What's Broken

An old junkie friend of mine called the other day.  I haven’t heard from her since I left that world.  Some would call it a “lifestyle” – though there wasn’t much “living” going on at that time.  Even calling her a friend is a stretch.  Maybe she was a partner in crime.  A war buddy.  Two people who sadly witnessed one another at the lowest point in their lives.

Kris used to live in an old house over in South Minneapolis on a busy street that connected the suburbs with the city.  She rented a room, a tiny place with wooden floors and a window that faced the street.  It was painted shut.  The place was stuffy and packed with DVDs and VHS tapes of old sitcoms from the early 90s.  She had a giant shoe collection – bright tennis shoes with complicated laces and thick soles some misguided kid…

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