July 24th, 2016
Starbucks. There’s a guy who looks like a young Trent Reznor, quiet, keeps to himself, sitting in the middle comfy chair in a set of three — the other two vacant.
Soon, some other guy enters, talking to himself, throws his bag on one vacant chair, and then plops down on the other. Homeless, I would suspect, as he entered with two large McDonald’s cups, a bag of coffee beans that are not adorned with the Starbucks brand, he didn’t order anything — and did I mention he’s talking to himself?
Though the man is very tan and looks a bit disheveled, his clothes, shoes, and backpack are in even better shape than mine. He’s pulled out some pink earbuds (that don’t go with his cardinal shorts or black and sky blue shoes) and begins sipping one of his drinks.
Whether or not this poorly groomed man is homeless, I cannot say. But he wears the face and accessories of meth, of that there is no doubt.
The man’s personal chatter has subsided, and his external monologue has converted to internal. He gives angry, suspicious glares around the room, especially to me, though he’d probably accuse of staring even if I wasn’t.
All the while, the young metal head seated betwixt the tweeker’s person and his belongings remains oblivious.
McMeth head begins tapping his foot to the beat of whatever he’s listening to. His eyes drop and he mouths lyrics, less like he’s enjoying them, more like he’s composing them …
He sure is itchy.
About a half hour later, after distracting myself from distracting myself from work (meaning I actually started working), I’d been wondering if I’ve misjudged the man. Maybe he’s just down on his luck. Nothing drug-related at all. And then another man, looking just as rough as the first, enters, takes the backpack from the chair, and moves to a table on the other side of the entrance.
The second man pulls out several electronics and plugs them in. The men exchange one or two words on the other side of the room, and then split up.
Young Trent Reznor is in his own little world.
The first strange man left and went to — well, who knows — and was gone for about a half hour. And wouldn’t you know it? The second one talks to himself, too!
Young Trent got up and packed up eventually. He glanced around at how the world had changed since he disappeared in whatever was going on on his computer screen, looked a tad surprised, but unaffected. I’m actually more curious about what drug HE was on. Aderroll, perhaps?
Anyway, whatever the McTweekers were waiting on in all the time they weren’t conversing and ordering anything, it didn’t appear by the time I called it a night — which was about a half hour before closing.
The first man had disappeared elsewhere in the store. He’d been gone for a while. Just as I premeditated an attack plan, should these two follow me to my car with ill intentions, I packed up and headed for the mens room to relieve myself for a long drive. Wouldn’t you know it — the door was locked. Creeper #1 was likely hogging it for a half hour to get his fix. You win this round, tweekers …