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Bluelighter
Grumbling to myself I purchase a chocolate milk.
Standing on the wooden train platform I have a view of the city that is forever emblazed into my psyche. The benchs are covered in graffiti hyroglyphics that are undecipherable to the layman. I look down onto the streets below and see the normal hustle and bustle of city life, my vision is drawn a couple of blocks down where I watch drug deals go down over and over again. Warm inside my jacket and flannel lined jeans I fumble the few tinfoils in between my fingertips. Hypnotized by beams of sunshine cutting thru the low cloud cover and bouncing off the skyscrapers distant windows I let my mind drift away from this poor excuse of a neighborhood.
Cattle Call...
After spending a horrendous weekend of hell puking and sweating thru the beginning stages of heroin withdrawl I am brought to the Criminal Courts building. Sitting in the back of a cruiser sandwiched inbetween 2 african american kids, one of whom smells so horrible its hard not to puke. The stench is to overwhelming for my opiate craving stomach. After deep breathing I bring my stomach under control as we pull up to the Criminal Courts building for my first showdown in front of a judge. The cop car drives down a driveway that leads to the belly of the building a large garage door opens and lets us pass.
We get out of the car and sit handcuffed on a curb, the officer in charge of us walks up to the guard that seems to be in charge of getting us booked in and hands him our property. As we get called up to the holding cells we are searched thourghly and than handcuffs taken off and thrown into cells. In this district there are 5 holding cells which are long narrow rooms probably close to the dimensions (15x30). Wooden benchs run parallel to the yellowish colored concrete walls, the front portion of the cell is separated from the back plexiglass walls (it looks like originaly it was designed to have a lawyer/defender to have access to his client with out actually having to enter the cell) That must not have lasted to long as the original door is missing and the glass is etched with every imaginable gang tag. and gated with a iron bar door. The back portion of the cell has the typical stainless steel sink attached to the wall and a lone toilet sitting in the open.
I take a seat an lay down on the bench and try to relax. This is Tuesday the first day open for court after the long holiday weekend which ensures this is going to be a very busy day. I have had my bond posted at $150,000 which is an obscene amount of bail, my parents were not at all thrilled when I called them Friday evening to explain what happened and I know they will be in court today with my lawyer but I am not sure if they will get me out. Even with a bond reduction I have a feeling my parents are sick of my bullshit and are going to make me clean up in jail. My head is swimming with thoughts as I ponder my situation, Will I get out today? I have heroin stashed at the scene of the arrest, how will I get there to pick it up? How much will bail be? How long will I be in jail?, and on and on. I am extremely nervous and very dope sick. I never thought I would be thankful for opiate w/d's but in this case it affords me a tiny escape of my thoughts even if it is to just focus on my twitching muscles.
The lock-up is getting packed as other districts bring in the flood of holiday offenders, we are starting to get packed in like sardines. There are probably close to 40 people crammed in here, out of those ppl 80% are black, 10% mexican and the remainder a handful of whites and 1 asian. The concrete walls bounce the constant noise directly into my aching head. I was kicked of the bench long ago and I was not about to argue the fact a fight could be detrimental in here.
I sit with my knees pulled close to my chest wishing I could just disappear, I visualize a needle rotating in midair infront of me and play the process over and over of cooking up a shot and getting high. To my left there is a group of 3 older black men huddled in a prayer circle each one with there arm outstretched and held together by a 3-way handshake in the center, Praise Lord Jesus Christ, the are going around in the circle shouting and crying out for Gods mercy, to my right are a group of young (again) black gangsters arguing about the crime they committed, 2 of them are ganging up on the other telling him HE is going to take responsibility of the gun. Opening my ears a bit more to satisfy my boredom I piece together what must have happened to them. It seems like a armed robbery gone awry. 3 of them walked into the neighborhood corner store with black masks on as one waited outside as a lookout. They pulled the gun and demanded money. The 'chink' (as the call him) froze and wouldn't do anything the laugh as they pat each other on the back in accordance to who verbally assaulted the man the most, it seems there little robbery turned into a bit more once the ran out of the store and were met by a blue and white. I hear a couple others talking about stealing a bag full of jewlery. There is another dope fiend in the back violently dry heaving into the toilet, which each upchuck he gets yelled at and told to shut the fuck up by the ppl near him, across the way is a large stock man angrily punching the wall and cursing his girlfriend/wife?. I close my head and think to myself what am I doing here...?
