Friday, June 21, 2013

Pitching a tent part 2.

I am exaggerating a little. I did not go STRAIGHT to the Tenderloin. I had to eat first! I had to walk over to the Haight Ashbury district. I was told if I went to the beginning of Golden Gate Park, I could find someone who could help me navigate the dope scene in SF. I was also told to stop and get a burrito first. This may have been a mistake as it ended up on the floor of the muni bus later in the day. I remember the puke sloshing back and forth under my feet while I was falling over in my seat. 

After a tall can of beer or 40oz, I felt prepared to take on my mission- find drugs. When a junkie rolls into a new city, they like to do some footwork to save time. We look at maps. We talk to cab drivers. Before the Internet, we would sniff around by greyhound stations. A sure shot in any large city if you need dope is to find the methadone clinic. I was young and naive. I had to go by word of mouth and luck. 

I found a dirty young punk with a Mohawk. Yes. Help me. I need the Chiva. I will give you a cut or five dollars. This was a pretty standard finders fee. In the case, I easily could have shared the dope. I was actually nervous about dying in a strange place but that didn't stop me.

Scoring dope can be a real "adventure". When I say adventure, I really mean pain in the ass. In this case, I was passed off to another junkie because the first junkie only liked speed. Useless! By now, I was on my third bus and fourth San Francisco neighborhood. We had to go to the mission. I wanted to buy a gram which easily would have killed me but apparently I needed to get this guy high AND and had to get his friend high for letting me use in their apartment since I did not have a hotel. The bills on this journey were racking up. It was extremely hard to let someone walk off with my money up into the spot but I had no real choice. By this point, my stomach was flipping with the knowledge I would get high soon. 

Using in a den full of junkies is dangerous as hell. They WILL leave you and go through your pockets. I have seen friends do it to friends. I have seen lovers do it. I have heard recounted tales of people dying for 45 minutes of an asthma attack gasping for air at the crack house. No one was willing to call the ambulance until they finished their hit. 

I will spare you the details but I survived the first time. I wandered down the street and found a friend. I topped the dope of with some pills and booze. I puked from one end of Polk Street all the way down to market. My final resting spot was slumped at the bottom of a stop sign with $800 in my pocket. Some Good Samaritans stopped by to help me. "Where do you live ? " they asked. "Ohio". Well they could not take me there but they took me back to my friend's dorm room. The beast was released that day. I would never be the same again

6 comments:

  1. Hun you need to proof read your book or have spell type and correct misspellings!...Boss Sig

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    1. yes i know. this is my blog. i type these entries on my cell phone

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    2. Anonymous, I too get annoyed with poor grammar, but given the fact that in her media appearances, and in her writing, Tracey comes off as highly intelligent, I give her a pass on her blog. If she was writing lik dis an sayin f-this, f-that, I'd have a problem, and wouldn't read. A missed comma, or misspelled word here or there, isn't the end of the world. Technology has changed; typing on phones, or tablets, isn't the same as physical keyboard. Moral of the story, this is her space, don't like it, don't visit, and don't criticize. I for one love her blog, misspellings and all. Keep it up Tracey :0)

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  2. It's fascinating that you came to SF with the sole intent purpose, of becoming a junkie. Had you already been doing heroin, back home, in Ohio? What materials were you reading/watching that gave you the idea, that heroin, was good? I've always been fascinated with drug culture, but very uncomfortable with it too. While enjoying movies like Trainspotting, Basketball Diaries, Trapped In a Purple Haze, the cautionary tale was clear: Heroin is BAD sh*t!!!! I'll never say never, because lord knows what awful event is waiting around the corner in my life, that I would want to numb out, but I just can't envision myself thinking "Mmmmmh heroin! I want to try it!" I got the message at a very early age, that it, and all hardcore drugs, will destroy your life.

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