Monthly Archives: August 2017
This happened a day after my first experience with crack cocaine.
I'd apparently successfully proved I wasn't a cop, because Teardrop greeted me with a "Hey! white boy!"
I walked up to the makeshift tents in front of the Pov with a giddy, adrenaline feeling in my gut. This was exciting. The danger, the fear, the exhilaration. It's a thrill to say the least.
Teardrop, and the hulking tall and well-built black man with a touch of gray in his coarse, wiry hair, calls out to me. I'm already getting used to being referred to as "white boy." Really, it makes sense, I'm about the only white 22 year old around.
I greet him and he immediately hops in my car. He directs me to a motel a ways south on G street. When we get there he knocks on the door. To my surprise a woman answers and, once she determines who it is, she opens the door.
The woman has clearly seen better days. She's skinny, almost evacuated, her skin is sun darkened (but she's definitely white), and she looks at least 40 or 42. I'm introduced to her and we enter her motel room, which is surprisingly clean. It's then that I find it she's a hooker (should have known).
She's introduced as "Rose" and I tell her my name. Teardrop jokes about how I hadn't even told him my name the night before.
Then, we get down to "business."
The glass crack pipes come out (sometimes called "stems" because they're just straight tubes of glass). I ask what the wadded up ball of stuff is in the pipes.
"That's Brillo, white boy, can't smoke rock without Brillo," Teardrop explains.
They take their hits and Rose passes her pipe and asks if I've ever smoked before. Teardrop tries to stop her from sharing (he seems genuinely interested in keeping me off crack) but I say "No, I want to try it more."
So they give me a little piece of rock and teach me how to smoke. First, you melt the rock into the Brillo then you tilt the pipe down and pull the lighter farther away (so you don't crack the glass) and pull the pure, thick white smoke into your lungs.
Again, the high is really good, but not what I will experience in the future. I get a little more chatty, a lot less nervous, and definitely more relaxed
We spend the next few hours chatting and passing the pipes around until the crack is gone. At that point I decided I should head home (it's late, around 3 AM).
On the way home I think about the cool people I've met so far and about how good the high feels. A small part of my brain warns me I'm enjoying it too much, but I shush it.
Yea, that wasn't my first or last mistake.