Yesterday I met this guy in Union Square named Steve Anderson. I was sitting on a bench reading The Wall Street Journal when he asked me for a quarter. Being the non-New Yorker that I am, I was happy to oblige. But here’s the problem: My pants are too tight for homeless people. While I’m fishing about in that little pocket made for coins, he sidled down next to me and began one of those ‘homeless tirades’. “I don’t have anywhere to sleep,” he said. “My missus’ kicked me out when I trashed her apartment in Chinatown.” Yikes. You know the type - they get in your face and request a junior burger for lunch.

But alas! Steve is not your average junkie. He just happens to be a cool guy with a Meth addiction. Although his face was scabby, his heart was pure. I could tell. I just could. And isn’t that all we need to find meaning and be kindred souls in this life? Bless his sores.

So I said something like, “That sucks man. I hope things get better for you.” And get this! He says, “Hope is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.” (Word for word, true story.)

I asked, “Who said that?”

He said, “Nietzsche.”

So I said, “Shit. OK, cool.”

When you break it down, we were just two bros sitting on a bench trying to find clarity on our separate journeys through time and space. Nietzsche was totally down with that existential hoo-hah. So there I am, sitting on a bench in Union Square, discussing Nietzsche with a homeless dude named Steve, digesting a giant pretzel, and wondering, “What should I do in this situation?” Well, I surmised, exactly what any loser with a blog might - peel back the layers of a homeless man, in the style of your favourite gonzo-de-jour, with the intent to publish my findings.

Turns out Steve knows these guys who live in Aberdeen, New Jersey, about an hour outside of New York City. He’s got a fistful of quarters for the train ride down but is ten dollars short of his target. It’s his only chance at shelter for the night.

“I’ll give you the ten bucks if you take me along with you now. I want to meet your mates.”

“Mates?”

“Yeah, your friends in Aberdeen. If you take me I’ll give you the ten dollars you need.”

“Sure man. Just gimmi a second. I’ve gotta take a shit.”

I’m not sure if he took that shit or not because he hid in a bush for hardly a second. Whatever transpired, he jumped the fence back to the bench, and we walked the thirty or so blocks to Penn Station for the train to Aberdeen. On the way Steve told me he’d been reading Nietzsche since he was thirteen. Apparently he became obsessed after both his parents died during a murder-suicide in ‘84. His late-uncle was the perpetrator, and in a strange twist of fate, had given him Thus Spake Zarathustra the previous Christmas. Fascinating, but weird.

We got to Penn, I bought our tickets, and we get on the 14.15 train. We must have looked like the freakin’ odd couple - the straight-edge Australian kid and the meth-junkie with a thing for Nietzsche, sitting together on a train, staring out the window. I didn’t talk much - really I didn’t have to - Steve relayed a whole host of theories he’d devised reading Nietzsche. Mainly shit about religion and how it’s ‘life’s nausea’ or some such. It was nuts.

We got out at Aberdeen station (there’s a photo at the top of this post) and walked to the main street. I bought a deck of cigarettes and a Seven-Up at a deli while Steve waited outside. I paid and joined him on the path. While we stood together smoking for a few minutes, he told me that his friends, Barney Dope and Eraser Dust, lived on top of a carpet clearance store on the next street. I was thinking of changing their names to make this sound a little more believable, but they are just too hilarious not to mention. I’m not lying! I’m serious! You can’t make this shit up! I knew you’d be like this. It happened, I swear. Fuck you.

So anyway, by this stage I realise I was a little eager to be the next Hunter McThompson, and today might be my last. Any sane person would have hailed the next cab back to the city and gotten the hell out of there. But not I! I’m a true blue idiot. Give me a break though, Steve was chill and I knew he wouldn’t do anything dodgy. In my mind I’m erring on the better side of caution - whichever side that is. Even still, I thought it’d be best if I devised a plan. This is where I don’t mention the plan and leave it as the cliff hanger to the story. Are you ready? It’s an ingenious plan requiring bravery. I’ll tell the story and you be the judge.

We walked to the next street and I could see the carpet clearance store at the opposite end of the block. Steve told me to chill out the back while he spoke to B & E inside. We followed a path around the side of the store and ended up in the yard. The place was a mess but it was empty. There were petrol cans and car parts scattered about randomly. At the back of the yard there was a shed that had a shopping trolley wedged in its door frame. Steve said, “I’ll be five minutes,” then walked up the stairs and entered the house on the next floor. I decided to go take a peak at the shed while I waited. I removed the trolley and check this out! Here’s the freakin’ evidence.

Meth Lab - Exhibit A:

Meth Lab - Exhibit B:

How fucked is that? So here’s where I unfurl my wonderful plan ahead of time. I hightail it out of there, run to the closest house and hide behind a fence. Like I said earlier, this plan required bravery and a set of Steve McQueen sized balls. I was going to meet the guys inside, say I needed to use the bathroom, and enact said plan. But this was all I needed! Photo evidence! So I’m hiding behind this fence, I wait about half an hour, during which time nothing happens, I finally gather the courage to make a dash to the train station and head back to New York City.

That’s it! That’s what happened when I met Steve Anderson. What a day! Believe what you want, whatever the case, I’m never following a Meth junkie anywhere again.

Not down with Meth Labs? Watch this informative video below.

08/12/09 -- New Jersey -- 0 Comments