dependency 12 step meeting- Zoiks.

DP and I eventually had a falling out over his budget, as was to be expected, and he had me replaced as his payee, which was fine because I couldn’t help but feel like an accomplice. I’m still pretty liberal, but I am less naïve than I once was.

I had this up once before and I took it down because I thought it might violate someone's anonymity- but the more I look at it the less I think it does. I may have a change of heart and delete it again.

Heroin Part 2

D- worked as a waitress. When she got caught cashing stolen checks with her sister she was sent to a drug rehab/ half way house. Her drug of choice is herion, like her sister and her mother.

She told me that waiting tables is a great job for a heroin addict. Cash paid daily. She worked at several restaurants usually getting fired. She told me that she has only had sex with a guy for money once, but I would imagine that if you are a heroin addict its a fine line between dating and whoring.

D- and I used to be very close friends. There was never anything sexual in our relationship but we enjoyed each others company and spent a great deal of time together. It's too hard to keep a friendship up with a drug addict once they begin using again. They are heart breaking. You will continue to do them favors as a friend. Lend them money that you know you wont get back. After a while you realize that you are being used, they no longer consider you a friend, you are just another resource.

The last time I considered myself friends with D- was when I lent her money and she asked me drop her off at the McDonalds on V* Street to score heroin. I dropped her off and told her she'd have to walk back- I didn't want that shit in my car. As I drove away I realized I made a mistake in giving her money and driving her to her dealer. Her choices are hers but it would be on my head if she OD'd. I decided then and there that I couldn't be the friend she needed.

I saw D- a few months ago, she was picking up some prescription at the CVS. She had given birth to a son. Her boyfriend left her, she was talking about having him arrested but it was unclear for what. She didn’t want to engage in conversation with me, I thought it was because she owed me money or because I didn’t bring her cigarettes at the Justice Center like she asked or because she was dope sick and ashamed but I realize now she was probably picking up a prescription under a phony name.

I don’t know why that guy is in AA. He may be court ordered, he may honestly be trying to quit smoking crack or drinking or whatever his problem is. He just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would show up voluntarily. Maybe he’s lonely.

Recovery is a great place to meet people and socialize. It's high school with ashtrays and the prom queen is a crack whore. Well... maybe its not like high school at all, but it is a good place to meet people.

Heroin Part 1


I see her enough on the corner that if she isn’t there I notice, at the exit off the highway. You’ve probably noticed her, but didn’t give her too much thought except to think to yourself, 'Get a job. Who’d live that way'. It would be easier to actually work. She looks miserable/ ugly/ like stone/ staring directly ahead of her, not looking directly at anyone. If you want to give her money you’d have to call out to her because she’s not looking at you.

I knew her right after she got out of jail for forgery. She and her sister were cashing stolen check and they got caught. She was sent to State Reform for Women. They were forging the checks to buy heroin back in ‘95. That’s her thing. That’s what makes her face so itchy that she scratches it raw. When she got out of prison she had been off heroin and was trying to stay clean,that's when I met her. You wouldn’t know it to look at her today, but she’s actually a very intelligent, funny person with an incredible knowledge and appreciation for music.

Staying off heroin was too difficult for her.

Now She just looks like marred stone. Her face is emotionless as she stares straight ahead. She’s not begging, she is standing there, if you want to give her money fine, but she wont ask you for it directly. She has a sign, "hungry and homeless". She hasn’t eaten and looks too skinny, but I don’t think she’s hungry. She’s a junky, she’s not hungry. she also isn't homeless. She lives at ****. It’s a new address it seems like she’s always lived downtown.

When I knew her she had a job working at the Salvation Army sorting clothes, her mom got her the job but her mom isn’t doing much better than she.

J- is her name, she’s been arrested 6 times for panhandling always by the same cop. You’d think Officer M- would just let it ride after awhile, but he keeps ticketing her. Its an $80 ticket, yet she keeps going to the exit off the highway with her sign and her face of stone.

The celebration of the New Year looked like it was going to be a quiet affair. At the last minute our friend Demetrius called and said we were invited to his families celebration.

We had gone the previous year and had a great time but I got the sense that his brother didn’t want non-family there. I could appreciate that but it didn’t keep me from giving Demetrius shit about it. When he called to invite us I even told him not to worry about it but K jumped in, “Hell, no we will be there” she said.

