I woke up and brushed the fear out of my eyes. The day ahead was not for the faint of heart. I needed to draw my my courage and step among the broken hearts to find the path to opiated glory. You want to hear the story. I was tiny, I was starving. I was withering away in front of my picked up face. I was barricaded in the room. I was alone in the dirty sheets with the burn hole from the junkies that had passed before me. The ghosts of the overdoses traveled down the halls haunting me as I went to pee in that lonely place no one called home.
I looked at my face in the mirror. Then I browsed my neck. Will I stick the needle there? I brushed back my hair. This is all I have left. All my fantasies I can pull up from the bottom of the spoon. There is nothing but the clothes on my back. I take a hit of crack. The world is buzzing now with all my rings and tweaks. The freaks await me down the stairs. I need to get my hustle on. I need to plot and plan and scheme and dream empty bags and full arms. I pray to Junkie Jesus. Please let me get through this. Off into darkness. Please relieve my sickness. A hustler on a mission, another Tenderloin day.