The crack addict

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This is from four years ago. I've wanted to write about dismal I've come to feel about my life with Charles. Our days are devoid of the lurid thrills recounted below. But I'm not happy. This old story may capture something of my current mood.

The Crackhead Who Came To Dinner

Barring the time I had my lungs probed for puss this was one of the roughest periods in almost 20 years.

This is a story of someone I'll call "Lover Q." Actually all names have been changed to protect the innocent, i.e., me.

Once he went over to a nearby junk shop about midnight. (I know that sounds odd but Uncle Jack's weird emporium merits its own entry, maybe one day.) I kept waking up noticing that Lover Q hadn't returned.

He called about 6:00 a.m. when I about to leave for the shop. He wanted to bring someone over. I'd been pretty vexed by his absence and I had told him that I didn't want anyone from Uncle Jack's to know where we lived. I went on to work. When I came back he had someone with him and sounded like he planned to redo the whole house.

But there was more. He invited the guy to stay with us. Again without consulting me. Our little house hardly had enough room for the two of us.

When I got home the next day Mr. X as we'll call him was still here. I was hurt and mad. I hadn't been that upset since Siobhan left me. I basically sat in the computer room feeling displaced in my own home. I seriously thought about vanishing for a day. Luckily I don't ordinarily give in to that kind of childish urge.

But on the third day Lover Q wanted him out of the house more than I did. BJ had given him a joint laced with crack. Foolish he may sometimes be but Lover Q knows what a danger to our property and safety a crack addict is.

He was out of the house. But he still called. One night Lover Q stood in the hall and yelled and threw things to lend verisimilitude to my whispered telling Mr. X how Lover Q was completely out of control.

That didn't stop him from calling again. I told him more lies. Eventually he stopped calling. Whew!


Uncle Jack's was a junk shop two blocks from my house. It was in an old house and filled with furniture, ephemera, glass, car parts, whatever "Jack" ccould find.

Jack himself was retired and often not around. The shop was kept open by a semi-hem-demi-recovered alcoholic. When he binged he's get dangerous, many times gets rolled by hookers. The shop every now and then got some passable furniture. But the alcoholic quickly slapped paint over it, ruining it.

Partly due to him, partly due to location - one bad block amist middle & upper class homes - is a place a gallimaufry of addictions hang out.

Lover Q liked to go there to find things for the house.

Mr. X is Uncle Jack's son. Lover Q thought he was clean.

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