A crackheads tale.

Back in the late nineties I had gotten myself caught up in the crack epidemic. I would like to share a tale of one afternoon during the summer where me and a friend went to score in Philadelphia P.A.. Me and my friend… ,let’s call him Bob for brevity, went to score some drugs like we would do pretty much every day from the late nineties to many years later , or was it the mid-nineties? My drug addled mind has trouble with names and dates. Anyway, Philly as we liked to call it, was the Mecca of drug distribution on the east coast, it had open air drug markets as far as the eye could see, sprawled out in every direction, they sold cocaine, crack, heroin, pcp, pills, and weed mostly. On that day, I was wanting for some crack rocks though.
It was a very hot, sunny, summer day, unbearably hot, and we were in my old beater car with no air conditioner. I don’t remember much of the ride up, I do remember my crack pipe, oh she was a deluxe crack smoker, all glass with a nice bottom retaining chamber, carburetor and stem piece. Her name was sally. Now I don’t smoke the crack anymore, but back then I smoked a lot of it. I should mention that crack is bad, I only smoked it for a minute. For fifteen years, maybe. Crack sucks, please take my advice and leave it alone. I have maybe 10 to 13 years off the cocaine these days and don’t expect to be going back. I was always broke and jonesing for crack and heroin back in those days.
So we arrive at the set, an urban wasteland of junkies, narcotics, pushers, whores and trash. Our first stop was for my friend Bob, Bob wanted some weed so we scooped up some of the fattest fucking nicklebags around on the corner of I think it was sixth and Indianna, they had powder cocaine, PCP, and marijuana there. There was a bar there that I enjoyed a beer once. That went off without a hitch and then we travelled on to the crack set somewhere near fifth, and dauphin I knew some guys in the area but they weren’t there that day, still there were people selling what I needed, and I got the hookup that I so needed. I spent a great deal of time getting high in this area, and I am looking at a google map picture of it right now. It looks cleaner today, a building that an old street hustler I knew is gone and fenced in, I wonder if he is still alive. A parking lot is a green spot today with a fucking tree? What the hell.

There used to be an abandoned building on the corner here, and behind that was a parking lot where I would park sometimes at night and fix up. Ahh memory lane, it looks alot cleaner today, and greener.
There we were in the middle of shit getting out fix on, before I continue I should mention Bob suffered from some sort of mental problems, many of his decisions were just plain retarded. With that said I should also mention some of the things that happen when a junkie gets their crack rocks, being a crack head that I was, I just couldn’t wait to smoke it. I had sally after all, and these nickels, well let me tell you, the nickel bags shipped into the ghetto by the CIA in the late nineties were an epic deal and so fucking fat. these nickels were like small pillow cases overflowing with delicious crack rocks, there has never been a crack bag so fat, nor would there be again since that golden moment in history when our wonderful government agencies flooded every ghetto across the US with potent high quality crack. Now you know why I had to pull over on a crack alley right then and there to partake of this wonderful gift in America, so I fucking did it, I pulled up onto a sidewalk on some alleyway between fourth and fifth and pulled out old sally. I rolled up my windows so the summer breeze wouldn’t extinguish the lighter. That first crack hit of the morning was always the best one. It’s the one that kept me coming back for more day in, and day out. I told you all of the size and quality of these bags, the texture was perfect, not too hard and not too soft and a slight yellowish to creamy white stones.. why I fucking poured the whole nickel bag onto old sally, and put the other four bags in my underwear. I couldn’t believe it but I smoked the whole fucking thing in one hit, I gently applied the flame to the rocks as they vaporized and filled my endless lungs, getting higher and higher. My ears were ringing and the fucking heat…
I looked over at Bob and he’s fucking looking at his hands..What the fuck! So much for keeping an eye out, and guess what? I look over to my left and there’s a cop car parked right beside me with two police men who had just watched me smoke that bag, the one closest to me was motioning for me to roll down my window. So I rolled down my window, with sweat pouring off my face, and blew the biggest cloud of crack smoke right in this cops face. Billowing plumes of crack vapors came out and onto this cop and into their car. They were not amused. Me and Bob got yanked the fuck out and harassed for about a half hour. Not that it would have done any good knowing the cops were pulling up but I blamed Bob for our troubles that day. Poor stupid Bob.. gave up his weed like a girl giving out her pudding on prom night I saw him fish out his nickels which they threw down and made bob smear his precious herbs into the sidewalk with his shoe. I did not give up my nickels even after being searched they declined to look inside my underwear. They did however find old sally, I hated to see them smash her into a thousand pieces but was relieved that I wouldn’t be charged with a crack pipe. I was shaking and convulsing like an epileptic as the crack ran its course, they asked me what the hell was wrong with me to which I replied “didn’t you just see that epic fucking crack hit I just took?” They actually harassed Bob quite a bit more than me, they must of recognized me from my frequent visits to the drug sets, one told the other it’s probably too late for this one lets focus on Bob. I had a feeling they were right. After a scared straight spiel and some idle threats, they sent us on our merry way.
Poor Bob met his end in my company with some narcotics he procured on his own many years later. I may not write about that. In fact the last crack hit I took was on the day of Bobs burial, I had cut back towards then and I figured Bob would want me to take just one more crack hit for old times sake, I miss Bob.

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