Out walking the dog today, and spied a large prescription pill bottle sitting in the grass of the park strip. Litter is unusual here, so I picked it up. It was large because it originally held 120 (!!!) hydrocodone tablets, generic for Lortab. Very similar to Vicodin. Basically, an opiate-based analgesic pain reliever, highly prized on the street, a player in the opiate-misery complex of Rx drug addiction.
But of course this bottle was empty. The name had been torn off the label, as had the prescription number. Only part of the address showed, a street on the west side of Detroit, many miles from here. I checked the date the prescription was filled. Yesterday. But of course.
Alan said I should have kept it and given it to the police, but I didn’t. Just another day in addled America.
Besides, it was a pretty sweet weekend, which is to say nothing terrible happened, and some wonderful weather happened, and I rode 20 miles on my bike and hit the weight rack and the Eastern Market and Whole Foods, and the worst thing I can say about it all is that Whole Foods was out of Green & Black white-chocolate bars. What’s more, there was no empty shelf slot for same, which makes me fear there’s been some sort of coup in Madagascar or something, and the supply has been cut off. That? Would be a disaster.
Speaking of which, I guess everyone has seen the story about the extremely religious family who fled the U.S. to get away from “abortion, homosexuality, in the state-controlled church,” not to mention being “forced to pay these taxes that pay for abortions we don’t agree with.” So they got into their “small” boat — thanks, AP, for not nailing down the length and beam numbers while you were bringing us data about the population of Kiribati (their destination) — set sail for Kiribati, “a group of islands just off the equator and the international date line about halfway between Hawaii and Australia. The total population is just over 100,000 people of primarily Micronesian descent.” They thought that would be the furthest thing they could find from the oppressive, abortion-havin’ U.S. of A.
Only it didn’t work out. Bad weather damaged their boat, and they ended up being rescued by a Venezuelan fishing vessel. The U.S. embassy was arranging their travel home. What a bunch of maroons. The last thing they did before setting sail was welcome an infant into the world.
It takes all kinds, don’t it?
Here’s one kind it takes, too: The rodeo clown dressed as the president, taunting a bull into chasing him while a Missouri state fair crowd howls with laughter.
I’m getting into my Monday head early, aina?
With that, I’m tapioca on bloggage, and “Breaking Bad” is about to start. Because nothing’s as entertaining as the drug trade.