From Frankie in Elmwood Park:

One night back in 1996, I headed over to the local bar on Friday night.    It was more crowded than usual on this night, so I was forced to park a block away on a side street.

While I was retrieving my coat from the back seat, a loud noise slamming of hands on my car, suddenly startled me.  When I turned forward, I saw Joe, a neighborhood guy who was known as a prolific drug user.  I knew Joe on a more personal level, since we played basketball together at the local park when we were younger.

Joe was looking at me in the car, his eyes bulging from the sockets, looking like they were going to pop right out of his head.  My first thought was, “I’m not getting out of this car.”  I knew about his drug problem, and at this very moment, he was frightening.  Joe quickly came to the door, leaving me no option but to get out of the car.  Before I could say one word, Joe said, “You have any money? I’m hungry.”  Knowing Joe had drug issues and life problems in general, I didn’t want to give him cash and contribute to his drug problems, so I offered to take him to a fast-food restaurant just a block away.  Joe quickly changed course and said, “Forget the food.  Just give me some money so I can go get a room and get some sleep.”  Again, I had a pretty good idea that Joe wanted the cash to get drugs, but I wasn’t going to help him.  There was a tiny hotel several blocks away, so I said, “Jump in, I’ll drive you there and pay for a room.”

Either Joe realized what I was up to, or he simply lost his patience.    Joe’s eyes popped out of his sockets again as he yelled at me, “You know I’m a fucking junkie, just give me the fucking money.”  Fear quickly rumbled through my whole body.  Without hesitation, I peeled a $20 bill from my pocket and gave it to Joe.  Joe looked at the $20 bill with disgust and said, “That’s all you have?”      Joe sized me up and down.  I held firm as Joe, and I locked eyes.  He finally said, “Nice shoes,” and went on his way.