I was living on the west side of Chicago in a run down 6th floor walkup. I was making a few bucks now and then as an under the radar roofer's helper (under the radar here means paid in cash, no insurance, no healthcare, doing really dangerous work).
I had also hooked up with some pretty high rolling drug people so i was having an ok time, at least based on my standards at that time. That's a completely insane story for another time. Fucking mayhem.
Anyway, suddenly Paul burst into the room all wild eyed and threw a baggie with an ounce of coke on the table. He and i had hitch hiked from Portland OR 6 months earlier (a number of completely insane stories there) and he had been my connection for work and drugs in Chicago. He and i had bought a battered old Buick with holes in the floor and ripped out the back seat so we could haul around roofing supplies. I loved that guy like a brother. But he had disappeared 2 months prior and no word from him until now.
He told me he had seen a cousin of his that had just gone through a divorce. She had gotten some money and a house in the settlement. He had started her on cocaine, they got in a sexual relationship, and in two months everything she had went straight into their veins.
Then prior to showing up at my place Paul had been at a coke dealers house and the guy had had an ounce of coke sitting on the coffee table. On impulse Paul had punched the guy in the face, grabbed the goodies and ran out the door. No car, no cash, no weapon, no plan, no nothing. Just an ounce of really good coke.
Then he had high tailed it straight to my place. He and i immediately started in on the ounce. All mainlined.
We decided to head for DC where i knew people. On the way to the bus station i stopped and bought a very large folding knife and kept in in my pocket until we got to DC. Shit, another story if i get around to it.
It was a night bus and all night Paul and i kept getting up, going back to to the bathroom and shooting more coke, bigger and bigger doses every time. We had planned to sell some of it to give us a leg up in DC but within a few days of our arrival it was all gone. We ended up sleeping on a good friend's floor (a massage parlor prostitute and her biker boyfriend. she would give you the shirt off her back with one hand and rob you blind with the other. we had nothing to steal so we were safe).
Within a week Paul took off for new Orleans. I had some pretty terrible associations in my mind with NOLA, some nasty shit had gone down, and so opted out.
This was the end of my life on the road. Soon, after a few less major shenanigans, and with lots of help from loved ones who hadn't abandoned hope in me long after i had, i checked into rehab.
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