I'm walking down Carrollton, approaching Spruce and a grizzled man, with one leg, in a wheelchair. He stares at me as I walk up and as I step onto the sidewalk, he glares.
"It's poison."
I take one earbud out. "Excuse me?"
"That's POISON," he hisses, pointing vehemently at my headphones with one hand, taking a drag off a cigarette with the other.
Good things never happen to me at Carrollton and Spruce.
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You and that intersection need to part. That place is POISON.
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