There's a spot down in Brooklyn where the Gowanus Canal meets up with Red Hook, and patients from a nearbye methadone clinic line up against the outsides of bodegas and against the fence of a home depot. And that's where I was in the late August of 2010, one mg of Xanax kicking into my system as I sat on a stoop, conversing with some washed out gangster. Suddenly I heard someone yelling out "Bars! Bars! Six for twenty, I got em!" I turned and saw a short skinny Hispanic man ripping down the street, arms failing. The two men I was sitting with rolled there eyes. I got up and approached the man. "six for twenty? That's a good deal."
"yeah, we'll there going fast", he said with a thick Brooklyn accent. The kind you'd expect from a meat butcher.
"well, listen man", I said,"I don't have the money now, but can I get you're phone number? I'll be able to get something together by tonight."
"sure thing, the names Donny."
Later that evening I got twenty five dollars together and called Donny up. He told me to meet him down by 59th street in sunset park, and to make it quick.
I jumped on the train, and twenty minutes later I was outside. The streets were mobbed with teenagers for some reason, and I walked across the street to the corner where Donny told me he'd be waiting.
As I approached, Donny slapped me on the back. "I thought you'd never show kid, c'mon let's get out of here."
We walked down from fourth avenue onto a quite street, and sat down on the stoops of a brownstone. Donny informed me that he only had four bars left, but that he also had a bottle of Norco's and heroin too. at first I just told him I'd take the four bars, because I was pretty damn sure I wouldn't feel a damn thing from the hydrocodone, but then he told me to just take a bag of dope, assuring me that it was real quality shit. I decided why not, I'll just do it one more last time and that would be that.
Well when I got home, I decided to try the dope out, thinking it was probably garbage. I loaded my rig and sent one home. And even though I had taken eight mg of suboxone that morning, I still felt the heroin. I got that nice warm feeling that I've chased since I was eighteen, and of course, I knew that I couldn't quit now, not when I had finally gotten a good connection for some fire heroin.
And I began making nightly trips down to meet up with Donny. The deal
Was that he'd get two bags out of a bundle, and since the dope was good, I didn't mind giving a little bit up.
Soon I began to consume way more heroin then I was comfortable with. My mom at the time thought that I was clean, so she trusted me with her ATM card, and often sent me out to go pick up food, or other household things that we needed. It started off with me just taking an extra twenty out of the machine, but as my appetite for heroin became more insatiable, the numbers doubled, then trippled, and then it got to the point where I'm ashamed to say, I was stealing 100 dollars a day, and man, I hated it so much.
I'd go out, and swear that I was not going to take more money, but it was almost like watching a movie about someone else, like my body became a slave to someone much darker than me.. Or at least that's how I compartememtalized it.
One night I was especially desperate. When I finally left my house, "to go tp a meeting", I rushed down the avenues, as the sickness was beginning to kick in. The sky was dark and ominous, black clouds moved in from the ocean. I passed a father holding his son. The boy said, "daddy, I'm scared!", and so the father started to tickle him, to make him laugh. I hung my head low and felt the syringe in my pocket. I wanted to cry, because I felt like I was no good to anyone. I prayed that no one would ever be so unfortunate as to have me as a father.
I ran down into the train station, and paced back and forth up the empty platform. It seemed like an eternity, but eventually the train came bumbling into the station, and I sat down, looking at the advertisements for Ray Ban sunglasses that were posted above the windows. The adds depicted everything that I hated about American society. Beautiful men and woman dancing in clubs, playing pool, laughing and pointing a finger at the camera. I began to feel better. Now I had a reason to get high. I drove further into my imagination, and suddenly I was a voyeur at one of those clubs, watching as my ex-girlfriend got picked up by a muscular red head who would be named Brett. And I followed them into the bathroom, where Brett pulls out a bag of blow, and my ex rails a huge line and starts tugging at his cock.
The train lurched to a stop, I was almost there. I got up and held on to a poll because I was too desperate with anticipation to sit still. I looked to my left and I saw a drooling homeless man, swearing to himself. He put his hands into the pocket of his hoody and pulled out a few wax bags of heroin. He looked up at me and grinned, saying, "you like it, right?"
the train pulled into the 59th street station. I rushed outside and called up Donny, who told me to meet up with him across the street. As i approached him, he smiled and looked at me, his pupils as large as saucers. "so what is it you want today kid?"
"a bundle, and a fourty piece of coke."
"Allright, we'll get the smack first."
As we walked down towards third avenue, I handed over my money to Donny. He began rambling about how there were cops everywhere. It was pretty obvious that he'd been smoking crack.
We got down to the avenue, which is really huge and dark, as it's situated underneath a highway. Donny told me to wait on the steps of a closed down Ellectrical appliance shop, insisting that I wouldn't look suspicious. Then he walked briskly down the street towards second ave. until I couldn't see him anymore. As I waited on the stoop, smoking cigarette after ciggarette, I became very paranoid. Every car that passed by seemed to be an undercover, and I was just waiting to get questioned. A young Prostitute passed me and asked for a ciggarette. I handed one over and sat back down. I began to think that maybe, just maybe I didn't stick out like a sore thumb, and that perhaps the drugs had taken enough of a toll on my body, that I was physically indistinguishable from any other strung out fool that hung out down here. As sick as it was, the idea gave me comfort.
