I can’t pay my pot dealer. Thank the heavens I don’t do YAY. It kind of sucks because I work all the time and sometimes make six bills (Its NYC) a night (legally) but because asses like Mr. Peacemaker (yes, real person whom I had the amazing experience of serving last night) don’t tip I cannot reciprocate the world.
Yes, drugs are bad. I took DARE like every other fifth grader. But I do know that if I have to serve blacks, reds, yellows, whites, whomever I’m going to need a little something to get me through it. At least for the come down after it’s over and they haven’t given me anywhere near what I believe I’m deserved.
I’m forced to drink beers in the Bodega across the street from work, out of brown bags on the steps sometimes because my counterparts and me just cannot bear to go into a bar, spend the money and then NOT tip. The fact that people have the audacity to do that amazes me. I think those people need to be hospitalized or something. COOK YOUR OWN GODDAMN FOOD THEN.
So my dealer just left. I’ve started a tab. Well several tabs. Some get paid some do not. It’s the advantage of living in a city full of dealers. Their like bars, don’t like that corner you’ll have a better on the next block. I gave him fifty five for a fifty. He understands and has now minimized my debt by some. I hoping some will just forget and keep giving me dime bags at two in the morning when I’ve come home broker than I left (you know the subway costs a pretty penny now) and they think their just helping me out…
I need as much help as humanly possible.