First there was the man who looked like he could play my father in a movie. He didn’t look like my dad, but if I were in a movie they would cast this white haired jewfroed hippie with the sensible sneakers and the monochromatic windbreaker on as my dad. Next to him was the hardcore Irishman. Tattoos were on his knuckles, but if it were possible, I’m sure tattoos would be on his heart. Two brothers sat next to him. They cared for each other ~ They would die for each other -: I’m pretty sure one was mentally handicapped. They were hugging now, but you could tell they have a history of fighting when times get tough. But when times aren’t tough, they love each other better than other people do. Next bench down, communicating off and on with the larger group were two broskies – one black, one white: handshaking and laughing at how they were so awesome. Everyone enjoyed their presence too. Every once in a while this group of joyous public park patrons was visited by a middle aged black woman getting off her job that involved a bag that was close to being a briefcase and an unstable 35 year old conspiracy theorist.

The one thing that brought them together on this would-be-dreary day:

Heroin.

Mostly their conversation consisted of comparing track marks.