It’s unreal to think back on just how many trips I made to buy drugs, and even more so how few close calls there were. Think about the situation you are openly putting yourself in. Going into unsafe territories with cash on hand, to make an illegal transaction, all while looking suspect (either because you’re nervous, or withdrawing).
My daily process consisted of waiting until my dealer woke up (somewhere around 5PM), only to then wait on his text reply two hours later, finally being told to come through. Before heading out, I would always up with a story on where I was headed in case anyone asked. Mind you that story then had to match up with the amount of time I was gone, so this added to the pressure of completing the trip within the perfect window (and trust me, things rarely go perfect when buying drugs). So I’d leave the house and head to the ATM, all while having cringeworthy thoughts about the money I was wasting with each trip. Eventually you bring yourself to complete the transaction (like tearing off a band-aid), and at that point are usually committed 100%. Before arriving to your destination, time is usually spent contemplating what the fuck you’re doing, or coming up with a story in the event you get pulled over.
That destination for me was Paterson, NJ. Deep into the concrete jungle I’d venture, no doubt looking like a suspect white kid who’s got no business being there. The locals have a saying, “If you ain’t from here, then either you coppin’ (buying), or you a cop”. Fortunately for my dealers personal and financial well-being, I was always copping. Once I got there, it was always to go park and wait on some sketch street, as discretely as possible. Meanwhile anxiety is flowing through you with every passing minute, wondering if you’re about to be approached by a local or undercover.
Think about how numb or addicted you must be to subject yourself to this process every day. I recall one day accidentally winding up on a street called Godwin avenue, the worst street in the city for drugs, violence and murder. Before addiction, there was no chance in hell I’d be caught on anywhere in Paterson. Once you’re an addict though, these risks do not outweigh the benefit, it’s your well-being on the line.
Eventually you make your way out. Product in-hand, sweating, eyes on the rear-view, wondering if today’s the day things come to an end. Well, one day it all almost came to a screeching halt. It was around 6PM, sun was going down, and I’d just pulled off with pills in-hand. Now on this particular day I’d been withdrawing more than usual because of how little I used the day prior. Light after light, the withdrawal symptoms seem to grow tenfold with each passing minute. So, the genius that I was thought of the bright idea to pull over and use on the highway shoulder. Now for anyone that has experience crushing up and snorting pills, you know it’s a much more difficult process inside a car (yet alone driving behind the wheel). Five minutes later, after finding the right surface to crush everything up, balanced on my lap, I was good-to-go. As I rolled up the last bill in my wallet (dollar bill), I glance up at my rear view to see a cop car coming up the hill…and he’s pulling beside me. My heart is racing. I’m fucked.
Knowing all too well scrambling is not an option (with everything on my lap), I think quick and grab my phone while playing intensely with the radio. At this point he’s now pulled up beside me with his window down, but I pretend not to see him for just a few seconds. Eventually I act surprised and pull down my window, at which point he asks “Is everything ok?”. I replied, “Yessir, I’m sorry this bluetooth setup with my phone isn’t working and I didn’t want to cause an accident”. Meanwhile just six inches below his line of vision, I’ve got a magazine laid out with 4 lines of blue powder and a loosely rolled dollar bill right beside me. He smiles, “Good, hurry up and get back on the road this isn’t a safe spot to be pulled over”. With my heart in my stomach, I let out a sigh of deep relief as he pulls away.