“Hey Helen, how are your kids?” “Yeah, they’re okay.” “Steve, still dancing?” ” I just got written up in the New York Times. I’m in a video dancing with Bow Wow. You can see me giving him a hug.” ” Ooooh, that’s cool.” said a heavy-set woman in the front seat of the eight-seater taxi. The others had given her the front to ease the pain in her back. She quickly found it on her phone. I was sitting in the rear, somewhat uneasy as the driver looked at the video, rather than keeping his eyes on the road. No one else seemed to care as we watched Steve, sixty-seven, dancing: arms flailing, feet hopping, repetitive movements to what I imagine was a musical score . The passengers were all regulars except for me.
Steve was dropped off first at the Pet Memorial Park at Bideawee to pay his respects. Before leaving the car he said, “Animals make better friends than most people.” “That’s for sure.” came a response.
The conversation switched to the homeless. “Yeah they’re just scamming,” someone said. “We’re all that close to being homeless ourselves,” said the woman holding the phone. The driver said, “I’ve seen them at the train station asking for money to buy a ticket, then going over to the gas station to buy beer.” “Well that’s different.” “Yeah they buy drugs too.” “They’re buying heroin. They’re cracking down on the doctors giving meds, so people are now buying heroin instead.”
A young man who had spoken little until then said, ” I lost six friends to heroin this year. Football players, jocks. It’s affecting everyone, everyone.” For the first time since I had gotten in the taxi, no one said a word.
