I remember the first time I ever saw a drunk passed out on the street. When I was a little kid, we lived in an alley behind the Lorain-Fulton movie theater. One day I was walking down the alley with my mother and, when we got to Fulton Road, there was a disheveled guy sleeping on a salt bin.
The city used to put wooden rock salt bins on street corners during the winter.
I asked my mother what was wrong with the guy.
“Nothing,” she said. “He’s just dopey.”
I remember thinking how shitty it was that one of the Seven Dwarves had grown up to be a drunk.