blog crack

Crackhead intern came in today, hung over for the third straight week in a row. Basically, since he's started. This means he mumbles more than usual. But, for someone about to throw up at his desk, he's surprisingly productive.

Last week he came in wearing the clothes he slept in the night before and a weird tie with a pink ribbon (breast cancer awareness month) pin attached. "For the ladies", he told me.

Today he regaled me with another strange tale from London. In a softened voice that reeked of nostalgia (as one is wont to do while reminiscing about fond childhood memories), he told me about how, in the brisk evenings of fall, he and his younger brother would go into their bedroom, turn off the lights (so that they could see out but others could not see in) and then proceed to spy on the seedy goings on in the alley below. "Ah," he told me. "We would spy on all these people buying drugs and shooting up and soliciting prostitutes and just going in and out of this alleyway. For hours. It was great."

Another tale to warm the heart.