It was a long worrisome week-end. A friend of mine got busted for trying to jack a store for a few things to take to the Candyman for Twenty of ice. She said she had over a hundred dollars loaded to go when she began getting strange vibes that she was being stalked by a large fake bull at the mall. Instead of listening to her six sense she loaded up a couple more items then made a quick move to the door. The fake bull had seen her stuffing a few play toys into a lined bag that prevents the security device from signaling an alarm. He grabbed her by the arm and held her until the real popo showed up. She couldn’t get a hold of any of her other homies and had to spend the night in the county.
In my past I have chased the dragon, been called an acid freak, smoked the chronic and I’ve been known to boost and burn others. At times I was even willing to give up a piece of ass just to get the things I needed. The worst was when I began to mainline horse. I jacked off so much horse it’s a miracle I didn’t OD. Eventually I learned to let go of the hardcore drugs, if I wanted to continue to live. Of course being a junkie addict myself over the years, I’ve spent my share of time in the joint, locked down. So when she called asking if I could come bail her out, I said I would, knowing how the place makes you feel like you’ve got bugs crawling all over your body.
Eight hours after posting her bail we were in my car driving away from county lockup. The second she closed the car door to my car she began talking about partying with some nose candy and wanted to know if I wanted to party. She had met a cooker in jail who was released the night before and wanted to hook up with her when she got out. The last time I snorted any blow it caused my nose to bleed for 2 days, so I told her I would take her where she needed to go but I didn’t feel like doing any of the hard stuff. Still, if she was to come across some chronic bud I was in for twenty.
She told me where she could score a fat twenty, but first I had to stop at the ATM and pick up some funds. I then drove her across town where she met a young juggler who was standing near a street sign. When I pulled up to him and my friend motioned him to get in the back seat. I could tell that he was jumped up on meth. He was so wired he kept moving from one side of my back seat to the other side looking out my tinted windows.
He had me stopped in front of a house where several people stood around outside suspiciously staring at my car as if I was Johnny Law himself.
I hated some of the places that I often found myself in trying to score the shit that I need. I’ve been in some houses where there were so many roaches that I was afraid to do anything other than stand in the middle of the room and wait until what I was looking to score, was handed to me. That’s why I didn’t mind using a juggler because they were the ones who went into the houses and would often be right back out without me having to step into some house that was in deplorable condition.
When he returned he was even more amped than he was before trying to score. He told me he wasn’t able to score me a twenty so instead he picked me up a bomb for a dime. I hadn’t done any horse in a long time, but decided it wouldn’t hurt me to hit it a few times before we made it to the cookers crib to pick up some coke. I dropped the juggler back off on a street corner then followed my friends instructions to a much nicer and safer feeling side of town.
By the time we got there I was so stoned I could barely remember what I was to do next. My moves were slow, but for once the damn pain in the back of my neck finally stopped hurting. I followed my friend into the house and we head to the cookers private get-a-way. Looking at her friend, she looked cooked out, unable to function without some mind altering drug. In the basement she rolled up something that at first I thought was a joint, but as we began smoking on it she told me it was zombie weed. With the a bomb that I had just smoked part of and the zombie weed, my head was spinning so fast I felt like I was in lala land. By the time we were done, I was so dusted I could barely lift my head.
I spent the next several hours sitting silently in an overstuff chair in a damp basement with a friend and someone I had only known for a couple of hours. I so wasted as I watched my friend cook up her drugs, tie off and then slam something into her veins. It was as if everything was going in slow motion. Within seconds she dropped to the floor and laid there not moving. I sat there stunned, dusted, and unable to figure out what I needed to do to help my friend.
The cooker having more experience, she knew what she had given her and knew how to counter re-act the drugs she had given to my friend. The cooker stripped my friend’s jeans and underwear down and began shoving ice chips inside her vagina. Within a few minutes my friend began to respond. When she was alert enough to talk again, she wanted to know if I wanted to take her to the store so she could boost a few items so she could buy more of whatever it was that she just about OD on. I shook my head and told her I couldn’t stay on her path. I left her there with the cooker and slowly drove my now sober self home.
It’s time to let this path cover with grass and find a new path to take. Goodbye my friend, I hope you someday find what you are looking for.