A continuation...
After explaining how I had become addicted to opiates/opioids and how I was looking for a way in which to find some in South Florida. Harold did not even smoke cannabis, he merely sold cocaine and despised the use of it. Naturally he wasn't enthusiastic about my request but at the same time recognised that regardless of how I had arrived at my addiction- I was an addict. Harold told me would ask around and get back to me on it.
Meanwhile, the aunt and uncle I was staying with pushed me into getting a job, and of course that WAS why I had gone to America in the first place. In my clan- Dwek- like most Sephardic and Mizrachi clans, all adult men contribute a percentage of their base earnings into a family fund. Part is used for investment, a smaller part for emergencies and the dividens on the investments are split between re-investing and paying out a stead income to fully vested clan members.
In our "Hamula," or Clan Association one cannot be fully vested until at least age 35 but it usally takes until age 40 depending on pre-mature withdrawals. At my age at the time- mid-20s- I was as broke as it gets. At the time Israel was transitioning from Socialist to Laissez Faire Capitalist Economy and inflation was in the triple digits, unemployment through the roof and there was nothing to keep one hopeful of better days. Our unit of currency, the Shekel (now New Israeli Shekel aka NIS) was worth roughly 1/8th of $1. Mexico has a stronger economy than Israel at that point in time.
Many young Israeli men were seeking their fortunes abroad, and I was simply one in a multitude of hopeful young men trying to better themselves. Since the place in which I was staying- Delray Beach- was a retirement mecca would be employers were usually thrilled when I applied. Within a couple of days of beginning my search I not only had a job, I had 3. My dayjob was as a stock clerk slash cashier at a Walgreens pharmacy on Delray Beach's Atlantic Boulevard, the town's main drag, directly across from the retirement community I was staying in.
My evening job, 25 to 30 hours a week, was with a trucking company, Watkins, as a dockworker. By hand and by forklift I loaded and unloaded lorries. On weekends I worrked at a second Walgreen's, on the other side of Delray Beach, on A1, the famed Florida hiway up the eastcoast.
At the time, Minimum Wage was $4.25. My dayjob brought me $170.00 a week. My night job at Watkins paid me $6.45 an hour and I was thrilled to get it. Usually it afforded me $200.00 (give or take an ioya of change). My weekend job, at the other Walgreens- also paying me Minimum Wage- earned me $100.00. Altogether, I was grossing about $470.00 a week and was happier than a pig in shi*. Still, sleeping on aunties pull-out sofa in the spare room, which they used as a sitting room and watched TV well into the evening, was grating on my nerves- especially when I stripped all their pharmaceuticals bare.
I was getting more and more desperate for that blissful relief that opiates/opioids offer in the early stages of that chemical romance. At my dayjob I often worked in the attached liquor store. When I saw someone who looked like he got high- on anything- I would ask him if he knew where to get some heroin. The Southern Florida of the early-1990s was radically different than it is today. If I continued with my desperate pleas I was sure to find myself in a reverse sting.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I spent $1,300 and change for a round trip Fort Lauderdale to Newark (New Jersey) flight. This was long before the $69 fares- obviously. I would leave at dinnertime on a Friday, arrive in Newark close to 10PM, and kill time at the airport until 5AM. At that point I would take an express bus to New York Port Authority on Manhattan's 42nd Street. Upon arrival there I would go underground and into the subway. Taking the #7 crosstown to Lexington Avenue at Grand Central Station I would hop on a #4 or #5 train. Getting off at 86th St I would walk across the platform and transfer to the local train, the #6. At the 4th stop, E116th Street, I would get off and voila, I was in "El Barrio," East Harlem. Walking west to 3rd Avenue, I would turn left and walk uptown 1 block to the McDonalds on the corner of E.117th Street. I would wait inside the restuarant until about 10AMand then walk 1 block east on E.117th Street and I would drop $900 to $1,800.00 on 1 or 2 "bricks" of "Unknown" brand heroin.
A New York City "brick" consistd of 10 "bundles," a New York City "bundle" being 10 glassine envelopes of Heroin, roughly 100mg within each. Ergo, a "bundle" is supposed to equal 1 gramme and a "brick" equals 10 grammes, aka a "finger." If one simply goes across the Hudson River and buys heroin they will find that a New Jersey "brick" is only 5 bundles, though a "bundle" is still 1 gramme.
