PART 1. MY FIRST OVERDOSE

It was a dark and stormy night�
I always wanted to use that cheese ass line in some story, that or, �So there I was, see...�
But, actually, this story begins on a more grey than dark, more drizzly than stormy street in Seattle. Ah Seattle, home of yuppie coffee, overpriced salmon everything, and really good black dope.

I had just made my way to the �Emerald City� the week before; having abruptly left San Francisco, junkie girlfriend in tow. I dropped her off on the way at the Salem Oregon
�Big grey dog� station, I would come to miss her, but we were out of dope, both sick, and both had decided that neither of us wanted to wear the others albatross around our neck.
So it was good bye, good luck, got a rinse?, for us. Besides, I was never a very good pimp anyway..

Upon arriving in Seattle I quickly found out where to score, but having only twenty dollars in my pocket, I was going to need to make this issue fucking last.
It was chipping all the way for me. One whole week of shooting light brown water was a true exercise in self restraint. After a week I had had enough. I wasn�t sick, but I wasn�t well, the time had come for desperate measures.

I soon found myself on Capitol Hill, or �Fluff Bluff� as my new found junkie friend called it. He went by the street name �Sundance� and fancied himself a bit of a cowboy.
He was as sick as me, but then he was always sick, and for that matter, so was I.
A decision was made, I was going to try and hustle my ass, a new low for me, but , hey, any port in a storm , right? I conspicuously posted myself atop a paperbox on Broadway and waited for money to find me. This day, money came in the form of a fifty something chickenhawk named �Earl�.

Thoughts and plans of robbing this man quickly faded shortly after I got into his car. He was truly sad, pitiable, and lonely, kind of like me, but only I didn�t want to suck his cock.
Turns out , he only wanted to suck mine.

An hour or so later I was back with �Sundance�, waiting for his dealer, fifty dollars in hand and filled with the hope that only the promise of getting really fucking high can bring a junkie like me. I just wanted to feel something other than what I felt I was.. It got easier as time went on.

A short while later , two grams of tar in hand, the two of us were under the Galer street underpass, mi casa as of late, cooking half of my dope. What can I say I liked to share.
Rigs were produced, and I drew up my usual �heavy� dose, at least when I was in San Francisco. I found a vein, registered, and began to push . Halfway down the plunger I knew I was fucked. I even exclaimed �I�m fucked!�, but I finished pushing my shot anyway.

As I faded out of consciousness I saw �Sundance� standing over me. �Sorry man, I gotta go.� he said as he scooped up my remaining dope and scuttled away, leaving me to die, alone. Then it all went black.

I woke up somewhere around forty hours later, covered in vomit and piss, either mine or someone else�s. I�ll never know. I got up, walked to a homeless drop-in, cleaned up and changed then hit the street. I could taste blood in my mouth. It was Fathers Day. I wanted revenge. HE TOOK MY DOPE for Christ sakes!! I would kill him, but first I had to get well�.

END OF PART 1, STAY TUNED FOR PART 2, �SHOWDOWN ON THE CRACK PIER�.