HEROIN /or/ GOODTIMESBADTIMES

HEROIN
/or/
GOODTIMESBADTIMES
Don’t get the wrong impression
addiction is multiple depression
there’s no glory in it’s possession
so then this is only a confession

Despite all the horrible things that transpired over the years
there still seem to be some memories that can bring a small
chuckle to my soul. And so without much detail or grandoise
Here is the sad story of a motely crew who knew too much
way too soon.
As a junkie mornings can be the worst, unless it drags on to the
afternoon, then thats the worst. Waking up dope sick is indescribable.
now one particular morning in Gloucester seemed to be particularly awful.
We, taht is our little band of junkies were all having a rough time scraping
up the cash to make our mad dash. Mostly we would head out to Lowell
since they had the best dope there and less chance of spending a long time
tryin to score.
The snow had started early and was builing in intesity. By the time
we had our cash was almost a blizzard. We hit the road down 128 to the
interchange and headed north toward Lowell. It was now rush hour in the
afternoon, the worst time to get stuck in traffic with a car full of dope sick Junkies.
Even worse it was snowing hard we had no heat and the wipers
didn’t work. what we had done was tie a string to them and I while driving
would pull the string my way and the passenger would then pull the string
his way. I mean the absurdity of such a sight musy have benn incredible to
those seeing us go by. And not just going by but flying at top speed down
what we called the sick lane. This was really the breakdownlane but at
times was needed when you were really sick. So the memory sticks in my
head and I get a small chuckle at the sight in my mind. The other thing that
sticks in my mind is the faces of those in the car that day who died soon
after, from the effects of their/our/all of our/ addictions. Of the five
people in the car that day I only know of two still alive, the others having
succumbed to heroin and its desire to take and not give.
So if you saw us that day enjoy a short chuckle, I do too. But also
remember “they who went down to sea in ships” ships without rudder or
sail, from a small fishing town called Gloucester Ma…once the Fishing
capital of this land, now the Heroin capital, and that old fisherman statue
that stands sentry at he harbour, has many names missing from it of brave
kind heroic men and women, who you may have thought were dregs. But
for family and friends who knew them and knew the truth of thier troubles
they were just folks like me and in a way like you. God Bless America, and
God Bless Gloucester who lost many too soon.

I hope Earl and Arch don’t mind me posting these here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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