Let me take some type of inventory. A miss here, yes, a big rope like collapsed bit of bruise over here.Hold on I still have my pants down as I am feeling the effects of my daily remedy. Let me pull my pants up. Did I realize how bad it really stank back here? Why did I decide to fix in the same alley where crackheads go to take a hurried shit. I brush my hair back into my baseball hat. I am sweating now. The heroin makes me sweat. I collect my accouterments of my use- a cooker, a lighter, i only had to use ONE syringe this time, cotton must be saved for later. I lick the plastic wrapper just in case. Coffee and vinegar go together like my morning. The sun is starting to come out. I shuffle away from the light. I find a shady wall and slide down. I am not going anywhere right now. The edges are just too fuzzy.
"WAKE UP"! I feel a kicking on my foot. I am bolted awake. The police? No. A Store owner is kicking me awake. Apparently they are not too happy I am blocking their doorway. Bad for business or something I suppose to have a junkie passed out as your store marquee. My purse filled with all my drug stuff has spilled on into the doorway. I am picking up the pieces of my life. It is all here on display. No money, no ID, no pictures-just some drug essentials and a few numbers written on a napkin.
Where does my hustle start and where does it end? I am not sure any more. The only thing certain in my life is that I need drugs. I NEED them. I need these drugs to live. I need 25 cents too so i can get a nutty buddy from the corner store. I am craving something with sugar. Great a do-gooder wants to stop and talk.
"Not every junkie day is filled with some type of existential moment where I am forced to ponder the meaning of my life. Yes, my life may be fucked but I am living it the way I want to live it. I want my fucking heroin, my freedom, a god damn snack. My destiny is entirely in my hands. Now hit me up in twelve hours when I have no money, no dope, no action. THEN we might be able to talk". I am so itchy this guy must think I have bugs.
"Are you going to buy me a snack or what homey? I am pouring my fucking heart out here."
He brings me out my prize. My honesty has been rewarded for the first time in years. I wave a quiet thank you. My day is full of possibilities. I might go to jail. I might OD. I might make five hundred bucks and go inside for a week. My life is entirely in my hands, the same hands that I burnt on the cooker.
This is what it was like...
|My legs look like they have been chewed at by rats|