So, I was driving home from the Christian Christmas concert in Glendale when I stopped to pick up a hitchhiker. She was walking East on Dunlap and I picked her up just past Central. When I asked where she was headed, she said 19th Avenue and Mountain View. Which, for those of you not familiar with North Phoenix, is in the totally opposite direction. She immediately went into a story about being offered drinks by a strange man and waking up across town in different clothes, disoriented. I drove her to her destination (which turned out not to be her home, but an intermediary destination which she referred to as “paying her babysitter” and I’m going to call “buying crack”) and discussed Christian music a bit. She took a few minutes “buying crack” and then I drove her in the direction of her “home” – but had to stop at the Shell station for her to pick up a lighter. Except she didn’t have enough money, so I gave her “all” my cash. (Here, where I say “all” what I mean is all. That is, I only had $1 on me at the time, and habitually have no spare change in my car, so she got my “last dollar.”) She argued with the attendant locked inside the Shell station about the cost of a lighter and a Brillo pad and kept coming back to try to get more money, not understanding that when I had showed her my empty wallet it had meant that my wallet was empty, and only falling down and banging her head in her confuzzled state the once. (I have since looked up the connection between Brillo pads and crack, and apparently they are used as filters for smoking crack.) On the ride to the Shell, and then around the corner (almost literally) to her apartment, we discussed that she was actually high on crack and having trouble quitting it and not attending church since the people at Calvary “freaked out” on her, and then she was crying and genuinely asking how I made her cry, she hasn’t cried in a long time and she’s going to try to find a new church and she really wishes quitting crack didn’t make her feel so awful, or that she had someone to turn to. So pray for her, guys, her name is Meredith Anne, and … oh, I forgot to mention she let it slip that her only source of income is prostitution. So, yeah, I dropped her off and came home.
What’s nice is that, considering she’s a crack whore, she didn’t smell bad at all.