SFist: Homeless Kerfuffle, Day Ten: Syringes, Syringes, Everywhere

guest

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 20:54:58 -0800

hey now, I'm a junkie, and I properly dispose of my sharps.

guest

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 10:13:01 -0800

When I read "a new issue du jour: what to do with all of the used heroin needles that turn up everywhere?," I thought for a moment that you were going to suggest possible crafts projects: Make a chandelier! Decorate a Christmas tree!

suckafree

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 23:20:14 -0800

how about somebody introducing a lethal dose of smack into their population?

RinconHillSF

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 17:55:58 -0800

i agree with the consensus that any notion of drug addicts showing enough responsibility to properly dispose of needles is hilarious at best.

auweia1

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 16:59:59 -0800

it's a song, actually http://www.jpshrine.org/lyrics/songs/jpsamstone.html you know where the Poughkeepsie quote comes from? also 1971, and also about heroin

fizzandpop

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 16:04:36 -0800

That was a really rubbish poem

guest

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 14:44:36 -0800

Or shit on themselves as is often the case. I long for the hot, humid summers and freezing winters of the mid-West just to be free of junkie poo! Is anyone going to save us?

ChinaNob

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 13:58:56 -0800

Needles are lining the park and other places because there are used by JUNKIES. The operative word being JUNKIES, I think its both naive and assinine to think that these JUNKIES are going to do anything else besides letting their needle litter fall where it may. You are talking about folks who would rather shit in the open than use a public toilet 10 feet away.

guest

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 13:43:31 -0800

Let me get this straight. Junkies, that are strung out, are going to walk to a 24-hour drop box so that their needles won't litter the streets and parks? WTF? I have this giant red bridge made of gold that I'd like to sell to you. I'm guessing you can't afford it though 'cause you spend all your money on REALLY stooopid shit.

auweia1

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 13:15:12 -0800

"Do you pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?" Sam Stone was alone When he popped his last balloon Climbing walls while sitting in a chair Well, he played his last request While the room smelled just like death With an overdose hovering in the air But life had lost its fun And there was nothing to be done But trade his house that he bought on the G, I. Bill For a flag draped casket on a local heroes' hill John Prine 1971