The Online Literary Magazine of Cerritos College

Poetry

Cynthia Posada

Why I Talk to Strangers

I love collecting stories.

Through my ramblings and wanderings

I've learned that the best stories,

come from the worst looking people.

Beautiful people are so boring.

They know nothing of fear, dejection, or social disapproval.

This ignorance makes them shallow…

induces a self-imposed hierarchical state,

that they alone dwell in.

The best stories, however, come from outcasts…

Drug addicts:

well known for their wonderfully told, drug-induced fantasies,

and as an additional boon to the drug culture,

they all contain a king's ransom of senseless knowledge and trivial tidbits that all, in one way or another,

have to do with their drug of choice…

Good cries come from talking to any bum,

vagrant,

panhandler.

However, use caution…

for your sadness for an individual can lead to the hatred of a community,

town,

city,

country,

society at large.

Or,

you may just attempt to instruct the vagrant to get a job

and stop asking for change

(Whatever…)

finally,

on those mornings that you wake-up feeling sorry for yourself,

and that fifth cup of coffee isn't helping any,

find yourself a recovering alcoholic or drug addict.

Every town's got one -- trust me.

Talk to one for five minutes,

and you'll soon realize:

if this guy can kick his habit,

you can easily find the strength to take your finals,

come out of the closet,

dump your boyfriend,

or just ask your neighbor to turn off that fucking Celine Dion album.

Of course,

after a conversation with any of these individuals,

you thank your lucky stars that your life,

has never been as crappy as theirs was.

Coolest part:

most of the time,

your friendly neighborhood addict in recovery,

bum,

vagrant,

pan handler,

will tend to agree;

your life is not nearly as pathetic as either of theirs used to be…

this of course does not neatly apply to drug addict yet to recover.

Poetry | Fiction | Essay