So I tried going to the worst places I could find. So I could make the claim that I had been around the block a few times. Worst bars, worst streets, worse cities. It didn’t help. My sister had a good insight as to why I survived three years of going to the city that had the highest murder rate in California to get my drugs in my addiction. I was simply not a threat to anyone. I thought I was tough. I wasn’t. I had some incidental violence against me. I was trying to score some crack at a park one day and a guy tried to take my $60.00 from my shirt pocket while I was sitting on a log. I resisted and someone from behind me broke a wine bottle over my head, and the first guy took my money.
Another time i was sitting in the passenger seat of my own car at 2:00 am at this same park with my connection trying to get crack again A 19 year old kid I had never seen before, walked up with a club without saying a word and swung the club and broke my windshield, then he turned on me and hit me hard several times. He caught me by surprise, I was too stunned to do anything… My dealer shouted at him and he walked away. I found out the next night that it was a case of mistaken identity. His brother had been run over by a car with a white guy driving and dragged for a hundred feet several days before. He thought I was that white guy. Other things happened but those two times were the worst I got hurt in three years.
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There is always more than one price to pay when getting involved with drugs
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How true that is. It’s not just a cost of the drugs, it’s the cost of seeking, the cost of not getting ripped off when trying to score, the cost of being in the worst part of town at the wrong time.
I don’t miss it.
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