To you know who.


Juanita was crying when Carlos got to the abandoned apartment building. She sounded like she'd been crying for a long time. Her face was scrunched up and red. Her diaper was full. He picked her up. She was wet. Water must have filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling or blown in through the shattered window.

"Don't worry," he said as he picked Juanita up, stripped her out of her wet clothes. Then he changed her and tossed the dirty diaper out the window. Her cries settled to hiccupping whines. He kisses her on the forehead. "I told you I'd take good care of you."

He decided that he should give her a bath to make her happy. He'd always loved baths when he was little. They were his favorite part of the day.

The bathtub in the empty apartment is dirty. The porcelain is stained brown. The water doesn't run. The pipes have dripped rust around the drain. It doesn't look clean enough for him to put Juanita in. He found a bucket in the hall. Rainwater had collected in it. It was a little cloudy, there were a few flecks of paint, but it wasn't too dirty. He dragged the bucket into the room and picked Juanita up from her cardboard box bed. She cried when he first dipped her in, probably because the water was a little cold, but then she moved her arms a bit, splashing in the water. She looked more confused than upset. Like she didn't know what was happening but liked it.

Carlos realized he was sweating. His face hurt, his lungs, his teeth. He needed some of that crack he bought after leaving the library. He'd promised himself he would try to make it last this time, and he would, he just needed a taste to make himself steady. He couldn't take good care of Juanita when he was trembling and sick, too focused on how bad he needed to be high. He would take care of her better once his head was clear. Drugs made him think better. Made him smarter. Made him calm. The colors were relaxing; maybe if he was high Juanita could see them too.

He set her gently down into the bucket and ran to get his stuff. It only took a few minutes, a little heat from his lighter, then he was on his way to soaring. Then he went back and picked Juanita up out of the bucket. She seemed happier. She was quiet and sleepy. She was clean. He only wished he'd had some baby shampoo to wash her hair with so she'd smell fresh. She gurgled a little as he put a fresh diaper on her and wrapped her up in his hoodie to keep her warm while her clothes dried.

She started crying again. That's when he remembered he'd forgotten to feed her lunch. He'd forgotten to feed her dinner too. There was enough formula left for one bottle, but he didn't want to run out too quick, so he emptied half into the spare bottle and poured some of the stolen creamers into the bottle. Juanita made greedy noises as she ate.

A bottle rattled in the hallway. Glass crunched under a foot. Carlos put Juanita back in her box and crept out to look.

There was a girl rooting through one of the rooms. Her short curly hair was messy and tangled. Her arms and legs were thin. She was skinny, like a skeleton, all ribs and bony hips. She looked up at him and he knew from the edge to her eye, desperation sharp as a razor, that she was just like him.

"Heeeeey," he said, warm, happy. The stuff he'd had was really starting to kick in.

She raised an eyebrow at him, took him in, and smiled.

"You got some?"

"Maybe, baby." He laughed. She looked really pretty now, shining with colors. Beer goggles, sort of. He thought she had probably been pretty before. Her face wasn't too bad, but she was missing a few of her front teeth. That's the one thing he was afraid would happen to him, that he'd lose his teeth. He brushed four times a day but by the time it got that bad, he'd be close to dead anyways.

"You willing to share?"

"I'm Carlos." He'd met tons of other addicts before. They weren't very friendly unless they knew you could get them some drugs. He was the same way. He hated most people. People just sucked.

"Jennifer," she said, twitching. She had sweat beading along her forehead, droplets shining like diamonds in her hair. "Please, if you have some, I'll give you whatever I have."

He could always buy more crack. He was okay for right now. He didn't need the rest, not if she was willing to pay. He could charge her more for it than he paid. Then he could go to Gustavo and get even more.

"Show me." She had a crumpled five in her pocket, three dollar bills in her shoe. The bottom of her purse that held her crack pipe was covered in nickels. Nine-seventy-five total. Not enough to buy shit. He could give her half a rock if he was feeling generous.

He wasn't really sure how generous he was feeling. He couldn't feel anything but happy. "Not enough," he said eventually, shaking his head. It felt cool, the way his muscles worked, like they were on a spring.

"I'll do anything," she whispered, pleading. He remembered this. He'd been through this all before. It's like his life, only now he's on the outside, looking in.

"Yeah?" He asked, excited. No one had ever.

"Yeah," she said, so sweetly. Pretty cracked lips and bony face. She really was beautiful underneath. She slid to her knees, humming, singing pretty sounds.

He leaned back against the damp concrete and let her do her thing.