Kirsten Anonymous

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Everything I knew about addicts, you could’ve fit it on the back of an envelope.

It seemed like, as far as I could tell, if you liked to drink, you became a writer. If you liked harder drugs, like heroin or something, you were going to be a musician. This was kind of hazy though, because if you liked, say, LSD, it seemed like maybe you could be a musician or a writer. Maybe some kind of visual artist. Or something.

There weren’t a lot of bums in my town. No wino’s sleeping on benches, no vagrants crashed out on the sidewalk with track marks running up and down their arms. It seemed like, if I remembered correctly, that guy on Andy Griffith, the drunk, they always just kept him overnight and then let him out, like it was a funny little thing that happened in their town.

I hadn’t had much of a pull toward or interest in any of these lifestyles. But, sometimes things surprise you. Like, let’s say you don’t know anything about addicts really, and then you find out you’ve been one for a decade or so.

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