You want me to bring it

You want me to bring it? Come over to the dark side. Chills are running down my spine. Bells are a ringing.



The first year that I shot drugs, I was always dependent on someone else to inject me. This meant I was also forced to share with another person each and every time. Despite claims to the contrary, I believe there is a certain level of planning involved in getting a naive young creature like my former self strung out. I worked or had money from family. I would borrow from Peter to pay Paul in my utter devotion of Junkie Jesus.



I was out by Aquatic Park with friends from Ohio. They had gotten lost in the junkie shuffle. People would migrate to the area in search of a chemical vacation and never make it back to the part from whence they came without a parental or criminal justice intervention. My friends had set up a scam that would eventually cost the City and County of San Francisco hundreds of thousands of dollars. They has figured out a way to dismantle parking meters and remove the jackpot boxes. I am not sure what drug dealer they found to accept hundreds of dollars in quarters, dimes, and nickles but this tourist area was flush with receptive boxes.



"What are we doing down here homey?" I had been rolling around with my friend and his old lady in his truck. In a sad twist of irony, I had gone to high school with this girl. She was from a social group that teased me relentlessly for four year. Now, drugs had made us equals. She was just another dope fiend like me. Hey lets bring this up at the reunion, k? The fatty nerd and the popular stoner bonded by dope.



"We are about to put in some work. " I had came along on this ride to cop some heroin. Copping dope rarely goes as planned. There always seem to be waiting, bullshit, and lies involved even in the best of situations. This was turning out to be a BUNCH of bullshit. They were planning on committing all types of felonies before I could get them to cop my dope.



"You ever shoot crack?" Apparently, they have many, many times. He pulls up his shirt and shows me the bullet wound where he got shot in the housing projects. I realize that we are going off on a tangent and I need to be flexible in my pursuit of a high. "Yeah man..." Before I can say another word, I being pushed out of the truck to be a lookout. The fog is rolling in. AH HA. I get handed out a full syringe. It is cold out and I am too afraid to let this twacked out motherfucker butcher my arm. I have a red shoes string I pull out of my boot.



If you are hoping to hear about the amazing rush or the chiming bells, that is not the moral of the story. When I stuck that needle into myself, my life changed forever. I no longer needed a man or a friend or even much social interaction. "I gotta go man...." as I tweaked off into the night, my fear dissolved into the night air. I was at least three miles from my room but I would walk there with ease. For the first time in my life, the streets were my home. The four walls of security could not longer hold my cravings for more. The beast was unleashed and the predator learned to navigate her way through the city. Until it all came crashing down with the next bang.



