On the way into the pharmacy the other day I overheard a snippet of conversation between (actor #1) the gentleman with the red bucket, collecting for I know not what charity and (actor #2) the somewhat loud talking lady on crutches. As I passed them I observed the lady was missing one leg just below the knee; the conversation went like this:
"My son gets out of prison next week."
"Parole or release."
"Oh definitely parole to a halfway house in Oakland."
"How many years he do?"
"They gave him twenty but let him out in twelve, he should never have done a day."
"He got the man who did this to me." She pointed at her missing leg.
When I came out of the store, the lady was gone but as I passed the man he spoke to me:
"You heard the story bout her son."
I stopped, knowing this would be worth the time.
"I knew her back when see lost that leg from too many infections."
"Yup, and she ain't got no son either. Leastwise not one that gettin' out of prison; her only child died from the same crap that took her leg."
"Well nobody makes you put that poison in your body."
"No I guess not."
I dropped five bucks in his red bucket for the story and headed to my car with my physician prescribed narcotics in the clean, white pharmacy bag with the tax receipt attached.
Art: Decision Time by americanpsycho