Coming back from the deli, a bag of muffins in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other, I rounded the corner to the elevator just as it was opening. There was a man in a black leather jacket in the back corner of the elevator, head down, slumping forward, on the nod. Without thinking, I stepped into the elevator, and as soon as I was fully on, he fell right into me. “Shit!” he yelled, loudly. Luckily, he caught himself just as he hit me; I couldn’t have caught him because my arms were full. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled.
The desk clerk had seen what had happened and he called out, “Hey, what’s going on in there?! Everything all right in there?!”
“Yeah, it’s OK,” I said. I hit the button for my floor and up we went. The guy in the leather jacket had apparently slept through his floor the first time he went up, and had ridden back down to the lobby. Now he remembered what he was doing and hit his button: 4.
“Sorry, man,” he apologized again, seeing the coffee slopped out on my jacket. “I just forgot what I was doing. I’m really forgetful sometimes. I just woke up and I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“Yeah, I hear ya,” I said. “I know what you mean.”
“It was one of those senior moments,” he said, laughing. He was probably in his mid-thirties. “It could happen to anybody,” he said as he got off.
Yeah, anybody who shoots heroin.
Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton
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