Human Race, Last-Place Finishers

Sometimes people just don't pass along the good shit that's been done for them.



These people, in my opinion, should be thwapped sharply in the ears and asked "What the fuck are you thinking?"



Tim called me Sunday--collect, as usual--to give me his latest report and to check in on his cats.



Oh, did I not mention that I still have the cats?? Or that Cassidy has apparently developed some sort of kitty mood-disorder, and--when he's not lying on his favorite blanket, which now has a three-inch mat of cat hair on it--has manifested his despair by crapping on the floor, repeatedly? Or that along with this emotional disturbance, he's also developed a case of the raging shits?? I didn't mention those things?? Well, you can damn well believe I mentioned them to Tim.



But I digress.



Among other things, he told me that he witnessed an acquaintance of his overdosing on heroin, on the open street, and did nothing because "you never know what the cops are gonna assume--they might think I gave it to him, or somethin."



This would be barely-forgiveable, but still within the realm of understandable human caution....were it not for the fact that once, several years ago, I called the paramedics to come pick HIS overdosing butt up off the floor of my apartment, at moderate risk to my own personal welfare, lease, and freedom. One of the main reasons I did it--though I don't even think the notion of NOT calling the paramedics ever even entered my mind--was that a couple of years before, -I- had been pulled out of an overdose by JP. You pass along the good things that people do for you--I've always believed that.



But maybe that's one of my more-naive beliefs, or something. And unlike Tim, this guy apparently didn't survive his OD. And it really kinda made me sick to hear Tim try to justify his inaction: "oh, I really didn't know the guy all that well," or "I had to be somewhere at a certain time, and if I stopped..."



Give me a fuckin' break, you know?



Regardless--when Tim comes to pick up his cats, I'm presenting him with a gift--a bucket of bleach and water, and a scrub brush. He is going to wash down every single fucking inch of that room. I am a nice person, and I am willing to help almost everyone I know...but I have my limits.