One of the things I didn’t realize I missed from my time away from Miami was being around people who I suspect are on cocaine. Don’t get me wrong I do not like being around people on coke for very long. They prattle on past my attention span and have much too much confidence. Not to mention they’re always twitching in a way that makes me nervous and hawking up phlegm in a way that makes me nauseous. But the inner detective in me enjoys spotting a person I suspect to be on cocaine, much in a way I think it would be cool to spot another UFO, even though the odds are the drivers of such UFO will most likely try to probe my cavities and perhaps even invade our planet.
This excitement of spotting a Cokehead comes from my enjoyment of trying to figure people out. Knowing their secret vice gives you access to their character. Crackheads I only like to drive by and spot from the safety of my car. Potheads are much too easy for me to identify. I look for the red in their eyes and their sentences trailing off before they reach the punctuation mark. Cokeheads are slightly rarer and easier to confuse for someone who just drank a Red Bull. I had some practice identifying a user when I was in Los Angeles, but in Miami you have many more chances. That couple that just came out of the bar’s one toilet bathroom together. The waitress who didn’t check in on you for ten minutes and then wouldn’t stop asking you if she can get you anything else. The pilot of your airplane.
Just to be clear I do not condone the use of cocaine. I have never even tried the drug. The thought of snorting something up my nose terrifies me almost as much as putting something in my eye. Cokeheads wearing contact lenses will always be much braver souls than I could ever hope to be.