That’s what I became that day. A dealer.
I had just taken a very big step up
in the hierarchy of the monster.
I Became an Instant Celebrity
out on The Avenue.
The crank was superb.
And I, being new to the deal,
didn’t know enough to cut it.
I sold it like I bought it—rich,
yellow, moist, and stinky.
I offed the half, went
back for more, offed that, too.
My friends were happy.
Roberto was happy—
enough to front me even more.
And I was nonstop wired.
Nonstop tired.
I needed more and more just to get through the day.
More and more just to feel okay.
Who knows how much I’d be doing now?
Who knows how much money I might have made?
Who knows if I would
have smoked up all the profits?
Who knows if I would have
ended up in prison—or worse?
But one morning in early
November, I woke up
and the moment I got
up, I heaved until I hurt.
It might have been the flu