This was my life

"Shhhhh. Shhhhhhh!!!" he tells me. "You hear that? They are out there."
Oh my, I think to myself. This is why you should never EVER get a date some crack.
"There is nothing out there" I tell him.
I see the sweat start beading up on his forehead. He starts to unbutton his shirt as he moves towards the window.
He hisses "turn out the lights!"
I am not turning out the fucking lights. I know this for a fact. This is my room. I am not turning of the lights and getting stuck with this dude. He is pretty big but I can take him if necessary. I keep a knife under my pillow. There is also a broken pool cue under my bed. In reality, I just need to holler out the window. My room is just below my homey. He is up there selling speed. He would run down in an instant if he isn't up there tweaking and freaking with some delicate flower that hit her prime about ten years back.

This dude, Ali, he is full on paranoid now. He starts stroking his dick through his pants as he looks through the window. My friend suggested I hang out with this man. He works at some kind of important job during the week. Then, on the weekends, he likes to spend hundreds of dollars on drugs and company. The last time I hung out with him was equally fucked up.

"First, I eat your pussy," he told me. "Then I smoke the crack." Ha. that didn't happen. He never got off the floor in the bathroom. He just handed me money to leave. I think he wanted someone to keep him from digging at the carpet or tearing up his face. I just wanted him to buy me some heroin. I was willing to hang out. This was getting ridiculous.

"Ali," I told him "Don't start this shit again."

He grabbed for me in a way he thought was playful. I pulled his hand off my upper arm.

"Ali," told him again "I need some heroin. You can hang out here but I need heroin. I can get it downstairs."

He was now fully sweating  from his forehead to the back of his hairy hands. It was simply amazing. He was like a crackhead wookie in a polo shirt. I am not sure what was in that pipe but it was cold outside and this man was sweating like there was some fire in the devils dick.

"If I give you $20, will you get me some water?" he asked as he returned to his spot at the curtain. "And some cigarettes." Now he was asking for too much. I needed at least $18. I would get him some single cigarettes from the liquor store before they closed.

 He reached in his pocket. He handed me a wad of crumpled singles, a condom, some tokens from the dirty bookstore, matches, and two twenties stuck together. BINGO. Just what I needed.

I slipped on my flip flops. I bolted out the door to get my fix. That was the last time I saw Ali. By the time I got my dope, hit up at the dopeman's house, got his cigarettes, his water, and his change a few hours had passed. When I came back to my room, the door was wide open. The window was wide open as well. I guess that crack had made the walls close in on him. He must have wandered out among the other creatures of the night never to be seen again.

I always wondered what happened to people like him. the ones who came as visitors but never became residents of the hell that overtook my daily life. The truth was I needed Ali, or someone just like him every single day to support my habit. I needed to have a crack pipe, a speed pipe, syringes, and all the connections. I needed to know all the hookers, the hustlers, the protectors, and how to avoid the police when a person was driving their wife's car. I was a creature of opportunity. I was a parasite and a host at the same time. This was my life.