Street - One

Street - One

She is in the market, two spread out blankets in front of her, books, and carvings. Corner spot, ideal. Room for people to stand or kneel down, look at things, pick up books. One fold out chair, come and sit. Emily. Her name, is Emily. Clear day, afternoon in December. Teenager runs up. She doesn't know him. Drops to his knees right in front of her.

"Your son went down. On the corner. Howe. Paramedics with him now. They don't think he's doing so well."

She gets up, hustles the two blocks to the corner where flashing lights and paramedics are feeding her boy oxygen through a mask.

Six days in a hospital she holds his hands.

Cold hands.

As his organs fail.

On the sixth day. They take him off the machines. He never wakes. They shake their heads. He never woke up. She never got to look him in the eye again.

Carfentanil. A new street opioid, fifteen times more potent than fentanyl which is the buzz word on every media person's lips.

You want to talk about how do we make lives better?

Here.

There are six overdoses a day.

Fifty deaths a week.

They're dying there on the streets.

Dying invisibly while you fight your war. While you talk about money. While you talk about power. While you talk about equality.

Her son's name was Sean. He sold cigarettes on a street corner and he slipped through the cracks invisible.

He was aboriginal. He left behind a wife and a child.

He wasn't anyone. And he isn't anyone anymore.

It's not safe.

Fuck you.

Help, Me.