To be continued...
After explaining how I had become addicted to opiates/opioids and how I was looking for a way in which to find some in South Florida. Harold did not even smoke cannabis, he merely sold cocaine and despised the use of it. Naturally he wasn't enthusiastic about my request but at the same time recognised that regardless of how I had arrived at my addiction- I was an addict. Harold told me would ask around and get back to me on it.
Meanwhile, the aunt and uncle I was staying with pushed me into getting a job, and of course that WAS why I had gone to America in the first place. In my clan- Dwek- like most Sephardic and Mizrachi clans, all adult men contribute a percentage of their base earnings into a family fund. Part is used for investment, a smaller part for emergencies and the dividens on the investments are split between re-investing and paying out a stead income to fully vested clan members.
In our "Hamula," or Clan Association one cannot be fully vested until at least age 35 but it usally takes until age 40 depending on pre-mature withdrawals. At my age at the time- mid-20s- I was as broke as it gets. At the time Israel was transitioning from Socialist to Laissez Faire Capitalist Economy and inflation was in the triple digits, unemployment through the roof and there was nothing to keep one hopeful of better days. Our unit of currency, the Shekel (now New Israeli Shekel aka NIS) was worth roughly 1/8th of $1. Mexico has a stronger economy than Israel at that point in time.
Many young Israeli men were seeking their fortunes abroad, and I was simply one in a multitude of hopeful young men trying to better themselves. Since the place in which I was staying- Delray Beach- was a retirement mecca would be employers were usually thrilled when I applied. Within a couple of days of beginning my search I not only had a job, I had 3. My dayjob was as a stock clerk slash cashier at a Walgreens pharmacy on Delray Beach's Atlantic Boulevard, the town's main drag, directly across from the retirement community I was staying in.
My evening job, 25 to 30 hours a week, was with a trucking company, Watkins, as a dockworker. By hand and by forklift I loaded and unloaded lorries. On weekends I worrked at a second Walgreen's, on the other side of Delray Beach, on A1, the famed Florida hiway up the eastcoast.
At the time, Minimum Wage was $4.25. My dayjob brought me $170.00 a week. My night job at Watkins paid me $6.45 an hour and I was thrilled to get it. Usually it afforded me $200.00 (give or take an ioya of change). My weekend job, at the other Walgreens- also paying me Minimum Wage- earned me $100.00. Altogether, I was grossing about $470.00 a week and was happier than a pig in shi*. Still, sleeping on aunties pull-out sofa in the spare room, which they used as a sitting room and watched TV well into the evening, was grating on my nerves- especially when I stripped all their pharmaceuticals bare.
I was getting more and more desperate for that blissful relief that opiates/opioids offer in the early stages of that chemical romance. At my dayjob I often worked in the attached liquor store. When I saw someone who looked like he got high- on anything- I would ask him if he knew where to get some heroin. The Southern Florida of the early-1990s was radically different than it is today. If I continued with my desperate pleas I was sure to find myself in a reverse sting.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I spent $1,300 and change for a round trip Fort Lauderdale to Newark (New Jersey) flight. This was long before the $69 fares- obviously. I would leave at dinnertime on a Friday, arrive in Newark close to 10PM, and kill time at the airport until 5AM. At that point I would take an express bus to New York Port Authority on Manhattan's 42nd Street. Upon arrival there I would go underground and into the subway. Taking the #7 crosstown to Lexington Avenue at Grand Central Station I would hop on a #4 or #5 train. Getting off at 86th St I would walk across the platform and transfer to the local train, the #6. At the 4th stop, E116th Street, I would get off and voila, I was in "El Barrio," East Harlem. Walking west to 3rd Avenue, I would turn left and walk uptown 1 block to the McDonalds on the corner of E.117th Street. I would wait inside the restuarant until about 10AMand then walk 1 block east on E.117th Street and I would drop $900 to $1,800.00 on 1 or 2 "bricks" of "Unknown" brand heroin.
A New York City "brick" consistd of 10 "bundles," a New York City "bundle" being 10 glassine envelopes of Heroin, roughly 100mg within each. Ergo, a "bundle" is supposed to equal 1 gramme and a "brick" equals 10 grammes, aka a "finger." If one simply goes across the Hudson River and buys heroin they will find that a New Jersey "brick" is only 5 bundles, though a "bundle" is still 1 gramme.
To be continued...
