My First Contact With A Visitor To The Meth Clinic

I now work in downtown DC. My parking garage is about four blocks from the building where I work, and I drive in early enough that I normally don't see but one or two people on the sidewalks in the morning.

Turns out that wasn't what I should've been watching for. This morning, just as I stepped off the curb to cross the street - with the light - a brand new Lincoln Town Car screeches to a nose-dropping stop halfway into the crosswalk I was in. Not ten feet in front of me.

The driver was an elderly black man, grey goatee, porkpie hat, dark suit, dark shirt, light colored tie. Pimp.

I glared at him. He glared at me.

I walked around his car and continued on my way. Behind me, the light changed and he turned onto the street I was on, already flying as he passed me.

Two blocks later, he's parked on the street and stepping out of his car, greeting his addict friends as they all waited for the Meth Clinic to open. After doing their thing, they all wander over to the building I work in and mingle with the homeless in the open-to-the-public cafeteria. This happens every. Freakin. Morning.

I'm a live and let live kind of guy, and as long as Pimp Nitwit doesn't try to run me over again I'll have no problem with them. I'm glad they're getting help. On my dime. And I don't ever use the cafeteria in our building.