I Really Need a Digital Camera Phone

Every time I encounter something photo-worthy, I never have a camera around. Since my cell phone contract expired I think I should get a camera phone so that stuff like what happened on saturday will be recorded for posterity. What happened Saturday?

Hmmm, well, it's like this. One of the things that you occassionally run into in gentrifying neighborhoods is a colorful local character called a crackhead. This is one of the reasons that I wish my up-and-coming neighborhood would hurry up and get there. Eff the morons who bemoan gentrification, the sooner Columbia Heights looks like Bethesda, with it's clean streets, ubiquitous chain restaurants and banal fashion stores, the better.

So I see this Ford Taurus parked behind the Sudanese Guy's place (of course, blocking my driveway). Initially I thought it was a contractor, but when I looked closer, I figured out it wasn't a contractor.

1. The guy was driving a Ford Taurus, not a van or pickup truck;
   
2. The guy was black, not latino (the sudanese guy only hires--then doesn't pay--latinos);
3. The guy was wearing a sports jersey, not a Carhart coat;
   
4. He was aimlessly pacing back and forth;
5. He was really skinny (didn't look like the manual labor type)
   

I fugured he was a crackhead, since crackdealers don't work alone, so I washed my hands and went out there. I washed my hands because he was a crackhead. I didn't want to have compound/paint on me because I didn't want him knowing I was doing work there. If a crackhead knows your working then his brain goes like this:

Work = Tools; Tools = Money; Money = Crack...let's comeback later and steal something.

Now, I know I shoulda' called the cops because I don't want to lose my temper again, but the libertarian in me can't help trying to solve problems without involving the government (aka The Man). So as I approach, I see the guy is talking to himself. At first I thought he was on a hands free phone, but no, he was talking to himself. I also noticed that his eyes were dialated, the guy was on something. I'm guessing crack, but I'm not a connoisseur of illegal narcotics, so I wasn't really sure what he was on. In actually, I don't care if he was on friggin' fairy dust, I just wanted him out of my driveway.

Ninja: Hey man, can I help you with somethin'?

Crackhead: No...I'm just here prayin'

Ninja: Alright. But this here is a driveway; maybe you should get to a church;

Crackhead: I didn't mean to bother nobody, I just needed to pray 'cuz I've done bad things in my life

[at this point I notice that his car has a screwdriver instead of a key in the ignition, so I think the bad things he's referring to were fairly recent...like 15 minutes ago]

Ninja: Alright then. Finish up your prayer, say an Amen, then you gotta' go. This here's a driveway, man. I got shit to do that involves movin' my car, you feel me? (I used some hipster lingo that I picked up on MTV...oh those wacky kids and their street lingo).

Then our crackfriend finished his prayer, got into his car and left. I yelled at a wino the same day who was crawling over the dirt pile to get to his friend's house.

Gentrification! Gentrification! Hurry up!