Gail Goynes, roaddawgz.org, Apr 07, 2004
Life has been getting a little strange lately. I was staying in the Church and Market area for a few months until about one week ago. Since then I have moved way down to the Financial District between first and second streets, usually on Market Street. I acquired a boyfriend within two days of being there; I even had a few different guys to choose from. So I ended up choosing Josh. He seems like a decent guy so far. I decided to give a nice guy a chance. I hope that he doesn�t use and take advantage of me like every other boyfriend I have ever had.
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I ran into an old friend the other day. His name is Spider, he is definently an �Old School� Punk Rocker. He is about thirty-six years old and has been a heroin addict for twenty-five years. Yes, he has been injecting heroin since he was eleven years old. He is lucky to be alive. Despite his drug addiction he is a crazy genius like me and all of my favorite people.
He was telling me a story about one of the more desperate times in his �Junkie Career�. He got to the point where he didn�t have any veins to use anymore, so he started shooting up in his penis, no shit right?! I�ve heard of people doing that, but I never actually met anyone who did it before. The point of this story is that he lost two inches when he gets hard from damaging the veins in his dick. Now he says that it�s embarrassing to have sex, and he had to learn it the hard way that you should never shoot drugs into your dick. The funny thing to me is that he told me that originally his dick was nine inches, so now it�s only seven inches. I don�t think that�s anything to be embarrassed about. That�s above average. I actually prefer eight to ten inches myself, so he almost makes the cut. I would make a special exception for him, since he�s my friend.
I had to leave the neighborhood I was hanging out in because I ripped off some people there, so I decided to go where they couldn�t find me. One of the times wasn�t on purpose. Some friends of mine gave me some speed to sell for them. They wanted twenty for the bag, so I split it into two so I could make twenty bucks from the sale too.
Splitting the bag is normal business procedure for me. The problem was that the speed ended up being fake. I had no idea, because I rarely do speed, and I got it from a friend, so I didn�t see it coming. The area I was in has a lot of speed flowing through, so it�s pretty rare to get bunked, especially me. Maybe someone would sell a rich crustie some fake speed, but they wouldn�t screw a fellow street person; we are supposed to be on the same side. I sold one half of it to a regular customer for twenty, before I knew it was fake. Then I traded the other half to this guy Joey, who is obsessed with me, for a piece of heroin, which he said he paid ten dollars for, but I know it was only worth five dollars. Joey and I went into the Space-Toilet together so we could each do our drugs. By the time I had the needle in my arm and was injecting mine was when he was realizing that it wasn�t real. So I couldn�t pay him back because I had no money, and I had already done the drugs. I got the twenty bucks back from the guy who sold me the fake speed and returned the money to the original customer that I sold to, so that is taken care of. I made up for half of the debt with Joey, now I still owe him four dollars, but I have still been avoiding the whole situation, because I don�t have any money to throw around because I have to worry about myself, and supporting my own bad habits.
I had another problem with a drug deal the other morning. I was sleeping by my shopping cart in Landers Alley off of 14th Street between Dolores and Market. Some creepy tweeked out guy that I�ve never seen before came over and woke me up at about nine-o�clock asking me for a clean point. I think it�s pretty rude to wake up a random person to ask them for new syringes. It�s rude to wake up someone you don�t know anyway. I gave him one anyway, and he proceeded to do the drugs right in front of me where I was sleeping, which is even ruder. I wasn�t all there though because I hadn�t woken up all the way yet. So then this dumb ass faggot tweeker realized that he had been ripped off for twenty bucks in the mission for a tiny flake of Chiva (heroin). The stupid fuck mixed it up and shot it in front of me anyway. He said he didn�t feel anything; duh there was nothing there. So then he pulls out thirty bucks and asks me if I can call somebody and get drugs for him. So I stood up and started to get my shit together. Then this guy takes a hit of Crack and the cops pull up and tell me to move on. They didn�t see him smoking the Crack, thank God. I told them I was on my way, then I packed up my cart, and we left to go score. I left my shopping cart there, because I thought it would be OK for a little while, I left it there for the entire day before and it was left untouched.
Then we walked together to a phone and I called my phone connect. He said he would meet us in twenty minutes in the next alley over. With that idiot tagging along it probably took us at least fifteen minutes just to walk over to the alley we were supposed to meet him at. I never did catch this guys� name, but I was doing him a favor anyway, because in return he was supposed to split a half-gram of heroin with me. It took my asshole dealer about an hour to show up, and I called him back about three times telling him to hurry up. The guy I was getting it for was going to leave because he was sick of waiting. Finally I was going to leave because I was sick of waiting. Right as I was about to leave he came driving up, that�s the way it always works. This guy wanted me to get him one half-gram of coke, and one half gram of heroin for thirty bucks. I told him that the heroin was fifteen dollars, and the coke was twenty dollars, so it was supposed to be thirty-five dollars, not thirty. He had enough money, but he still wanted me to short him five dollars.
So I went up to the car to buy the drugs from the Mexican, and he wouldn�t give it to me for five bucks short, so I just bought the heroin, because that is what was more important to me, I hate coke. So I brought him back his heroin and his change, and he almost had a nervous breakdown, after waiting an hour we were both frustrated, he told me that the coke was the most important part, and told me to call him back right away and tell him to come back and that we had the other five dollars. So we went and did some of the drugs while we were waiting for the delivery guy to come back. I was about to leave this guy there because he was annoying the shit out of me when the Mexican showed up again. So I made him hand me the money so I could go get him his fucking coke, the asshole only gave me nineteen bucks instead of twenty. So I took the money and rode away on my bike. I decided to rip him off because such and asshole, and he said that he was going to follow me around wherever I went, basically stalking me. So I met my dealer and bought another half gram of heroin for fifteen bucks, kept the four bucks, and rode way down to First Street at Howard, and have pretty much been hanging out there ever since. I took the drugs that I had gotten and shared them with my new boyfriend. And they lived happily ever after, yeah right!
Because of all of this bullshit I have been threatened to have the shit get kicked out of me, and be cut of from the so-called �Street Family�. I am so sick of all of these stupid threats, and losing old friends over ten dollars or a little bit of dope. I don�t have very many friends anymore because of drugs. Crack kills, and heroin can destroy a perfectly good person.
Speed will turn you into the worst kind of klepto dope fiend if you let it take control of your mind. If you let the drugs control you than you are the worst kind of addict.
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