March 1994

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Introduction to the ghetto –

Sick of buying $15 bags from my only 1 connection who didnt always have the product and I am a very impatient person.  So, a friend and myself decided to venture down to the westside of Chicago and score our own dope.  We knew the general vicinity of where the smack, crack, and angledust lay but before we set off on our mission we told our connection the plans and asked for a little help in what areas [streets specifically] we needed to head to.  He rattled of 6 or seven different street intersections and told us generally how to get there.  Armed with our scratched out map we hit the highway with dreams of dope.

The Chicago H scene is pretty straight forward most of the consumer deals are done at dope spots that have been established by different gangs.  Most often than not you dont have to even get out of your car it is road side service, some spots would make you get out.  On the westside of Chitown there were/are thousands of different spots to score at. 

Although I have noticed a bit of a change since the mid-early 90’s thats was the start of the big heroin boom in the area, every sidestreet you turned down had spotters and look-outs maning every corner just begging for your business now a days it hasnt changed to much albeit the cops and media have been frenzied the last 5 years or so, constantly printing articles in the Chicago Tribune or SunTimes about how the heroin trade is destroying the youth because it is leaking out of the inner-city and starting to become noticable in the surrounding suburbs [some would go so far as to post maps to spots, always helpful to those curious cubs reading the newspaper at home, I wouldnt doubt if the newspapers were to blame for introducing some to the heroin trade].  Once the heroin epidemic spilled over into mainstream city life and rich suburbia, did the powers that be took notice.  They could no longer ignore the crys of families that had lost a son or daughter to heroin something had to be done in there eyes.  Large crackdowns began, reverse stings, arrests for being white in the ghetto [attempting to purchase narcotics and if they didnt get you on that charge they would barrage you in a sea of traffic tickets].  Things got a bit hairy cop’n on the westside.  You were always left with scoring on the street on the Southside of Chicago in the many highrise project CHA [Chicago Housing Authority] building skirting the south shore of Lake Michigan but thats another tale unto itself best left for another time.  After time I developed a few ‘off-the-street’ connections that only sold in minimum sizes of 1 gram.  As with most things time wore-out the efforts of the police and city administrators and they started to realize the scope of the problem, the roots of the Chicago heroin trade were firmly planted deep with in the city and no matter what the cops or media tried to do they really could not dent the drug trade and it continues to flourish year after year, sure they could occasionally shut down some of the bigger spots that made 20K or so a day easy but they would have to get passed all the crooked cops for starters.

Finish later…  fingers tired, time to take some buprenorphine and watch HBO 



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I was sniffing a half a bundle a day [5-6 bags] and barely even getting high it was just taking away my sickness and giving my body the opiates that it craved.  I was letting a friend hitch a ride with me on my way to score some dope and after we scored and did some dope, I was fucking around with the radio and a bit aggravated that I just put $50 dollars worth of powder up my nose and wasnt really feeling the least bit noddy when I looked over at my copping partner and he is passed out his head resting on my window.

I shook him out of his nod [dont you hate that emoticon? but it was my car my rules, ha] and asked him to prep a shot for me as I wasnt as high as I wanted to be, I tossed him a tinfoil packet and kept on driving.  I pull off into a gas station and tie-up with me seatbelt.  Poke, poke, register…  he looks up at me and asks if I am ready to which I reply, Yup.  Down the plunger goes, a few seconds pass and a tightness fills my chest, I can taste the dope in my mouth as the rush coarses thru my system.  I am officially in love at that point and my life revolves around those 5-10 seconds of bliss.

It took me a good 2 weeks to get the injecting techinque down well enough with out butchering my arms, and always needing somebody around to hit me just didnt fly.  So one day I bought a fresh 10 pak from some ghetto corner store [at that time it was illegal to sell syringes OTC in Illinois, the main option was needle exchanges around town, sketchy corner shops, or the occasional ‘get lucky’ buying needles at a bigger pharmacy chain] and went home to practice.  So I sat indian-style on my floor and practiced, practiced, practiced, soon it paid off I was able to hit my young veins while cruising down the highway at 70mph or a quick poke behind the newspaper while riding the train or El. 

Soon after I found the plus sides of IV’ing coke, crack, and pills.  Life was perfect, life was great.