The alternative other than going to bed early was going to what is called an Alco-thon. These are parties, meetings and other social events that are thrown around the clock during some of the festive holidays- especially Christmas and New Years. They are good and important functions for people who are concerned about their ability to not drink or use drugs over the holidays. In most moderately sized cities including my little corner of the Midwest have these sober events scheduled. I’ve gone to these in the past and they are invaluable to someone pulling his life together. But it has been my experience that a good portion of the conversations revolves around how much fun everyone is having without liquor, which is a nice sentiment but it doesn’t stop. Generally someone will comment about how much more fun they are having without being drunk on New Years than the ever had being drunk ( I would argue this first point vehemently). This comment is said so often that it begins to feel as though they are trying to convince themselves that it’s true. At some point the competition begins. Each person in the conversation will try to out do the others in their drinking war stories of the past. If someone was arrested for drunk and disorderly someone else will have been arrested for beating up a cop another for setting fire to a house until someone has to ‘win’ by admitting that they were charged with being drunk and disorderly while setting fire to a cop. I agree that it is better for some people to not drink. But spending the evening comparing old scars seems no more fun then getting new scars.

So instead we celebrated a Greek New Year. For this occasion a cake is prepared called a Vasilopita. It is a delicious cake with a wonderful taste of orange. It is cut in a very specific manner, each slice is cut with a particular individual in mind. The first slice is cut for Jesus, the second for the Virgin Mary, the third for the house, the fourth for the man of the house, the fifth for the woman of the house, the children, the grandmother etc. At this point I begin looking at the cake slowly disappearing and I do some quick mental math to be certain there will be enough cake for yours truly. A coin is baked in the cake, whoever gets this coin will have good luck for the year. Demetrius’ wife got the coin two years ago and her mother died the next month, which shows you how effective the coin is.

Demetrius’ mother got the coin this year and we all cried foul because she placed the coin, baked the cake, directed the slicing of the cake and we are all ungrateful non-Greeks. It was a wonderful affair and a blessed way to bring in a new year.

I know a lot of people who have had difficult lives. Everyone has a sob story (actually I don’t and I want to keep it that way). Angie goes to watch her son play football every week. She has never missed a game in his entire grade school, junior and high school career. That, in itself, is a warm story- makes you wish all parents were as involved and enthusiastic about their children.

The difference between Angie and the other parents is that her son doesn’t know who she is. She gave him up for adoption 16 years ago. She sits at the top of the bleachers- far away from the other parents. There is no question that her son is better off having grown up with different parents and in a different neighborhood. Still it is sad.

You could probably say a lot of negative things about Angie but you'd have admit that she’s never missed her son’s football game.

*For similar posts click on "People I've Met, Recovery"

The conversation turned to bank robbery. I said that I have always wanted to rob a bank. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, hell I didn’t even want to have a gun, but I always wanted to rob a bank. I think that everyone secretly wants to do that- Jesse James, Bonnie and Clyde, we wouldn’t recognize these names if we all didn’t, deep down inside, want to do what they did.

Bobby V agreed, he’d like to rob a bank. He looked at Bones, who at 80 plus years had very little to lose and lacked morals. "Bones you can drive the get away car". Bones looked indignant, "Hell no I ain’t driving no get away car, I’m going in."

In truth Bones had more nerve than any of us and I have seen him drive, we don’t want him driving the get away car. A 25 mile an hour car chase isn’t needed at this point in my life. He may think Johnny Cash is a pussy and he may have spent a lot of time in jail but he drives like an old lady. I’d never tell him that because the man can hold a resentment and he’d probably drive off and leave me after we held up the bank -of course I’d get away faster waiting for the bus. Still I don’t need Bones as an enemy. I was there when he reached across the table and bitch slapped some 20 year old punk and then threw hot coffee on him for good measure. But then he almost cried when he was barred from the coffee shop for a 30 days. He’s in a weird time in his life angry enough to kick ass but too old to hide the fact that he gets lonely.

I don’t know how old he is. Older than dirt is what he tells me. He could be 80 but he also has had a tough life and might be 70 and just look older. He has a full head of white hair which is always brushed straight back. He is skinny, but that’s not why they call him Bones. He has faded green tattoos. I have never been able to tell what they are tattoos of, it just looks like a green birth marks. He wears over sized clear glasses. His eyes are wet blue.

Mandy Lee told me a story from her youth as we drove around town. She was showing me all the places she had been in rehab, foster care and jail. We stood outside the jailhouse as she counted windows to find her cell. I called it the 'Mandy Lock Down Tour of '98'. I was going to have t-shirts made up but I must have lost interest. It's surprising to me the number of people who have been to jail and didn't find it all that bad. When I asked one crusty old woman why she didn't mind jail she said, "what's not to like it's three hots and a cot." Seems like there would be easier ways to get three hot meals in a day but I digress.

Mandy Lee was telling me about the time her mom brought her to the symphony, I believe it was the 1812 Overture. Her mom got the tickets as some sort of 'bringing culture to welfare cheats' program or some such thing. Mandy Lee was young and that particular day she was hungry. Being a child at the symphony, even one with cannon fire, is bad enough but add to the mix hunger and you've got a wicked combination.