Suddenly Donny crept up on me. "shit man, I thought something happened to you", I said. "I always come back. You should know that by now Zachity-Zach, now c'mon, let's go get that blow."
I followed Donny a few blocks further towards the direction of 60th st, and he dropped me off at a Small bodega, while he ran inside a dingy brownstone building. After ten minutes he came back up the street, and crossed to the opposite corner, gesturing me to follow him.
Once I caught up with Donny, it was really obvious that he was upset. "Oh Jesus, Zach, the cops are everywhere man! I'm not going back to jail for two bags of dope man, it just ain't worth it!" I started to become concerned myself, wondering if he was really just paranoid or trying to get me to give him more drugs, something I was not willing to do. We got to 54th st where one of his friends had a house that Donny had the keys to. When we got to the top of that block Donny insisted that we run down to the house, because the cops were sure to get us if we took our time walking down the street. So the two of us began sprinting, the whole thing seeming so fucking rediculous and conspicuous. If there's one thing that is incredibly suspicious, it's two guys running down the street of a drug infested neighborhood.
Donny let me into the downstairs apartment of a small building and told me to wait in the hallway. He walked into the kitchen, and into the living room, where I could here the sounds of a loud Spanish Soap Opera resonating. I heard Donny whispering something in Spannish, and then the other man who I couldn't see, started yelling. Donny muttered, "mother fucker", and then walked towards me, and threw the drugs into my hand. I asked him if I could use the bathroom, and he said no.
So I walked out of the front door of the apartment, cursing to myself. The difference in the quality of heroin that Donny could get compared to the dope my owne dealers offered, no longer seemed worth the effort or the risk of hanging out with this maniac. I walked up to fourth avenue, and into a Spanish restaurant that I had become a regular at. I sat down at a stool, ordered some toast and a coffee, and then asked for the key to the bathroom, like I always did. I went in, and pulled out my gear, mixed a speedball up, and blasted away. I came back to my stool, and my mind was at ease. I flirted with the waitresses, and complimented the chef, exclaiming that "this was the best toaste I've ever had the honor to eat!" They all smiled at me, and when I was done I left a seven dollar tip
And that was the last time I copped dope with Donny.
Occasionally I'd run into him down by the methadone clinic, and I even designed a tattoo for him, which he got done on his chest. But for the most part, Our arrangement was over.I eventually found a connection for dope that was just as quality as his source, but my dealer lived on the corner of my owne block.
I can't think of anyway to end this eloquently, so I won't. That's it. The end.
"yeah, we'll there going fast", he said with a thick Brooklyn accent. The kind you'd expect from a meat butcher.
"well, listen man", I said,"I don't have the money now, but can I get you're phone number? I'll be able to get something together by tonight."
"sure thing, the names Donny."
Later that evening I got twenty five dollars together and called Donny up. He told me to meet him down by 59th street in sunset park, and to make it quick.
I jumped on the train, and twenty minutes later I was outside. The streets were mobbed with teenagers for some reason, and I walked across the street to the corner where Donny told me he'd be waiting.
As I approached, Donny slapped me on the back. "I thought you'd never show kid, c'mon let's get out of here."
We walked down from fourth avenue onto a quite street, and sat down on the stoops of a brownstone. Donny informed me that he only had four bars left, but that he also had a bottle of Norco's and heroin too. at first I just told him I'd take the four bars, because I was pretty damn sure I wouldn't feel a damn thing from the hydrocodone, but then he told me to just take a bag of dope, assuring me that it was real quality shit. I decided why not, I'll just do it one more last time and that would be that.
Well when I got home, I decided to try the dope out, thinking it was probably garbage. I loaded my rig and sent one home. And even though I had taken eight mg of suboxone that morning, I still felt the heroin. I got that nice warm feeling that I've chased since I was eighteen, and of course, I knew that I couldn't quit now, not when I had finally gotten a good connection for some fire heroin.
And I began making nightly trips down to meet up with Donny. The deal
Was that he'd get two bags out of a bundle, and since the dope was good, I didn't mind giving a little bit up.
Soon I began to consume way more heroin then I was comfortable with. My mom at the time thought that I was clean, so she trusted me with her ATM card, and often sent me out to go pick up food, or other household things that we needed. It started off with me just taking an extra twenty out of the machine, but as my appetite for heroin became more insatiable, the numbers doubled, then trippled, and then it got to the point where I'm ashamed to say, I was stealing 100 dollars a day, and man, I hated it so much.
I'd go out, and swear that I was not going to take more money, but it was almost like watching a movie about someone else, like my body became a slave to someone much darker than me.. Or at least that's how I compartememtalized it.
