Do I tell you about the mice and rats that occasionally share beds with our misplaced suburban neighbors?
No…That's way too disgusting…
Should I tell you about the otherwise adorable and now newly emaciated woman in her upper twenties who walks the streets trying to look sexy so as to attract a 'date' who will pay her for some degree of sexual service in the back seat of the same car that he daily shares with his wife and children?
Yea… Let's start there…
For several years, she didn't need to 'walk the streets.' Walking the streets is a behavior reserved for women who are new to Kensington and have not yet developed their list of 'regular' 'dates' or - for health reasons - have lost their regulars due to their declining appearance.
Her natural adorableness with an incredible combination of cute and sexy had allowed her to build up quite a clientele of 'regulars,' 'men' who 'hired' her on a regular basis so as to fulfill their natural needs of release (may the reader understand…).
Her list included men of all professional and trade backgrounds and others, perhaps not so highly educated but hardworking nonetheless.
And then came that day when a new 'regular' suspiciously and spontaneously entered her world which was drowning in the unkempt swamp of Medicaid underfunded treatment for her Substance Use Disorder.
She was absolutely ready for detox, rehab, and reclaiming life. She emphatically told me so as we were talking on the phone. At that moment, she was waiting for a bus to take her back from a 'date' with one of her many regulars and from his marriage bed on the 'Main Line' to her government-subsidized apartment. In the background, I could clearly hear…
"Hey, Babe…Want to make some money?"
With no available support to say "No I've decided to go to detox." she began meeting with this 'man' who paid her $300 to $400 dollars about every other day for his own pleasures.
With a ridiculous level of funds at her disposal for inhaling and injecting, within a few weeks, healthy and appropriate weight shriveled into emaciation. Her 'regulars' quickly caught on to her lack of health and cute sexiness and stopped calling. And now she walks the streets hoping some random guy will pull over in his family car, make a request of her and pay her the funds she needs to support the addiction she'd rather not have.
Without realizing it at the time of this writing, her story continued on in this blog series with an entry on December 17, 2021: The Sprint to the Finish
There is no end to this story because, as you read it, this story is in all actuality and reality playing itself out with various players in the here and now on the streets of Kensington, a section of Philadelphia 30 minutes from the home of most of the people who are reading this blog.
How do I explain to you the depth of misery that exists on the streets of Kensington?
I have just done so by serving you one of the Pringles in the can…
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