So I took my friend BJ up to San Francisco last week to change her life. Said she never had one of her own, so I offered to give her one. I knew her from before in Florida so I had nothing to expect. Never thought in a million years that I'd fall for her, but this trip wasn't about me so I held back as much as I could. Frustrated, I met Shera in front of McDonalds. She said, "You don't look like a junkie." And I said, "Yeah, I get that a lot." I'd stepped into a completely strange city into the riggid cold night and had placed a service call in about fifteen minutes.
The junkies on the corner waiting for service blew up the guy's phone and fucked it up, so we headed back to the liquor store to use the pay phone. I wasn't about to let Shera know that I had a cell.
We got our new cross streets and headed back down the strip. That's were I saw her again. I knew that girl looked familiar! It was Little Cindy from San Diego. She was the first round draft pick for my little 'Mega Wish Life Change' excursion, but I let her go. I didn't have the money yet back then, and on top of the almost impossible task that is a teenage recovering dope fiend who's only known life on the street since thirteen, her friend drove me up the fucking wall. One of those girls that you just want to push out of the car with your boot going sixety on the freeway. (Don't think I didn't give her a chance) Besides, she was only seventeen, and if I couldn't handle it, we'd all end up in trouble.
I said her name and when her eyes met mine she froze. She didn't wanna see me. She was using and tagging along with some punk kid with more metal in his face than my carborator. She didn't want her failure to have reflection in my eyes, so the conversation lasted about three short sentences. I wonder if she had any idea that I was out trying to cop at the time.
Service sucked, it took two hours. I paid for Shera's score for giving me the hook up. Grateful of course, she hooked me up with a clean and a cooker. Shera only been back on the streets for a year or less. She has a degree in Psychology and Entertainment Marketing. She was a near-six-digit promoter once.
When I got back to the hotel, I stashed to dope underneath a drawer and waited for BJ to get out of the bathroom. I couldn't believe that she got out of bed. With her moods, I thought she'd be there for at least two days.
We talked, and then decided to walk the streets with 40's in paperbags. We smoked a bowl right on the street. I never smoke because it makes me sick, but this kid really needed me and I knew it would cheer her up.
The next day, we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge really quick, turned around, and started back towards San Diego. The car wasn't registered or insured yet, and BJ wasn't too paranoid about hiding her thick sac, so I knew we'd be quadruple fucked if they found my dope.
We made it...stressed, tired, and emotionally spin-cycled, I cut it up into four hits. Back when I WAS that other guy, I'd want the whole thing, but I did not want to get high. I took one of the fourths (which, to indulge the inquisitive, feels like the equivalent of one Vicodin) just so that I wouldn't breakdown in a fit. I could feel the panic-induced insomnia creeping up my spine too, and I knew that if I didn't sleep that night, I would not be the same sweet, sensitive, and objective jonny when the sun came up. I didn't miss the smell of that shit. I went right to sleep and got up super early, as usual, so she could wake up with fresh flowers.
I filled up the vase and flushed the dope, threw the needle and cooker in a paper bag and dropped them in the neighbors' garbage.
She decided to give home one more shot, and I flew her out the next day. Nobody failed. This time, she'll have a better idea of what she wants and I think she finally understands that she deserves better. If she doesn't get it this time, I don't think she'll have a problem not looking back.
I didn't sleep for three days. Just nerves. But Finally, Elvis... and the last couple of Demons, have left the building. I hope she treats herself right, because I think I'm about ready to.
Man, I bought an ant farm, those fuckers didn't grow shit!
The junkies on the corner waiting for service blew up the guy's phone and fucked it up, so we headed back to the liquor store to use the pay phone. I wasn't about to let Shera know that I had a cell.
We got our new cross streets and headed back down the strip. That's were I saw her again. I knew that girl looked familiar! It was Little Cindy from San Diego. She was the first round draft pick for my little 'Mega Wish Life Change' excursion, but I let her go. I didn't have the money yet back then, and on top of the almost impossible task that is a teenage recovering dope fiend who's only known life on the street since thirteen, her friend drove me up the fucking wall. One of those girls that you just want to push out of the car with your boot going sixety on the freeway. (Don't think I didn't give her a chance) Besides, she was only seventeen, and if I couldn't handle it, we'd all end up in trouble.
I said her name and when her eyes met mine she froze. She didn't wanna see me. She was using and tagging along with some punk kid with more metal in his face than my carborator. She didn't want her failure to have reflection in my eyes, so the conversation lasted about three short sentences. I wonder if she had any idea that I was out trying to cop at the time.
Service sucked, it took two hours. I paid for Shera's score for giving me the hook up. Grateful of course, she hooked me up with a clean and a cooker. Shera only been back on the streets for a year or less. She has a degree in Psychology and Entertainment Marketing. She was a near-six-digit promoter once.
When I got back to the hotel, I stashed to dope underneath a drawer and waited for BJ to get out of the bathroom. I couldn't believe that she got out of bed. With her moods, I thought she'd be there for at least two days.
We talked, and then decided to walk the streets with 40's in paperbags. We smoked a bowl right on the street. I never smoke because it makes me sick, but this kid really needed me and I knew it would cheer her up.
The next day, we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge really quick, turned around, and started back towards San Diego. The car wasn't registered or insured yet, and BJ wasn't too paranoid about hiding her thick sac, so I knew we'd be quadruple fucked if they found my dope.
We made it...stressed, tired, and emotionally spin-cycled, I cut it up into four hits. Back when I WAS that other guy, I'd want the whole thing, but I did not want to get high. I took one of the fourths (which, to indulge the inquisitive, feels like the equivalent of one Vicodin) just so that I wouldn't breakdown in a fit. I could feel the panic-induced insomnia creeping up my spine too, and I knew that if I didn't sleep that night, I would not be the same sweet, sensitive, and objective jonny when the sun came up. I didn't miss the smell of that shit. I went right to sleep and got up super early, as usual, so she could wake up with fresh flowers.
I filled up the vase and flushed the dope, threw the needle and cooker in a paper bag and dropped them in the neighbors' garbage.
She decided to give home one more shot, and I flew her out the next day. Nobody failed. This time, she'll have a better idea of what she wants and I think she finally understands that she deserves better. If she doesn't get it this time, I don't think she'll have a problem not looking back.
I didn't sleep for three days. Just nerves. But Finally, Elvis... and the last couple of Demons, have left the building. I hope she treats herself right, because I think I'm about ready to.
Man, I bought an ant farm, those fuckers didn't grow shit!