“That’s a fiend’s phone," I say. "It doesn't have of those preloaded apps android phones come loaded with. You can't erase those things. It doesn't have the phone icon for dialing out, only receives incoming calls. When have you ever seen a phone like that? Only two kinds of people have that type of phone. Hookers and fiends.”
"I found it by North Station,” says Kim. “There's a contact list and a few text messages. Here’s the camera. Let's see if there are any photos."
She flips through the photo gallery and runs across several pictures that look like candidates for that old Faces of Meth website the police use to have.
"Oh my God! No. This is not right?! Let's check the messages."
Kim begins with a message from someone named Denise. Kim starts reading quietly to herself. Judging from her facial expressions, what she discovering isn't reassuring.
“What’s it say?”
Aloud Kim reads, "I fucked him for Johnnies [Gabapentin] and have photos and video to prove it. Your husband loves me bitch not you so get over it."
"I'm telling you, it's a fiend's phone.”
Kim continues reading messages. The next one is from Ricky. (Every Ricky I've ever met has been an addict. Note to self, don't name your kids or hang out with anyone named Ricky.) "Hey yo, I don't really know you like that and I don't trust you like that either. But I got 30 oxies and some Johnnies if you really want them. I'm over by 7-11 on Mass Ave."
"Mass Ave," I interject, "That’s Methadone Mile. North Station has quite a few clinics over there too. 7 - 11's is the place where all the transients in the city hang out for whatever reason around here. I'm telling you, it's a drug fiend's phone. Toss it."
Kim reads more messages drawn into the lunacy know as drug addiction.
Text from Bruno: "For those Lebrons, I give you 20 bucks and some addies. But I want head too and you gotta swallow. No spitting."
Text from the Irish Guy: " Hey, this is the Irish Guy you meet [sic] yesterday. I got benzos if you need them. Can you get to C-Town?"
"Damn, Kim," I proclaim " How much more evidence do you need to realize you got a fiend's phone? I'm surprised you have dropped dead on a contact high from fentanyl dust."
She drops the phone in horror. Clearly she has seen the numerous news reports about the perils of coming near it.
"How did you know?" Kim asks.
“It’s the way it looks,” I say. "I'm from the Crack Era baby and I know fiend-like behavior. It's the way they move, the way they smell.”
"I'm tossing this. I'll never do anything nice ever again. How the fuck did I end up with this fucking thing. I just should have left it charging in the wall. Now I'm running around with some junkie's phone. I probably get AIDS from this," she says.
Kim grabs a napkin from her purse, picks up the phone and tosses it outside into the middle of the street. A minute later a CVS semi runs it over.
“Even if you found whoever owns it, you’d just enable them,” I say. “A fiend is a fiend is gonna stay a fiend no matter what they're addicted to.”