Last weekend, after attending a gospel concert in SE Washington, DC (an area of town I have never before even been near), I had a close encounter with a crackhead. Yes, a crackhead. I’m talking skinny, shaking, toothless, shifty acting, strange things going on with his skin, the whole nine yards. He had a cup and was going up to cars at the red light asking for money! Yeah, right! In your dreams Mr. Crackhead! Like I’m giving you money so you can go get even higher. I don’t think so. When this fool came up to our car, we stared straight ahead. I was in shock! In case I didn’t already know SE was a bad part of town, this drove the point home. I have never been so glad to see a light turn green in my life. Of course, people had jokes. Everyone just thought it was hilarious that I’d never seen a real life crackhead. Whatever. I could have lived without it. In the words of Whitney Houston, “crack is wack.” Just say no kids, just say no.
how do you know the guy was on crack? he could of just been sniffing markers. or perhaps sniffing some fumes. perhaps he had just forgot to shower. so many things he could be.
here in north carolina we don’t really have that many crack heads. on a related note, if you ever want to know how to protect yourself from a pot head, let me know.
it’s funny how whitney houston said that crack is wack, even though her husband was on the stuff all the time and beat her.