Mandy Lee kept asking her mom for a snack, but her mom was having none of it. As she got hungrier, she complained more and as the symphony got louder she complained louder. Finally, in an effort to be heard over the music she screamed,

"I WANT SOME GOVERNMENT CHEESE!!!!!"

Of course the music ended right before she began to scream and everyone turned and stared at her mother.

I haven't seen Many Lee for many years, maybe the aliens have taken her home. I hope she packed a lunch for the trip.

I met Amanda several years ago. Although, now that I think about it her birth name was probably not Amanda as she was named after a soap opera character named Mandy Lee. So I guess she is a Mandy Lee. Neither here nor there (or is it) She swore to me that she saw a UFO.

She and her boyfriend lived in a rural area (it may have been a trailer, but that would be too perfect) One evening in summer Mandy Lee heard her boyfriend give a scream and she ran outside to see what had happened. There, as plain as day, was an Unidentified Flying Object hovering directly overhead. Her boyfriend ran back into the house but Mandy Lee did not. She stood there. She was not scared, excited, nervous, or mystified. It made perfect sense to her. The UFO was coming to take her home, of this she had no doubt.

She laughs about it but she also seems sad when she tells the story. The UFO did not take her home. It flew off as quickly and silenty as it appeared. Mandy Lee had to come to terms with the fact that she was home already and that her feelings of being misplaced were something else- also unidentified.

I bailed Aaron out of jail after he robbed a convenient store. He reached over the counter and took a handful of twenties and ran. He called me and we met at Highland Coffee House. The problem wasn't that he was remorseful; the problem was they had already identified him it was only a matter of time before they picked him up. I told him that I didn't know shit about this stuff but that he should get a lawyer. I also suggested that since they know it was him and he was going to get caught anyway he might as well turn himself in. I figure they would go easier on him if he pretended to be have second thoughts about his actions and marched over to the police station. He took my advice and called me back at 1:00 AM asking me if I could bail him out of jail, which I did. I thought it was sad, he’s in jail and the only one he could call was a guy who he barely knew. I was explaining this to Bones the next day when Bones enlightened me on how the process works.

“He called you because he done fucked over everyone else. Family, friends you name it he used ‘em up. Who else is gonna bail him out except some sucker that don’t know him”

“Well it was only $100” I said, trying not to show that I began to see that I was screwed.

Bones smiled sadly at my ignorance, “It’s $100, that’s 10% of what you’ll owe if he don’t show to trial”I tried my best to look as though I was well aware that I might be out $1,000.

“...and if you don’t pay it they can take your house”

This was unsettling and I suspected Bones was lying about the property but I wouldn’t let on.
“Bones, sometimes a guy has just got to have faith in someone else, it will all work out the way it’s supposed to”
Bones wasn’t buying into my new found spirituality for a minute. He just shook his head. Even as I was speaking I was scavenging for the bail paper I signed. I needed a little light shed on this cocksucker who was about to fuck me out of $1,000.

Aaron did show up for his court date and got a little slap on the wrist. Since he just reached over the counter and grabbed some $20’s without violence or a gun and the fact that he turned himself in they let him off.

Aaron had to laugh, the guy that he shared a cell with while I was bailing him out spent more time in jail for an unpaid parking ticket than Aaron did for robbery.

Aaron came in to the coffee shop and made a point of marching directly over to Bones. He looked him right in the eyes, stuck his hand out and said, “Hi Bones” Bones raised his head, grunted and reluctantly shook Aaron’s hand.

Bones and Aaron do not care for each other. Aaron is probably a smoother character than Bones when Bones was his age. But Aaron is probably every bit as tough. The one difference I see is that I suspect Bones didn’t bother too much with the ladies where as Aaron will bang anything that moves. You’d be surprised by some of the woman he has gotten. He has no prospects, his history with women is sketchy at best but he is a good looking guy, about 23 with a smile that reminds me a Ray Liola. He is from the street, but probably not successful street. He's the one who is up for anything but will always be caught. He has the gall, but not the guile. There is a constant smell of BO to him. He is unemployed, has a child that he doesn’t support, an ex-wife or girlfriend that has a restraining order against him and a terrible temper. He has short dark blonde hair, wears T-shirts with the sleeves torn off.

I organized a canoe trip with a few of the people at the coffee shop. It didn’t occur to me that he’d be interested ot that he'd have the money. He came into the shop and headed directly toward me. He wanted to discuss why he hadn’t been invited. I tried over and over to explain that I didn’t invite anyone. I was going canoeing, anyone interested meet me there. He finally settled down, and said

“You know, it just hurt my feelings is all”

It was an unsettling thing to hear. I've always suspected that young street thugs had feelings, It just never occurred to me that they would admit it