By A Person Who Wishes To Remain Anonymous
I could sense him staring at me, watching me from around the corner. He had done it a few times.
I was 12 years old, and I worked at a newsstand in a northern suburb that summer. He was an older man with bad skin and a wispy combover. He creeped me out, but I was smart, I thought. I wouldn’t let anything weird happen.
Then he came from around the corner and approached me. He started talking to me – asked my name, what I liked to do. He bought a newspaper and tipped me a few bucks. Then he asked if I wanted to earn some money. Oh, and he’d give me some pot. I said okay. I knew it was weird, but I thought I was worldly enough to handle whatever he did. I was 12, after all.
Posted on November 11, 2011