The corner of 23rd and Holtzclaw is that part of Chattanooga that every newly hip city has. The boundaries of the cool style that erupted, years ago, in the center of Market street have spread, like a circle, to the north, pushing the gruff and grime that once existed therein into the outlying streets of the edge of town. It is the home of liquor stores, tiendas, drugs, Americana. It is also the closest and most economical source of food, when traveling from my Habitat for Humanity office building.
I opted for the intimate interior of the Burger King in place of the drive through, figuring such course of action would save me at least fifteen minutes of waiting. Walking in, though, I was confronted by one of the great archetypical American characters: The Drug Addled Whore. “Hey goodlookin’,” she said. “Wanna eat? S’free…”
“No thank you,” I said. “I am on my lunch break, and I don’t have that long.”
“It won’t take long,” she said. I smiled, not really knowing what to do in this situation. I wanted to be polite, but nothing about the scene was polite.
“I have a very short break, I don’t think my employers would understand.” I ordered my value meal, waited for it to speedily be stuffed into what I am fairly sure was an already grease stained bag. I left the lobby, passing my new friend. I winked at her and said “stay out of trouble.” I’m not really sure why I did that.
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