Friends will tell you that I
suffer from a somewhat crippling fear of junkies. And it's true! I've
always been leery of needle users, but not in any insane or unusual
way, a general reluctance to get cozy with street addicts being I think
fairly standard? However my fears took a turn for the irrational the
night I stumbled upon the documentary Black Tar Heroin: The Dark End of the Street,
and then stayed up until 4am watching with horrified fascination. The
way that movie captured the junkie's disturbing and alien sense of
priorities, with heroin reigning supreme above everything else -- food,
loved ones, strangers, the innate sense of self preservation -- just
completely unhinged me. The fact that all the action took place right
in the middle of my neighborhood was particularly unsettling. Hey
there's my favorite coffee place! That's my bank! Suddenly my eyes were
forced open to the fact that all those kids hanging around looking
"tired" were totally junkies! (I've since had similar quease-fest, sort
of a paranoia refresher course, after accidentally getting sucked in to
Intervention
during a recent Jetblue television marathon.) Anyway, I know that these
ideas of mine aren't all that politically correct, that addiction is a
disease, etc. And I do have a great deal of intellectual sympathy for
those who struggle with the white pony. And yet ... couldn't the same
be said about zombies? It isn't exactly their fault that they got bit
by an undead type, but now that they're pale and lurching and scabby
and trying to kill me, it would be crazy not to run away from them,
right? Or at the very least buy a very expensive locking mailbox?
