It was a full moon last night. The cold is biting at my skin, causing my lips to dry and crack. My bones to ache.
The signs of winter are upon us, and the underpriveleged are becoming hard pressed for a warm, dry bed.
I feel for them. I truly do.
But the crackheads should burn in hell.
I'm usually a pretty easy-going guy. I do my job, I live my life the way I'd like to be remembered, and I pay my bills on time.
I mean, sure, I smoke weed. Who doesn't in this area? But I just don't get the crackheads. I mean, why even start doing a drug named after one of the ugliest body parts ever conceived?
So I refuse to blame the drug. I blame the user. They made the active choice to smoke crack, they should face the consequences of that action. They didn't have a gun to their heads.
That being said, this has been a crazy night for some. I've heard of four death threats, three fights, and one drunken case of an uninvited houseguest. And this is what happens when I stay in. Go figure.
Sometimes I hate phones. But ah well, such is the Dope Opera.
