Closed Circuit

I was in the security gatehouse at work, had to ask the security guys about some couriered parcel. They were preoccupied, staring in the direction of the little blue screens that showed various locations around the building, grainy images from the closed circuit cameras. The one they were most interested in was aimed at a space between two buildings, and there were two figures in there, hunched over, fiddling with something. I forgot about the parcel for a minute and joined them, watching.

"Check this shit out," said one of them, not bothering to turn around. Mark.

"Fuckin' junkies," said the other. Ron.

Two junkies in a crack between some buildings, fiddling with their needles and spoon and water and powder. They thought they had some privacy. Six eyes drilled into their backs.

"They're gonna whack some smack into their skinny arms," I said, my eyes intently focussed on the small screen.

"Huh," grunted Mark.

This was a highlight of their day. Some action.

The two figures fumbled around a bit more, then we saw one of them move around, the head went down and a hand made a movement in the middle of a stretched arm.

"Oh yeah, that feels good doesn't it, mate? Huh huh huh..." laughed Ron, and turned around to look at me and Mark. He made his eyeballs roll up into his head.

We looked back at the screen and watched the other junkie hit it. Pretty entertaining. Real reality TV.

The junkies got up then, kind of in slow motion, and stumbled out of view of the camera.

I remembered something.

"Hey, did either of you guys sign for a courier about an hour ago?"

Ron and Mark turned around and looked at me, their eyes glazed and blank.