I was walking along Bleecker Street yesterday and just had to snap this photo. Then, some dopey tourist saw me taking the picture and whipped out his own camera. Copycat. I hate it when people copy. He must have thought we’d both stumbled on a tableau of unexpected, urban beauty.
Actually, I wanted to document this mess because it was such an excellent example of crackhead stuff. Only crackheads carry around, and then spill, such random items. Probably a crackhead prostitute, because from the pedicure paraphernalia you can tell he/she cared about his/her appearance. Acually, it could only be “she” because even if it’s a tranny crack ho, you don’t say “he.” It’s not politically correct. If it’s someone who would use the ladies’ restroom or wear L’eggs, it’s “she.”
I’m guessing that *she* smokes a little rock, then goes walking the street in those red, over-the-knee hooker boots with the six-inch heels. A couple of johns and a few rounds with the glass pipe later, her dogs are smartin’. So she applies the Icy Hot patch and enjoys a snack of dry Ronzoni strands dipped in ketchup and sugar. Kind of a crackhead’s Lik M Aid Fun Dip. Not that crackheads wouldn’t like real Fun Dip. But you can’t always be choosy.
Crackheads don’t wear contact lenses, because who has time for saline solution when you’re on the go? So that contact lens case is probably just an empty trophy salvaged from the trash, or a good storage place for crack. Vials are so last century.
I’m not going to guess what she did with the Crisco. I mean, I’ve already guessed but it’s too easy.
Shoot — scratch everything I said. I just took a tote bag I haven’t used in a while out of the closet. It was filled with almost the same stuff.