The ambient sound is so loud I don't hear the guards keys unlock the front gate but I do hear his yell... "LUNCH!!!"
A cardboard box of food arrives. A baloney (sp?) sandwich with white bread and mustard, a 6 oz. bottle of juice, and battered apple and pudding. People jump in and start fighting over the plastic wrapped styrofoam trays as they are passed out. A group of gangbangers are in charge and a small mexican man gets pushed down and told you don't get to eat bitch as somebody grabs his food, I feel kinda sorry for the guy. I get my tray and realize that the styrofoam tray is probably the most appetizing (sp?) item. I trade my sandwich and apple for a cigarette and retreat to the back to smoke.
I have been in this concrete box for over 5 hour, half the time trying to avoid getting in a fight the other half doubled over in gut wrenching withdrawl. I haven't showered in 6 days and my overall appearance is bordering on disgusting. Finally after lunch the first ppl are called to see the judge.
My name is called and I am lead out into the hallway, 4 ppl in front of me, 1 in back. In groups of six we are brought thru the back corridors and led to the court room.
I am told to keep my hands behind my back and not to speak unless spoken to. Walking out I see my father standing in the visitors section, he doesn't look pleased. In front of the judge my charges are read:
Possesion of a stolen vehicle
Criminal damage to a stolen vehicle
Possesion of a controlled substance (heroin)
Possesion of a controlled substance (cocaine)
Possesion of Marijuana
Burglary to a motor vehicle
Possesion of drug parphenialia (pipe)
Possesion of hypodermic syringe
The judge looks at me over the top of his glasses and I quickly avert his gaze and look toward my lawyer for direction. Thank god my parents didn't turn their backs on me this time as I am going to need some major help. My lawyer, Mr. Kuzas starts talking.
"Your honor, this young gentleman has made a few mistakes all which have been brought upon himself by his drug habit, I want to put in a motion for a bond reduction to $10,000 (low-ball). His parents wish him to remain in jail until an appropriate treatment facility is found and he is accepted".
Hearing this my stomach hits the floor as its painfully obvious that I am not getting out of here today. I close my eyes tight and the surrounding conversations drift aimlessly thru my brain. I here the gavel hit and am escorted back to the pits of hell. Kuzas tells me he will be right in to see me, he has to speak to my father first.
I am led to yet another room where there is a group of defendants bitching about there high bond, or how screwed they are, etc. This room is built more like a classroom it has 4 rows of aluminium benchs a cheap particle bored desk all enclosed in white-washed concrete walls, in the front of the room is a double paned 1-way viewing mirror. I just hang my head as my bodies muscles spasm out of control and involuntarily kick my legs out in all directions. Suddenly I feel 100 times sicker as I start coughing which leads into a 5 minute dry heaving escapade finally triumphing with me expelling foaming mucus ridden bile onto the concrete floor, doubling up into the fetal position I feel as death wouldn't feel to much different.
My lawyer comes in and tells me about the bond reduction and tells me my parents say to hang in there. He knows I am dope sick he has rescued me from countless charges in the past and going into this his has a 100% win rate, having got me out of 3 other poss. of controlled substance chrages and a slwe of other bullshit. I ask where are my parents planning on sending me? He said my mom had a big file of a handful of rehabs but that they are going to keep me in state. Which puts the knix on Mountain View, CT. one of my favorite places for weathering out a vicous opiate storm, I thank god I dont have to sit and wait around for a opening in a state-run rehabilitation center opens. Soon there is a little audience of inmates gathering behind me and as we finish up they all start to peper him with questions concerning their cases to which he replies with passing out his business cards (always looking for more business, I think to myself).
We are led back to the original holding cell, the people seem to have gotten more energized and the yelling and screaming at the guards never lets up. Once everybody is finished we are walked out into the loading area. Sitting in the loading dock are 3 greyhound buses clad in I.D.O.C (Illinois department of Correction) dressings (barred windows w/ heavy iron fencing and a shotgun toting guard wearing mirrored shades). I think to myself I must be in a movie this is not happening to me, I have no more cards up my sleeve, no more tricks, I am going to county jail, Fuck!
