"You Ain't Gettin' High Are You?"

"Hey brother!...Hey, man!"

He was slurring. It was 11pm. I knew before I even turned around.

Bum.

"Heyer man bro, look...I...don't. I mean I'm druhnk and I have no idea where I am"

This was a good one. The man couldn't even walk. You may call it walking, but when I see the feet cascade diagonally, I call it a drunken stagger. I responded with glee:

"Where do you need to go, man?"

"I need to-you need to-it's totally that."

"-"

Right. Maybe I should leave. He could kill me just because he's been bored the last two days. But I asked him again and he gave me a more sensible response. Remember kids, always ask dad twice when he's drunk.

"I need to go to fifteentn!" he shouted.

"Just head right down this street." I pointed to Lovejoy.

"That is NOT fifteenth brother, I checked. I looked. I saw like twee times dude."

"I know, but head down it and you'll get to fifteenth."

There was a small pause.

"What the hell is that train doing?!"

"..."

He was angry. But a comfortable anger. I repeated my directions (twice, kids), telling him to go down Lovejoy, to which he replied with changing his direction and muttering, "uh huh okay hey I've known...and stuff, and you." He trailed off.

As he staggered away he turned back to give me one last quotable phrase before he rode off into the sunset night:

"You ain't gettin' high are ya boy?"

"No man, no weed."

"CohCANE?"

"Um. no."

At this point I decided to leave because I could have a better conversation with my toaster (and, actually you would be surprised at that toaster's wit) and really wanted to relay the story to John immediatley. It was just another night where I was thankful I live in the city. You'll never get that kind of entertainment in the 'burbs.