I can tell something is wrong when I arrive at Starbucks.
It is 5:15 a.m., and I am typically one of the first people at the café. (It is the first stop on the morning dog walk.)
Aside from the normal collection of doctors and nurses, there is a strange, short man standing by the half-and-half. He’s mumbling and shaking.
I look over to the barista, who is glaring at the man – turns out he’s a crackhead – a very high crackhead. Continue reading “Crackheads & Possums” »