Today I see two men walking through a parking lot and one drops a syringe.
I saw a similar syringe a few days ago just across the street.
I made sure to break that syringe into several pieces with my shoes so it could never be used again.
One of the two men noticed that it fell but said nothing as he walked with the other man.
The man whose syringe it most likely was, the one that dropped it, I've seen many times before.
I've given to him when he's asked.
As they walk away from the parking lot, I make my way to the syringe.
It is full of a brown liquid and the orange cap is secured over the needle.
I kick it over to the curb so I may do to it as I did to the other one.
The man's twitches and mannerisms now make more sense after seeing what I've seen.
His other mannerisms tell me he most likely struggles with his sexuality (sexual “identity” as people like to call it nowadays).
My caution in not handing out cash but purchasing food for him is now validated seeing that syringe.
I can't help but feel helpless in being able to help this individual.
Before the needle dropped, the two men were near a trashcan having an argument, what about I couldn't hear or tell.
But as they both walked away, and how the other fellow didn't care to point out the dropped needle to the man I've seen before, it seems that for him the substance was something not worth mentioning.
I have personally struggled with substance abuse, and although I cannot honestly relate with this brown liquid's effects, I can relate to a desire to destroy oneself and care-less about what happens.