It all started innocently, as these stories often do. But this is no mere story, dear reader, as truth is often stranger than fiction.
In the last hand of a Saturday night poker game with my buddies and a few too many beers, my friend Harold raised the stakes. "Whoever loses this hand has to go buy weed at the homeless camp tomorrow." I almost folded. No way, I thought. Way outside my comfort zone. But with a full-house and certainly my best hand of the night, I had to stay in. When Harold's ace-high boat beat mine, I immediately felt a cold sweat. The money I lost wasn't a concern, I'm a shitty poker player. I've never bought drugs in my life, let alone taken a stroll through the homeless camp. But a bet is a bet.
The next day, I psyched myself up for the task. Drugs are rampant down by the river where the tent encampment has grown into something more like its own city. This should be easy, right? I put a few hundred bucks in my wallet and made my way down toward the river.
It was a cool but sunny winter afternoon. The chill I felt as I crossed the footbridge and turned on to the riverwalk was partially from the breeze that cut through me, and more than a little fear for what I was about to do. I walked down the sidewalk along the river, passing the first few tents, each looking as if it could be my own camping tent. Hands in pockets, I tried to look casual, and I began to make quick eye contact with the few homeless people I passed. Their icy stares back at me did nothing to warm my fear, and I felt, more than ever before, like a fish out of water. I kept walking.
I didn't immediately see her when I heard the voice, but her words were clear and stopped me in my tracks. "You looking for someone?" I looked around, and quickly spotted her as she emerged from one of the tents, set a bit apart from the others. "I... " I stammered, and took a tentative step toward her. She gazed at me calmly with just the slightest smile. Though she bore some of the visible signs of homelessness and addiction, she was attractive in a rugged way, and I guessed her to be in her early 30s, or maybe late 20s with a hard life. In my unnerved state, I didn't fully absorb her appearance, but my eyes were drawn to her green and white athletic shirt, just a little grubby, black leggings that might have been yoga pants, and worn running shoes. In any other setting she might be coming back from a workout, but my first impression was that she probably slept in these clothes.
"You seem like you're looking for someone," she said, looking at me expectantly. I tried to clear my tunnel vision and regain some confidence. Time to do this and get out of here. "It's not as much 'someone' as 'some... thing'" I said, as if this would communicate exactly what I needed. "Ah," she said, and a long moment passed as she continued to look at me, her eyes moving down my body and back up to my face. Finally, she spoke up again. "So is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" That took me completely by surprise, and destroyed any confidence I had started building. "Wha..." I said, and I shoved my hands back into my pockets to figure out what she was talking about. And then I realized. "Oh, it's my wa..." I trailed off. Wallet. Don't say that out loud, that's dumb. My wallet, fat with cash. I'm going to get robbed.
She continued to regard me with a quizzical look. "Your wallet, I see" she said. Then, "Okay, so if not 'who' then 'what' are you looking for?" I'm sure my face had turned bright red at this point, and I became aware that some of the people I had passed were watching us. I had to take control of the situation. "Um, I'm looking for some mari... er, pot," I said, trying to keep my voice quiet but confident. "Oh, I see," she said. What was that expression on her face? Her piercing green eyes seemed to pierce straight through my eyes, into my soul. After a long moment of silence, she spoke up, casual but firm. "Okay, step into my office."
It happened fast, but with surprising grace. She took my hand as if we were old friends, and started walking the few steps to her tent. The warmth of her hand was the first sensation I registered, and it overcame any doubt I might have had about entering her tent. Of course, I said to myself, if she has drugs, they're in her tent, and we can get out of sight from the people watching us.
Once we were inside, she turned, brushing past me, and swiftly zipped the tent door closed. I stood, dumbfounded, trying to take in my surroundings. Hers was a medium-sized dome tent, not quite high enough for me to stand up straight, though her head was comfortably below the ceiling, Her few belongings were organized in tidy stack, and a red, worn sleeping bag lay across the floor on top of an inflatable camping pad.
Once finished with the door, she turned back toward me, and I tried to take in her appearance more fully, in the dim light of the tent. She was showing more tan, sun-kissed skin than one might ordinarily on such a cool day, and my theory that she slept in this outfit, and had perhaps just awoken, seemed solid. Standing closer to her now, I could see that the smooth, satiny finish of her athletic shirt was gently interrupted by just the slightest nipple protrusions, probably a function of the cold air and her skinny body frame. Her dirty-blond hair was in a loose pony tail.
