Junky chick on Franklin St

Whenever I'm in Chapel Hill I try to take a walk through town to see what's up: who's still in business, who's not, how it all smells. So Mary and I set out last weekend to take it all in, parking at the "old" public library, now the I'm-sure-hugely-successful Chapel Hill Museum which features a big smiling picture of, you guessed it, James Taylor! Whenever I see his smiling face... that's when I reach for my...

No but seriously. We trudged on passed the planetarium and all the flowers, passed Art Chansky's old bar which he sold to Woody Durham (yes kids, video did kill the radio star), passed any number of other nondescript student-oriented eateries and drinkeries, including He's Not Here, the bar which has historically supported my father.

And then we arrived at the more adult portion of Chapel Hill, the slope leading up from the old Hardee's (now Panera?) to the Carrboro border. Home of the Bookshop, the Cave, and restaurants where you can actually take a date, or your spouse, depending on life stage.

And in front of one such restaurant, now Panang, formerly Pyewacket, stood a young lady in a tank top and shorts. She seemed fit, which belied the tatoos all over her arms. And then she started scratching herself and jumping about, which corroborated the tattoos. And then she took off her shorts, which Mary later ID'd as underwear. And there she was, standing on the street with nothing but a tank top on, with her natural blonde pubic hair blowing in the wind. And she walked up and down the sidewalk, not particularly animated, not visibly trying to create a scandal, just naked from the waist down, enjoying some heroin. People came in and out of the restaurant, we called the cops, Mary was just shocked. By the time we came back around the block and looked down the street at her from Rosemary, she had some jeans on. The curtain had fallen on that little act.

We don't get much of that in Princeton.