Bagels and Pipes

I met a crack head when I was at a deli ordering a sandwich this evening.
He wasn't lighting the pipe right there behind the counter.

Apparently, he had learned that crack was whack waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back and cleaned himself up after a 15 year addiction.

Kudos.

Really.



He looked totally normal at first glance.

Then I noticed his doll head.

Maybe he smoked his hair in a cracky fit of desperation.

I kept taking quick, determined glances at his hairline to confirm.

It was a lace front wig or a graft from another body part. (ugh)

The hairline was then eclipsed by the all too perfect choppers that didn't quite fit his mouth.

What had started out as a pleasant chit chat turned TMI very quickly.

Him: "Can I get you anything to drink with your sandwich?"

Me: "I'll just have some water with it when I get home. I had a lot of coffee today. I need to re-hydrate."

Him: "Water is the best thing for you. Coffee is good for you too. Is it true it makes you go to the bathroom a lot?"

Me: "It's a diuretic. Yes."

Here comes the freak shit.

I then got the details of his defecation schedule and how it was fueled by an espresso here and a double shot there.



Me: "Is my FOOD ready yet?"



As much as I was enjoying hearing about his new vegan lifestyle and the half marathon he runs once a week, I was ready to go. Not hungry anymore but ready to pay for the food I had ordered and get the fuck out.



His parting words were, "I'm so glad the crack didn't take a toll on my body."

I thought of his hair, the teeth he had probably thrown in a pipe and lit for a quick buzz, and walked out grimacing.



Denial is a clerk in Brooklyn Heights.