Once we are in the bus, locked up and the little "How to behave yourself" speech is over we roll out. As the last remaining daylight enters my eyes I am hit with a twinge of anxiety and the bus erupts with yelling and typical bravado among the inmates. I got rocks, I got smokes, weed, weed, pudding... Everybody is trying to unload what ever contraband they have. I stashed 2 one dollar bills in my shoe much earlier which I pull out and buy 6 roll-up smokes from some kid. Not everybody on the bus is fresh to the county as this is the same bus that brings inmates back to the jail if they happen to have a court date or whatnot today. Usually when ppl go to court they find away to smuggle back contraband either from a handoff or kiss from the significant other or from a fellwo gangbanger or what not. The guy ditting next to me is fevorishly lighting matches and taking small hits of a bic-pen crack pipe, the smell of burning plastic mixed with chemical crack fills the bus and the guards yell that they are going to pull over. The smoking continues untill we reach the gates.
Once we are thru the 2 sets of security fences we are unloaded and lined up. A couple fights break out on the ppavement and the offenders are quickly and violently brought to the ground by guards who yell and spit at them that they are now facing new charges, Dumbfuck.
Led into the bowels of the old Cook county jail we follow color coded lines drawn onto the floors, past countless holding cells crammed with ppl throwing up gang signs and shouting "What the fuck are you looking at". I am getting so dizzy and lightheaded having not really ate any food in about 5 days I wind-up blacking out and crashing to the floor only to open my eyes and see some young, probably ex-military pimpled faced punk guard screaming at me to get up up and move. I am holding up his line and that is unexceptable, Jesus fucking Christ.
In the basement there are 4 or 5 huge pens that are lined with 3 walls of orange concrete and 1 front gate of fencing. In these pens they literally herd us into, leaving no spare room. There are probably 80 ppl in each pen, the stench of unwashed bodies, urine, and any other disgusting aroma you could imagine waifs through the room. Smokes are lit and drug deals occur in teh open. Tensions are running high after sitting in these areas for another 5 hours, fights, insults, everything and everything you wouldnt want to imagine occurs.
I am alternating between sweating and than freezing cold shakes, the sound of puking and crying can be heard over the neverending screaming. I wish I could find some heroin in here but I have already made a few trips around teh pen and crack and weed are about the only 2 drugs I see available. Any dope has long been snorted, I damn well know if I had some heroin I wouldnt trade it for food or smokes and I would damn well not give it up with out a fight. Usually about every couple hours guards come around with huge barking german Shepards clanking there 'beat-down sticks' against the chaindoors, every now and then actually opening up the doors and pulling some guy out by his hair happy to chalk up more charges for smoking contraband.
In order for me to get a needle in my arm and feel that rush of nothingness, I am going to have to spin my way thru this maze of a jail, talk to countless intakes ppl, see the dick doctor, have blood drawn, get a TB shot, get x-rays, be interviewed and re-interviewed, brought up to the deck, call my parents, than go backwards and do the whole 10 hours process over again, than get picked up, come back home, run to my room and retrive my last little hidden stash that I save for a moment like this.
I am just to sick to deal with general population. Speaking to an intake docotr who doesnt even look up from his clip board of questions, "Do you want to kill yourself?"
"Do you hear voices?"
"Do you want to hurt others?"
How many fingers?"
What drugs are you on?"
blah blah fucking blah...
I cut him off and tell him I am experincing withdrawl from heroin and benzodiazapines. His eye brows perk with intrest when I mention that, knowing that they have to treat me for benzo w/d I hugely inflate my intake to 4mg of Xanax and 4mg of Klonapin daily. Which gets me bumped out of line and brought to a young attractive intake/counceler/nurse who generally seems concerned about my well being. She quickly takes a liking to me and tells me I need to get medicated immediately after I explain my situation. Finally jesus, I guess it does pay to be an young white male, who knows what to say to get what he wants. Ushered into a mini hospital setting I rid myself of my obnoxious surrondings of tattered gang bangers and never-ending madness.
