A Day in the Life of a Junkie

He wakes up earlier than you'd think, considering the hours he keeps; Only because he wakes up feeling portents of withdrawals. The drugs wore off in his sleep, just a few hours is a big deal when you consider he's had it everyday for years. If hes somewhat lucky, he'll have some dope left from the day before, or some pills to stall the inevitable. If hes really lucky, he will have money ready to set up the coming day... yet he almost never has money when he wakes up.

A deep hunger has set in, opiates keep the appetite suppressed. He's always on them, except for first thing in the morning. When he wakes up, it as if he hasn't eaten in days, but food doesn't set well on the mind. When you start to get sick, everything tastes different and your stomach doesn't sit well. It is no matter, when he gets high he wont feel hungry... heroin will be his breakfast.

The phone calls start, seeing who needs dope that day. His only way to feed his habit is by making his habit pay for itself. It is lucky for him most people don't know where or how to cop, or just don't have the nerve to enter those neighborhoods. Now all he has to do is run around collecting their money up front, 250 dollars total, a small fortune to addicts. It's a miracle his piece of junk car even operates, if it breaks down he has a lot of incentive to ge it fixed. All manner of cheap fixes are in order. Jacking up the drive wheels with a block on the accelerator, holding a grindstone to them to resurface the rotors. Gluing lights together, grinding out brake drums, running tires bald, every dollar saved was required for the habit. 10 dollars of gas went into the tank, just enough to make the daily runs. 15 bags were reserved on order for people, some at 15, some at 20 nominally.

The trip in is always easier than the trip out, you have much less to worry about. Even still, the police are always looking for obvious drug buyers or anyone thats out of place. A smart runner learned a long time ago to always have a story that is believable, always know where you are going, who you are seeing, and where you are coming from. You get really good at following all traffic laws, you start to do curious things like keeping a spare key stiched into your waistband. You never get caught with a used needle, if you take any at all, it has to be clean, it wont stick in court here.

Of course he learned all these things long ago, and he passes by the normal spots before deciding what to do. The only open air corner has obvious undercovers set up down the road, hes not taking that risk today. The next place has no one on the porch, that means they are out of product. The next place is situated on a block that is swarming with police, he would later find out someone was shot dead over a petty debt just an hour previous. No options were appealing, so he opts for the last resort.

Just on the edge of the hood is a dopehouse operated by one of the few somewhat trustworthy people, something of a hood mother figure. For a fee she will go cop for you, which is safer for you, but risky for her. He already scoped the spots... he knew she would only be able to go to the spot where the undercovers were watching. Junkies are slimy like that. She charged a 20 dollar markup and kept a bag for herself out of each bundle. This meant he would only get 18 bags of dope instead of 24, not ideal because it would only leave three for him.

His habit comes first, he needed to do 6 bags in a shot in the dopehouse to get up to speed. The needle was carefully marked with a scrape at a certain amount of units, the plunger left at the mark. The needle was marked in another way just to be extra cautious. Then it was stashed in a clever spot in the stairwell at the trusted dopehouse that no one would ever find. If anyone found it and used it, they wouldn't leave it at the mark or return it to its hiding spot.

There's only 12 bags left... no matter, he is an expert with a scalpel. He carefully cut the tape off of the packets, opened them up and dumped two on the table, he turned every 2 bags into 3, using the packages from his own dope to package up 15 bags. He should have been a surgeon with his scalpel skills, not one error. When you retape the bags you never grab the tape with a whole fingertip. This was all necessary because the packages they were in inspired much more confidence than improvising. Not to mention, the two people might end up talking to one another and find it curious.

The clients are angry, what is taking so long? He hurries to get the customers the product, then he can finally go home. He kept the remaining reserve for the next day, but he ended up fixing again once he got home. The cycle will start all over again tomorrow, with luck he won't get shot, stabbed, arrested, or overdose. Today he was lucky.

Those were the early and less risky days for him. It only gets worse the deeper you go.

Hope none of you ever have to live like he did. Don't mess with drugs, one day you will lose.