Well, it's been a while since I posted a blog entry, and since I've got nothing else going on, and Im stuck in Brooklyn due to Hurricane Sandy, I thought I would update you all on the life and times of moderator Znegative and girlfriend Babettehaze.
Well, in the day after Hurricane Sandy, I woke up to my girlfriend kicking and thrashing about in withdrawals. Two days earlier, on the Eve of Sandy, we had bought six bags of some superb NY powder with the intention of having two bags each for the next three days as my girlfriend is not on maintenance, and my clinic is in manhattan and had given no word as to what I was to do. Well, what do you know, come Monday night I began to throw a fit as I wanted to do a third bag, even though that would mean I would only have one for the morning the next day. My girlfriend eventually yielded to my bitching and decided to do another bag as well.. So come Tuesday morning, neither of us had done dope in 24 hours.
Though my connect is about two and a half miles from my home, we decided it was well worth the trek, and got on our jackets and shoes to suffer through the hurricanes after mass. Half of our journey was comprised of walking along McDonald avenue, along Brooklyn's ancient Greenwood Cemetery. Our noses running, we looked through the iron barred fence and gazed upon the giant toppled trees, broken and humiliated like modern day Goliath's. As we reached the corner of Church Avenue and McDonald we saw a car that was stuck beneath another large fallen tree. "Jesus Christ" I said, wiping the snot off of my nose and flicking it to the cold pavement. "This bitch was no joke."
A few blocks later, after we has passed one side of the graveyard we entered an Arabic neighborhood, jam packed with supermarkets, doctors offices and 99 cent stores. Here and there we'd walk by an aluminum awning which had been ripped from the side of a building and cast down to the streets, mangled and contorted, much like my body during sex. Though we were lost, we found direction through Babette's IPhone and continued to walk straight until we saw the huge and abandoned subway overpass arch up from below the earth. "We can't be far now", my female counterpart said, and I nodded my head. Yet she had spoken to soon, and we marched on for another 15 minutes in despair, until I finally spotted a familiar landmark: the 18th avenue Chase Bank.
I whipped out my cellular and dialed my dealers number. I waited for it to ring. And waited. Finally, out of the blue, my dealers deep voice answered the phone "Where are you?"
"I'm just a few blocks away. I take it you survived the hurricane?"
"yes. What do you need."
"Six bags"
"OK. Meet me by the building"
I left my girlfriend on the corner and walked up three blocks and then took a right, heading down 1/2 another block where I saw my connections bulbous, fat form, seeping out of the sides of his pants and the seems of his stitches. I walked up to him and leaned against the side of the fence, and made the exchange. We then chatted it up for a few minutes after which I walked down the block a little out of my way (to avoid suspicion) and back to my girlfriend.
By this point, exhaustion and impatience had won over. My girlfriend announced that she'd pay for a taxi if we could catch one, and luckily we did.
We got home and I got to work fixing up the shots. Five minutes later I exclaimed "Hot fuck, that shit is good".
Well, in the day after Hurricane Sandy, I woke up to my girlfriend kicking and thrashing about in withdrawals. Two days earlier, on the Eve of Sandy, we had bought six bags of some superb NY powder with the intention of having two bags each for the next three days as my girlfriend is not on maintenance, and my clinic is in manhattan and had given no word as to what I was to do. Well, what do you know, come Monday night I began to throw a fit as I wanted to do a third bag, even though that would mean I would only have one for the morning the next day. My girlfriend eventually yielded to my bitching and decided to do another bag as well.. So come Tuesday morning, neither of us had done dope in 24 hours.
Though my connect is about two and a half miles from my home, we decided it was well worth the trek, and got on our jackets and shoes to suffer through the hurricanes after mass. Half of our journey was comprised of walking along McDonald avenue, along Brooklyn's ancient Greenwood Cemetery. Our noses running, we looked through the iron barred fence and gazed upon the giant toppled trees, broken and humiliated like modern day Goliath's. As we reached the corner of Church Avenue and McDonald we saw a car that was stuck beneath another large fallen tree. "Jesus Christ" I said, wiping the snot off of my nose and flicking it to the cold pavement. "This bitch was no joke."
A few blocks later, after we has passed one side of the graveyard we entered an Arabic neighborhood, jam packed with supermarkets, doctors offices and 99 cent stores. Here and there we'd walk by an aluminum awning which had been ripped from the side of a building and cast down to the streets, mangled and contorted, much like my body during sex. Though we were lost, we found direction through Babette's IPhone and continued to walk straight until we saw the huge and abandoned subway overpass arch up from below the earth. "We can't be far now", my female counterpart said, and I nodded my head. Yet she had spoken to soon, and we marched on for another 15 minutes in despair, until I finally spotted a familiar landmark: the 18th avenue Chase Bank.
I whipped out my cellular and dialed my dealers number. I waited for it to ring. And waited. Finally, out of the blue, my dealers deep voice answered the phone "Where are you?"
"I'm just a few blocks away. I take it you survived the hurricane?"
"yes. What do you need."
"Six bags"
"OK. Meet me by the building"
I left my girlfriend on the corner and walked up three blocks and then took a right, heading down 1/2 another block where I saw my connections bulbous, fat form, seeping out of the sides of his pants and the seems of his stitches. I walked up to him and leaned against the side of the fence, and made the exchange. We then chatted it up for a few minutes after which I walked down the block a little out of my way (to avoid suspicion) and back to my girlfriend.
By this point, exhaustion and impatience had won over. My girlfriend announced that she'd pay for a taxi if we could catch one, and luckily we did.
We got home and I got to work fixing up the shots. Five minutes later I exclaimed "Hot fuck, that shit is good".
