Nine of Cups [Reversed]

A Village—DAY

I’m sitting at a picnic table with Spike and his entourage. I shake antibiotics out of a medicine bottle and swallow them weakly. One of Spike’s friends, Gunny the Vet is across from me. He points at a nearby store.

“That’s a black people’s sewing store. I won’t go in there!”

Spike laughs and in an Uncle Tom voice jokes “What make’s it a black people’s sewin’ store? Is dey a bunch in thar darnin’ socks and eatin’ chickins n’ shrimps?”

Meanwhile I notice there is an old black lady also sitting at the picnic table. I watch her across the table. She doesn’t seem to notice the racist dialogue. Or the rest of us at all, really. She takes what looks like a finger-pricker for blood testing and loads some medicine into it from what looks like a blue plastic birth control pill case. She then shoots this into her temple.

Spike watches all this intently then begins to scream.

“Shooting’ up that shit into your head? That’s nothing! I’ve done that! What other drugs are there? I’ve done’em all. What are worst ones you can think of? Crack? Heroin? Morphine? Oxy? I’ve done them all. I’ll do them all right now. Come on! Who’s in? Just name the narcotic and we’ll go out and buy it!”

I gulp at the scene. And turn away, to find the census worker—I mean phone checker—is still standing there. Staring.

“Sorry,” I answer meekly, “What was that question again?”