==finish later, cut out the crap, sp check, re-do start, shorten entry, add more description==
Standing on the wooden train platform I have a view of the city that is forever emblazed into my psyche. The benchs are covered in graffiti hyroglyphics that are undecipherable to the layman. I look down onto the streets below and see the normal hustle and bustle of city life, my vision is drawn a couple of blocks down where I watch drug deals go down over and over again. Warm inside my jacket and flannel lined jeans I fumble the few tinfoils in between my fingertips. Hypnotized by beams of sunshine cutting thru the low cloud cover and bouncing off the skyscrapers distant windows I let my mind drift away from this poor excuse of a neighborhood.
Cattle Call...
After spending a horrendous weekend of hell puking and sweating thru the beginning stages of heroin withdrawl I am brought to the Criminal Courts building. Sitting in the back of a cruiser sandwiched inbetween 2 african american kids, one of whom smells so horrible its hard not to puke. The stench is to overwhelming for my opiate craving stomach. After deep breathing I bring my stomach under control as we pull up to the Criminal Courts building for my first showdown in front of a judge. The cop car drives down a driveway that leads to the belly of the building a large garage door opens and lets us pass.
We get out of the car and sit handcuffed on a curb, the officer in charge of us walks up to the guard that seems to be in charge of getting us booked in and hands him our property. As we get called up to the holding cells we are searched thourghly and than handcuffs taken off and thrown into cells. In this district there are 5 holding cells which are long narrow rooms probably close to the dimensions (15x30). Wooden benchs run parallel to the yellowish colored concrete walls, the front portion of the cell is separated from the back plexiglass walls (it looks like originaly it was designed to have a lawyer/defender to have access to his client with out actually having to enter the cell) That must not have lasted to long as the original door is missing and the glass is etched with every imaginable gang tag. and gated with a iron bar door. The back portion of the cell has the typical stainless steel sink attached to the wall and a lone toilet sitting in the open.
I take a seat an lay down on the bench and try to relax. This is Tuesday the first day open for court after the long holiday weekend which ensures this is going to be a very busy day. I have had my bond posted at $150,000 which is an obscene amount of bail, my parents were not at all thrilled when I called them Friday evening to explain what happened and I know they will be in court today with my lawyer but I am not sure if they will get me out. Even with a bond reduction I have a feeling my parents are sick of my bullshit and are going to make me clean up in jail. My head is swimming with thoughts as I ponder my situation, Will I get out today? I have heroin stashed at the scene of the arrest, how will I get there to pick it up? How much will bail be? How long will I be in jail?, and on and on. I am extremely nervous and very dope sick. I never thought I would be thankful for opiate w/d's but in this case it affords me a tiny escape of my thoughts even if it is to just focus on my twitching muscles.
The lock-up is getting packed as other districts bring in the flood of holiday offenders, we are starting to get packed in like sardines. There are probably close to 40 people crammed in here, out of those ppl 80% are black, 10% mexican and the remainder a handful of whites and 1 asian. The concrete walls bounce the constant noise directly into my aching head. I was kicked of the bench long ago and I was not about to argue the fact a fight could be detrimental in here.
I sit with my knees pulled close to my chest wishing I could just disappear, I visualize a needle rotating in midair infront of me and play the process over and over of cooking up a shot and getting high. To my left there is a group of 3 older black men huddled in a prayer circle each one with there arm outstretched and held together by a 3-way handshake in the center, Praise Lord Jesus Christ, the are going around in the circle shouting and crying out for Gods mercy, to my right are a group of young (again) black gangsters arguing about the crime they committed, 2 of them are ganging up on the other telling him HE is going to take responsibility of the gun. Opening my ears a bit more to satisfy my boredom I piece together what must have happened to them. It seems like a armed robbery gone awry. 3 of them walked into the neighborhood corner store with black masks on as one waited outside as a lookout. They pulled the gun and demanded money. The 'chink' (as the call him) froze and wouldn't do anything the laugh as they pat each other on the back in accordance to who verbally assaulted the man the most, it seems there little robbery turned into a bit more once the ran out of the store and were met by a blue and white. I hear a couple others talking about stealing a bag full of jewlery. There is another dope fiend in the back violently dry heaving into the toilet, which each upchuck he gets yelled at and told to shut the fuck up by the ppl near him, across the way is a large stock man angrily punching the wall and cursing his girlfriend/wife?. I close my head and think to myself what am I doing here...?
