I was feeling a bit sorry for myself in work today. No good reason and no point posting about it because as I've mentioned before, nobody likes a whingey bird. Late this afternoon I prised my fingers from my keyboard and slouched across the road to the chemist to get a prescription filled. For some reason this always seems to take an age, so I took a seat at the back of the shop. I was only in a minute when I guy came in the door and without even approaching the counter took a seat across from me. Cleancut, good-looking, he looked a bit worn out. He sat quietly for a minute or two until the girl behind the counter called to him. She knew him by name, asked how he was, told him he looked well and then handed him his cup of Methodone. Thanking her, he knocked it back, thanked the pharmacist behind the counter and headed off, saying he'd see them again tomorrow.
I've never had a junkie break into my home. Never had a junkie steal from me. Never had a junkie harass me on the street. I'm lucky. Luckier than they are.
On one of my visits to A&E with Crash Grandadicoot I spent a few hours with him on a trolley in the inner sanctum (away from the Infernoesque waiting room). In the treatment room across from where I was stood there was a girl in her late teens, maybe early twenties. Agitated and restless, she'd been told to lie and wait for the doctor but kept getting up from her gurney to switch off the light, which was hurting her eyes. The nurses were losing patience with her, and she was getting tearful. When the doctor came in to do a preliminary exam, he asked her had she taken anything. No, she insisted. "What are these marks on your arm?" "I had an accident. It was just an accident." The doctor headed off again and she turned off the light once more. There was a guy about my own age just out of sight around the corner. I had heard the girl greet him when she was first being brought through and now he called over to her, to see how she was. They started talking about a party they'd been to the night before, about some other girl who'd been there, strung out and covered in bruises. She looked a state, they said, and he was worried for her. It was obvious from their conversation that they didn't know one another well, friends of friends, that kind of thing. A nurse came to check on him and when she left, the girl spoke up again. "I'm really glad you're here. I mean it's real bad and I'm sorry and all that you're sick like, but still I'm happy to see you here. I get scared when I'm on my own. It's nice that we're not on our own, you know?"
He knew.
Walking home by the black dark water of the Grand Canal this evening, all I could think of was what a cold night it is to be alone, helpless or homeless in Dublin.
I've never had a junkie break into my home. Never had a junkie steal from me. Never had a junkie harass me on the street. I'm lucky. Luckier than they are.
On one of my visits to A&E with Crash Grandadicoot I spent a few hours with him on a trolley in the inner sanctum (away from the Infernoesque waiting room). In the treatment room across from where I was stood there was a girl in her late teens, maybe early twenties. Agitated and restless, she'd been told to lie and wait for the doctor but kept getting up from her gurney to switch off the light, which was hurting her eyes. The nurses were losing patience with her, and she was getting tearful. When the doctor came in to do a preliminary exam, he asked her had she taken anything. No, she insisted. "What are these marks on your arm?" "I had an accident. It was just an accident." The doctor headed off again and she turned off the light once more. There was a guy about my own age just out of sight around the corner. I had heard the girl greet him when she was first being brought through and now he called over to her, to see how she was. They started talking about a party they'd been to the night before, about some other girl who'd been there, strung out and covered in bruises. She looked a state, they said, and he was worried for her. It was obvious from their conversation that they didn't know one another well, friends of friends, that kind of thing. A nurse came to check on him and when she left, the girl spoke up again. "I'm really glad you're here. I mean it's real bad and I'm sorry and all that you're sick like, but still I'm happy to see you here. I get scared when I'm on my own. It's nice that we're not on our own, you know?"
He knew.
Walking home by the black dark water of the Grand Canal this evening, all I could think of was what a cold night it is to be alone, helpless or homeless in Dublin.
