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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. 

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