The ambient sound is so loud I don't hear the guards keys unlock the front gate but I do hear his yell... "LUNCH!!!"
A cardboard box of food arrives. A baloney (sp?) sandwich with white bread and mustard, a 6 oz. bottle of juice, and battered apple and pudding. People jump in and start fighting over the plastic wrapped styrofoam trays as they are passed out. A group of gangbangers are in charge and a small mexican man gets pushed down and told you don't get to eat bitch as somebody grabs his food, I feel kinda sorry for the guy. I get my tray and realize that the styrofoam tray is probably the most appetizing (sp?) item. I trade my sandwich and apple for a cigarette and retreat to the back to smoke.
I have been in this concrete box for over 5 hour, half the time trying to avoid getting in a fight the other half doubled over in gut wrenching withdrawl. I haven't showered in 6 days and my overall appearance is bordering on disgusting. Finally after lunch the first ppl are called to see the judge.
My name is called and I am lead out into the hallway, 4 ppl in front of me, 1 in back. In groups of six we are brought thru the back corridors and led to the court room.
I am told to keep my hands behind my back and not to speak unless spoken to. Walking out I see my father standing in the visitors section, he doesn't look pleased. In front of the judge my charges are read:
Possesion of a stolen vehicle
Criminal damage to a stolen vehicle
Possesion of a controlled substance (heroin)
Possesion of a controlled substance (cocaine)
Possesion of Marijuana
Burglary to a motor vehicle
Possesion of drug parphenialia (pipe)
Possesion of hypodermic syringe
The judge looks at me over the top of his glasses and I quickly avert his gaze and look toward my lawyer for direction. Thank god my parents didn't turn their backs on me this time as I am going to need some major help. My lawyer, Mr. Kuzas starts talking.
"Your honor, this young gentleman has made a few mistakes all which have been brought upon himself by his drug habit, I want to put in a motion for a bond reduction to $10,000 (low-ball). His parents wish him to remain in jail until an appropriate treatment facility is found and he is accepted".
Hearing this my stomach hits the floor as its painfully obvious that I am not getting out of here today. I close my eyes tight and the surrounding conversations drift aimlessly thru my brain. I here the gavel hit and am escorted back to the pits of hell. Kuzas tells me he will be right in to see me, he has to speak to my father first.
I am led to yet another room where there is a group of defendants bitching about there high bond, or how screwed they are, etc. This room is built more like a classroom it has 4 rows of aluminium benchs a cheap particle bored desk all enclosed in white-washed concrete walls, in the front of the room is a double paned 1-way viewing mirror. I just hang my head as my bodies muscles spasm out of control and involuntarily kick my legs out in all directions. Suddenly I feel 100 times sicker as I start coughing which leads into a 5 minute dry heaving escapade finally triumphing with me expelling foaming mucus ridden bile onto the concrete floor, doubling up into the fetal position I feel as death wouldn't feel to much different.
My lawyer comes in and tells me about the bond reduction and tells me my parents say to hang in there. He knows I am dope sick he has rescued me from countless charges in the past and going into this his has a 100% win rate, having got me out of 3 other poss. of controlled substance chrages and a slwe of other bullshit. I ask where are my parents planning on sending me? He said my mom had a big file of a handful of rehabs but that they are going to keep me in state. Which puts the knix on Mountain View, CT. one of my favorite places for weathering out a vicous opiate storm, I thank god I dont have to sit and wait around for a opening in a state-run rehabilitation center opens. Soon there is a little audience of inmates gathering behind me and as we finish up they all start to peper him with questions concerning their cases to which he replies with passing out his business cards (always looking for more business, I think to myself).
We are led back to the original holding cell, the people seem to have gotten more energized and the yelling and screaming at the guards never lets up. Once everybody is finished we are walked out into the loading area. Sitting in the loading dock are 3 greyhound buses clad in I.D.O.C (Illinois department of Correction) dressings (barred windows w/ heavy iron fencing and a shotgun toting guard wearing mirrored shades). I think to myself I must be in a movie this is not happening to me, I have no more cards up my sleeve, no more tricks, I am going to county jail, Fuck!