One night I was especially desperate. When I finally left my house, "to go tp a meeting", I rushed down the avenues, as the sickness was beginning to kick in. The sky was dark and ominous, black clouds moved in from the ocean. I passed a father holding his son. The boy said, "daddy, I'm scared!", and so the father started to tickle him, to make him laugh. I hung my head low and felt the syringe in my pocket. I wanted to cry, because I felt like I was no good to anyone. I prayed that no one would ever be so unfortunate as to have me as a father.
I ran down into the train station, and paced back and forth up the empty platform. It seemed like an eternity, but eventually the train came bumbling into the station, and I sat down, looking at the advertisements for Ray Ban sunglasses that were posted above the windows. The adds depicted everything that I hated about American society. Beautiful men and woman dancing in clubs, playing pool, laughing and pointing a finger at the camera. I began to feel better. Now I had a reason to get high. I drove further into my imagination, and suddenly I was a voyeur at one of those clubs, watching as my ex-girlfriend got picked up by a muscular red head who would be named Brett. And I followed them into the bathroom, where Brett pulls out a bag of blow, and my ex rails a huge line and starts tugging at his cock.
The train lurched to a stop, I was almost there. I got up and held on to a poll because I was too desperate with anticipation to sit still. I looked to my left and I saw a drooling homeless man, swearing to himself. He put his hands into the pocket of his hoody and pulled out a few wax bags of heroin. He looked up at me and grinned, saying, "you like it, right?"
the train pulled into the 59th street station. I rushed outside and called up Donny, who told me to meet up with him across the street. As i approached him, he smiled and looked at me, his pupils as large as saucers. "so what is it you want today kid?"
"a bundle, and a fourty piece of coke."
"Allright, we'll get the smack first."
As we walked down towards third avenue, I handed over my money to Donny. He began rambling about how there were cops everywhere. It was pretty obvious that he'd been smoking crack.
We got down to the avenue, which is really huge and dark, as it's situated underneath a highway. Donny told me to wait on the steps of a closed down Ellectrical appliance shop, insisting that I wouldn't look suspicious. Then he walked briskly down the street towards second ave. until I couldn't see him anymore. As I waited on the stoop, smoking cigarette after ciggarette, I became very paranoid. Every car that passed by seemed to be an undercover, and I was just waiting to get questioned. A young Prostitute passed me and asked for a ciggarette. I handed one over and sat back down. I began to think that maybe, just maybe I didn't stick out like a sore thumb, and that perhaps the drugs had taken enough of a toll on my body, that I was physically indistinguishable from any other strung out fool that hung out down here. As sick as it was, the idea gave me comfort.
Suddenly Donny crept up on me. "shit man, I thought something happened to you", I said. "I always come back. You should know that by now Zachity-Zach, now c'mon, let's go get that blow."
I followed Donny a few blocks further towards the direction of 60th st, and he dropped me off at a Small bodega, while he ran inside a dingy brownstone building. After ten minutes he came back up the street, and crossed to the opposite corner, gesturing me to follow him.
Once I caught up with Donny, it was really obvious that he was upset. "Oh Jesus, Zach, the cops are everywhere man! I'm not going back to jail for two bags of dope man, it just ain't worth it!" I started to become concerned myself, wondering if he was really just paranoid or trying to get me to give him more drugs, something I was not willing to do. We got to 54th st where one of his friends had a house that Donny had the keys to. When we got to the top of that block Donny insisted that we run down to the house, because the cops were sure to get us if we took our time walking down the street. So the two of us began sprinting, the whole thing seeming so fucking rediculous and conspicuous. If there's one thing that is incredibly suspicious, it's two guys running down the street of a drug infested neighborhood.
Donny let me into the downstairs apartment of a small building and told me to wait in the hallway. He walked into the kitchen, and into the living room, where I could here the sounds of a loud Spanish Soap Opera resonating. I heard Donny whispering something in Spannish, and then the other man who I couldn't see, started yelling. Donny muttered, "mother fucker", and then walked towards me, and threw the drugs into my hand. I asked him if I could use the bathroom, and he said no.
So I walked out of the front door of the apartment, cursing to myself. The difference in the quality of heroin that Donny could get compared to the dope my owne dealers offered, no longer seemed worth the effort or the risk of hanging out with this maniac. I walked up to fourth avenue, and into a Spanish restaurant that I had become a regular at. I sat down at a stool, ordered some toast and a coffee, and then asked for the key to the bathroom, like I always did. I went in, and pulled out my gear, mixed a speedball up, and blasted away. I came back to my stool, and my mind was at ease. I flirted with the waitresses, and complimented the chef, exclaiming that "this was the best toaste I've ever had the honor to eat!" They all smiled at me, and when I was done I left a seven dollar tip
And that was the last time I copped dope with Donny.
Occasionally I'd run into him down by the methadone clinic, and I even designed a tattoo for him, which he got done on his chest. But for the most part, Our arrangement was over.I eventually found a connection for dope that was just as quality as his source, but my dealer lived on the corner of my owne block.
I can't think of anyway to end this eloquently, so I won't. That's it. The end.