Ken Fleckenstein


It was almost 2AM

I was parked outside my apartment waiting for a friend to grab a half smoked pack of cigarettes from my living room

A man with his hood drawn approached my car window

“Hey man, can you help me?”

I didn’t know what to say, it being 2AM and all

“It’s me, Justin, don’t you recognize me?”

It was Justin alright, with his unshaven face and matted hair with a dead gleam in his eyes

The years of heroin didn’t do his natural beauty any good

Neither did the stories of his robberies across town

“Justin, no man, you need to leave”

“I just need a place to stay!”

“Seriously, you can’t crash with me!”

“Come on!”

“Fuck off!”

My friend returned, lighting a cigarette

“What’s up, man?”

“Oh nothing” Justin sighed and walked away, defeated again

I found out later he slept in my laundry room and the landlord had to call the police to remove him

I also found out his girlfriend thought “we’ve broken up” and “he’s in rehab” were the same thing

She had a Heartagram tramp stamp that moved in sync with her hips when she was thrusting herself up and down on me

He left me a very passive aggressive birthday wish on my Facebook wall that following year

He’s sober now

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