END OF NEEDLE EXCHANGE MARKS LOSS OF A BULWARK IN D.C.' AIDS FIGHT

They are a tough sell for sympathy, the addicts.

One couple rolls up in a primer-gray hooptie. She's got toothpick
legs, one improbably skinnier than the other. Her skeletal frame is
swimming in a child's Bugs Bunny denim jacket.

He's scary skinny, too, with withered teeth sticking out of white
gums and a mean streak.

"How can they do this? I thought this was supposed to stop the AIDS.
What, they want more people to get the AIDS?" he snarls at the folks
who tell him the brown paper bag they're giving him is the last batch
of free needles he'll get.

The needle exchange program is dead. Because of a drop in private
donations, D.C. budget delays and other financial woes, it will end Friday.

The man goes on: "I've been coming here for, I dunno, about 10 years.
What am I gonna do now?"

They screech away in the car, mouths still moving behind their dirty
windows, screaming obscenities at the volunteers who will no longer
be there for them.

What are we going to do now? We are the nation's HIV/AIDS capital.
Our infection rate has skyrocketed to 3 percent. That's worse than
some of the West African countries that have declared it an epidemic.

For 12 years, the beige RV that is the PreventionWorks! rolling
needle exchange program has pulled up to the curb at Marvin Gaye Park
in Northeast Washington on Friday afternoons.

There's a long line along the sidewalk, and folks take turns stepping
inside, shutting the metal door behind them. They are surprisingly punctual.

There are the ornery, leather-faced, habitual drug users you would
expect. They don't really want to hear about counseling or group
meetings or anything like that. They're shooting their way to their graves.

But there is also a woman in a long black cardigan, pretty jewelry
and freshly done hair. She wants off drugs, she's got a wound and
she's afraid to go to the hospital.

There are other addicts like her, people who are not totally gone,
who live a Jekyll-and-Hyde existence, alternating between drug chaos
and a cardigan life with a job and kids.

For them is the sign in the RV that reads:

"There are times and situations where a non-judgmental attitude can
be about life and death."

A stout, muscular guy from a meat delivery company walks by. He has
no idea what the RV is for and snickers when the female volunteers
standing outside ask him whether he wants condoms.

When he figures it out, he backs away, waving his hands in front of
him: "I don't do that stuff," he tells them.

"Do you know your status?" one of the volunteers asks. He looks
puzzled. "Your HIV status?" she asks.

"Oh. Well, no. I mean, I don't think I could have it. But I guess I
could," he stammers.

"It only takes 20 minutes to get your results," she tells him.

So the meat man walks in, gets the inside of his cheek swabbed and
emerges with a grin on his face. Negative. Whew.

And then comes a guy sweating and rocking, near tears.

The RV tips and squeaks as he steps into it and settles into the chair.

"I'm telling you, I'm not a bad dude. I need to kick this. I want to
kick this," he tells the women working the van. "I just want to get
detoxed. I want a 90-day program or something. Just anything."

Ordinarily, the PreventionWorks! folks would start a medical chart
for him and work on getting him into classes and one of their
programs right away.

One of the volunteers offers him a phone number and a rehab program
that could take him Tuesday.

"I don't know if I can make it till Tuesday," he says. "If you see
something about a dead guy on the news, that'll be me."

You can find sympathy for him, right? He's trying.

And for all the other people this program is for. Safely disposing of
dirty needles is about protecting the kids in the park who might come
across one thrown in the bushes.

It's for the sanitation worker who is a husband and father and gets
stuck by a tainted needle tossed in an alley trash can.

And it's for the wife of a drug user who has no idea what her husband
is doing behind her back. But at least he's keeping himself - and her
- - virus-free.

The average cost of lifetime care for someone with HIV/AIDS is about
$385,200. You know who's paying that in many cases. PreventionWorks!
was getting about $300,000 a year from the city budget. It collapsed
while waiting for $130,000 in delayed funds. (Which amounts to about
five years of leasing one of D.C. Council Chairman Kwame R. Brown's
fully loaded sport-utility vehicles.)

On Wednesday, D.C. Mayor Vincent C. Gray announced a new HIV/AIDS
commission with 27 members.

Those 27 members are going to have a hard time replicating the work
of one beige RV.