See a problem? Walk away.

 

Should I have warned Gollum, the homeless guy?  He was going through some stuff left out in the trees.  This is the park at the north west of Davenport and Bathurst.  Gollum did not know whose stuff it was.  An organized ring of specialty sex workers use that beach blanket for afternoon love making.  There was a purse bag with lube and condoms.  I see a problem here.  I walk away. 

I made it to the park bench.  I needed to have a weed break.  I looked back at where Gollum was.  I had last seen him sniffing through the peppermint scented beach towel.  Now he had company.  A customer of the specialty sex worker racket.  Well dressed.  Suede shoes.  A tie that blows in a gentle wind.  

I should have warned Gollum.  But it was too late.  Gollum had fallen under the spell of white privilege and had fallen to his knees, to fellate the stranger.  Rather quickly, I thought, thinking about it. Maybe Gollum was here for just that very experience.  He had read the note (in his language!) in the shelter and had come here to start his internship as a Toronto Sex Worker.  So brave. 

So many migrant people disappear every year.  For spare parts, human organs; for novelty items, scrotum tobacco pouches.  Now there is the exploding market in shrunken heads.  Nobody wants to talk about it.  A shrunken head, worth only ten dollars at Christmas, can now be sold for fifty.  What about transplant organs? A hundred K for a kidney, and you get seven figures for a matched set.  I was no longer in the park, so I did not see if Gollum had gone with the stranger.  I had walked away. 

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.