It is one of the coldest days in February.
I have finally met up with Craig and we are walking along Barton Street.
He is telling me a story.
“It is early in the morning, I am walking down this block, the first summer I moved here, and a young girl jumps on my back. At first, I think I am being attacked from behind but then I hear the sound of a girl’s voice asking me: “Do you do crack?”
In January, I accepted the invitation to meet with this man on his turf after he contacted me hoping I might be interested in blogging about what really happens on this street that is notorious for drugs, prostitutes and most of this city’s crime.
Craig continues his story.
“The young girl is now twirling and skipping and I look and see a plastic band on her wrist so I know she is fresh out of the hospital.” I answer her question: “No, I don’t do crack.”
“I see you around here”: she says to me and then she asks me: “Do you want a blow job?”
“No thanks”: is his reply.
“It’s on the house”: she tells me.
So I admit: “No, but if I did want one, you’d be my girl.”
“Well, if you should ever rise to the occasion”, she laughs and all the time she is skipping and twirling and then she asks me: “If you don’t do crack, then why do you live here?”
“I really didn’t understand that question at the time when she asked me but I understand exactly what it means now.”: he says to me looking into the distance.
Craig appears to me to be around fifty. I find him to be quite articulate, verbose and very forthright about his experiences living here. It has been quite difficult for Craig and myself to get together for several reasons but the major one is Craig is having huge problems with his landlord: Chiu-Feng Han.
We walk by 550 Barton Street East between (Sherman Avenue and
Wentworth Street) where Craig has lived for almost two and a 2 1/2years.
He has received an eviction notice informing him he must vacate the premises by February 18th, for non-payment of rent. Craig begins to tell me about the deplorable conditions he lives in when I hold up my hand to stop him.
Since I am not a journalist and am already feeling rather overwhelmed, I insist we speak about only one subject at a time.
Craig laughs but is already on to his next story by pointing his finger in the vicinity where ” a girl got dragged into a house and had her throat slashed and was back working the street later that day.”
“People think these girls have a lot of choices in life but they don’t. They have suffered abuse already in their lives and then they come here to get more abuse. If you want to live on Barton Street you have to learn what the word empathy means and then your heart would just pour out to these girls when you see how they live.Craig suffers from insomnia and takes me to the place where he spends his nights when he cannot sleep. We go into a variety store where I notice immediately upon entry its well stocked drug paraphernalia.
(photo of prostitute on Barton Street.)
We walk down an aisle and Craig picks up a huge sponge. It is the kind of sponge used to clean your automobile, but here it is sliced into strips and sold for one dollar a piece and doubles for both birth control purposes and to stave off sexually transmitted diseases.
“Oh yeah, when they get their period they just use cheap toilet paper, roll it up and put tape around it because they can’t afford real tampons”: he explains as he nods to one of the store’s staff members and discreetly tells me to look at the back of the store where I see an ATM Machine.
Craig is heading outside and I follow him, once again into the frigid cold.
“You might think you are street wise but these girls can fool the best who think they know all the tricks. These girls will get a guy to purchase some soft drinks and gum for them. The guy usually pays with his debit card while the girl is peering over his shoulder to learn his pin number. So all you gotta do is wait about ten minutes and the girl comes back in with the guy’s wallet that she has stolen while she is giving him a blow job. She’s got his INTERAC card and goes to the machine and punches in his pin number which she has memorized and cleans him out of as much cash she can get.”
Craig is grinning from ear to ear as I write as fast as I can in my notebook.
His cell phone rings and he takes the call.
He has to go.
We agree to meet in a few days.
I head back walking west on Barton Street as the sun begins to set.
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