Once we are in the bus, locked up and the little "How to behave yourself" speech is over we roll out. As the last remaining daylight enters my eyes I am hit with a twinge of anxiety and the bus erupts with yelling and typical bravado among the inmates. I got rocks, I got smokes, weed, weed, pudding... Everybody is trying to unload what ever contraband they have. I stashed 2 one dollar bills in my shoe much earlier which I pull out and buy 6 roll-up smokes from some kid. Not everybody on the bus is fresh to the county as this is the same bus that brings inmates back to the jail if they happen to have a court date or whatnot today. Usually when ppl go to court they find away to smuggle back contraband either from a handoff or kiss from the significant other or from a fellwo gangbanger or what not. The guy ditting next to me is fevorishly lighting matches and taking small hits of a bic-pen crack pipe, the smell of burning plastic mixed with chemical crack fills the bus and the guards yell that they are going to pull over. The smoking continues untill we reach the gates.
Once we are thru the 2 sets of security fences we are unloaded and lined up. A couple fights break out on the ppavement and the offenders are quickly and violently brought to the ground by guards who yell and spit at them that they are now facing new charges, Dumbfuck.
Led into the bowels of the old Cook county jail we follow color coded lines drawn onto the floors, past countless holding cells crammed with ppl throwing up gang signs and shouting "What the fuck are you looking at". I am getting so dizzy and lightheaded having not really ate any food in about 5 days I wind-up blacking out and crashing to the floor only to open my eyes and see some young, probably ex-military pimpled faced punk guard screaming at me to get up up and move. I am holding up his line and that is unexceptable, Jesus fucking Christ.
In the basement there are 4 or 5 huge pens that are lined with 3 walls of orange concrete and 1 front gate of fencing. In these pens they literally herd us into, leaving no spare room. There are probably 80 ppl in each pen, the stench of unwashed bodies, urine, and any other disgusting aroma you could imagine waifs through the room. Smokes are lit and drug deals occur in teh open. Tensions are running high after sitting in these areas for another 5 hours, fights, insults, everything and everything you wouldnt want to imagine occurs.
I am alternating between sweating and than freezing cold shakes, the sound of puking and crying can be heard over the neverending screaming. I wish I could find some heroin in here but I have already made a few trips around teh pen and crack and weed are about the only 2 drugs I see available. Any dope has long been snorted, I damn well know if I had some heroin I wouldnt trade it for food or smokes and I would damn well not give it up with out a fight. Usually about every couple hours guards come around with huge barking german Shepards clanking there 'beat-down sticks' against the chaindoors, every now and then actually opening up the doors and pulling some guy out by his hair happy to chalk up more charges for smoking contraband.
In order for me to get a needle in my arm and feel that rush of nothingness, I am going to have to spin my way thru this maze of a jail, talk to countless intakes ppl, see the dick doctor, have blood drawn, get a TB shot, get x-rays, be interviewed and re-interviewed, brought up to the deck, call my parents, than go backwards and do the whole 10 hours process over again, than get picked up, come back home, run to my room and retrive my last little hidden stash that I save for a moment like this.
I am just to sick to deal with general population. Speaking to an intake docotr who doesnt even look up from his clip board of questions, "Do you want to kill yourself?"
"Do you hear voices?"
"Do you want to hurt others?"
How many fingers?"
What drugs are you on?"
blah blah fucking blah...
I cut him off and tell him I am experincing withdrawl from heroin and benzodiazapines. His eye brows perk with intrest when I mention that, knowing that they have to treat me for benzo w/d I hugely inflate my intake to 4mg of Xanax and 4mg of Klonapin daily. Which gets me bumped out of line and brought to a young attractive intake/counceler/nurse who generally seems concerned about my well being. She quickly takes a liking to me and tells me I need to get medicated immediately after I explain my situation. Finally jesus, I guess it does pay to be an young white male, who knows what to say to get what he wants. Ushered into a mini hospital setting I rid myself of my obnoxious surrondings of tattered gang bangers and never-ending madness.
==finish later, cut out the crap, sp check, re-do start, shorten entry, add more description==
