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Counter-culture Journals (文革)
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Tales from the crack-house—part 2
By Red Rob Blogger
As we walked down the
street, we passed in front of a tall-brown slim apartment building.
“Say, we need some
money,” Chelsea said. “I’m going upstairs to visit Craig. He is good for a
date. It will only take me a few minutes and I will be back with some cash.“
She darted up the steps.
A few minutes later she came down.
“I got some Cash,” she
I don’t know exactly how
much she got, but I know it was more than $20 but less than $40. Whoever Craig
was, he was fast in bed and from the woman’s viewpoint that is not good. Next
it was on to Johnny’s house. When we got to their apartment, we walked up a
flight of steps to a large brown porch with a railing and rows of doors. We got
to Johnny’s, the white- wooden door with a small windows on it—knocked and then
we were let in. Johnny was an older man in his late 40s. He had long-gray hair
and a white beard. He was wearing an old worn blue collared shirt and old
slacks. The house was a little dirty, but we all sat on the green rug around
the glass pipes that sat on the brown coffee table in the middle of the room.
Johnny had another friend over, Randy. He was shorter, brown hair and about 10
years younger. When we first came in the room, Johnny was looking for small
pieces of crack that may have fallen on the floor. He kept finding little
pieces of filth on the green carpet that looked like they might be crack.
Johnny kept lighting the tiny pieces, with his lighter to see if they would
melt. If they did, which rarely happened, he stuck the melted junk on the pipe
just long enough to get that tiny little hit.
Mostly looking for scraps
was just a sign of desperation. These guys had a look of desperation that I was
beginning to recognize in pretty much all of the crack addicts I met. They all
had that beady sweaty look to them. They were always searching for spare pieces
of crack that fell on the floor.
“I got some rocks,”
Chelsea said. “She got some of her rocks out and put them on the coffee table
near the pipes. Next we were all sitting around their table and firing up one
of the pipes. Each took a turn on the pipe. For a few minutes the whole group
was content as the pipe and its white smoke filled all of our lungs. This
reminded me a lot of my early dope smoking experiences. We would all get out
our special pot pipes out and we passed around a bowl of whatever weed we all
had at the time. Crack was a little different from weed. But weed smokers never
had that look of desperation that the crack smokers have.
After about an hour I
started to get nervous about Green Eyes and my car.
“We need to go back to
that house,” I said.
“Don’t worry she’ll wait
for you,” Chelsea said.
“Just the same—I’d like
to go by the house and see if my car is back.” I answered.
We went by the crack
house and my car wasn’t there yet. So next we went to Chelsea’s house. I had
never been to her house before. It was a small rundown little working class
house with blue-wooden walls on the outside and off-white walls inside. There
were a lot of boxes of clothes and belongings as if Chelsea had never really
fully moved in. She changed her shirt in front of me. I could see her really
big boobs. The shirt she put on looked like some guys white work shirt. It was
not particularly colorful, sexy or interesting. Next a young tall-thin man
walked in—a white guy with blond hair.
“This is my room-mate,
Tom,” Chelsea said. “We both live here, but we’re not a couple.”
“Hi,” Tom said.
Chelsea went to the
kitchen and got all of us beers. She came back to the living room and we all
sat around on her green chairs and talked. Chelsea began to explain to us that
as a prostitute she shaves her hair off her groin because most men like it
shaved. She even let both of us put our hands in her pants and feel it. She was
not shy about her sexuality.
“Tom and I had sex one
time after he moved in,” Chelsea said.
“That’s what you say,”
Tom replied. “I don’t remember it. I was real drunk that night.”
“Well, we did,” Chelsea
After a while Chelsea and
I decided to go back to the crack house and see if my car was back. We headed
out the door and just as we got to the house, my car pulled up. I had been
getting anxious about leaving it with someone I didn’t really know. After the
car pulled up Green Eyes got out.
I still need to go to the
liquor store for some tequila,” Green Eyes said. “You want to just ride along
“Sure,” I answered.
I got in the car and we
“I like being a drug
dealer,” Green Eyes said. “I make pretty good money. You see all this jewelry
I’m wearing. I got it all from selling crack.”
She was wearing a lot of
jade jewelry and gold. She had on some rings, necklaces and earrings. She was a
very pretty girl as well as petite. I didn’t ask her how she felt about all of
the dangers involved in dealing, such as getting shot by competing dealers. She
said nothing of the downsides of dealing. I would guess she doesn’t make
$hundreds of thousands or even $thousands dealing. I kind of felt sorry for her
and I doubted that the excitement in her life was really worth all the risks
she was taking.
When we finally got back
she gave me some rocks wrapped up in some wax paper. I put them in my pocket
and decided to use them later. Then I parked the car and met up with Chelsea.
We went to the crack house. Dave had just bought a rusty gun that was missing some
pieces. It was a 357 magnum pistol with a long barrel. A white neighbor, a man
about his late 30s, commented on the gun.
“You don’t need that gun
to prove your anything,” he said. “Guns won’t make you a man.”
I was thinking to myself
he may just want it for self defense. He was involved in a very dangerous
business where he could get robbed any day and not having a gun wouldn’t help
him any if some wise punk came in to steal his costumers and tried to run him
off with a gun. Dave just looked over the gun and ignored him.
A little while later
Chelsea asked me to get them all some beer. I only had about $11 left. I told
her I couldn’t afford it.
“I can’t believe you
won’t buy some beer,” she yelled.
“I’m running out of
money, I can’t afford to spend anymore.”
After a few minutes I
went back to my car and headed to my home in my house in my middle-class
neighborhood, far away from these ghetto homes. I would drive up the driveway
to my home. My day at the crack house would be over. What a strange day it was
for me. Of course I never got any kind of sex, but I sat around smoking crack
all day and I spent very little money on it. It was also an interesting day to
see how other people in my town live.