Shadows

Late last night in front of the PJ building I grew up in, an old friend of mine, a little younger than me, steps out of the shadows. His face obstructed slightly by the hood he wears, his cornrows meticulous. The expression on his face, relaxed, somber and cautious. "What up man," I say. A pound is given. I lay my forearms on the fence of the front yard, signaling a chat, he does the same; my building behind me. We exchange pleasantries. He tells me two friends we grew up with have fallen off the deep end and are "using, buggin'-out kid. CRACK." Not a shocking exchange of words, but upsetting nonetheless, we don't dwell on it for much. Two junkies exit my building, one woman, one man; he turns his head and says to them, "How was that? You like dat'..." The jukies, big smiles on their faces, express their delight of the substance they just consumed in a satisfactory tone, "Yeah that was good baby, that was good..." He,"You know where its at then..." Turns around and seamlessly jumps back in to conversation with me. We speak of his children and family a bit more. Although I find his profession repulsive, I don't judge nor preach; sh!t is complex... We exchange another pound, along with a simultaneous warm, brotherly embrace. I tell him how much I enjoy our conversations; bounce and disappear in to my building.