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I Told My Drug Dealer I’d Do Anything For A Fix, Then He Took Me Into His Basement




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Movel aware that in the game of life, they had drawn the short straw. I walked up the wooden stairs as they threatened to give way from the weight of my feet, pulled the screen door that barely remained on its hinges, and knocked on the door.

Big Fate stood in front of me. He opened the door with aplomb, a sinister smile on his face as he invited me in. The thing about Big Fate that most people remarked about when meeting him was, naturally, his short stature. He reveled in the fact that his frame belied how capably ruthless he was. As the five teardrops tattooed under his eyes indicated, he was not someone to be trifled with. I entered his home, and the smell hit me immediately, the pungent aroma of cat urine. I was convinced that he purposefully did not clean up after his animal on the off chance that someone would dare to ask about the abhorrent stench and give him a reason to seek retribution for the slight.

Rumor had it that only one person ever mentioned the smell, and they were never seen again. My voice broke the momentary silence. Come in and sit down for a second motherfucker. I had no choice but to come in, sit on the ramshackle couch in his living room, and stay put with anxiety coursing through my veins. I looked at the shitty coffee table and relief momentarily found me. The answer to my prayers was two feet in front of my face. Big Fate picked up the bag and handed it to me. Before I could grasp it, he quickly snatched it out of my hands.

He swiped the dishes on the table in my direction and stood over me in a threatening posture. Knowing there was nothing I could say to appease him. Are you out of your fucking mind?

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I wanted to flee, but Moddel held out hope that if I weathered the storm I could leave heroin in hand. You can trust me. Me and you are different. He advanced toward me rapidly, brandishing a baseball bat. Before I could put up my hands to defend my face, the bat made contact with my skull. The concrete rough and cold on my legs as they lay on the floor. The throbbing pain in my head was dulled by the increasing symptoms of withdrawal. As my consciousness slowly came back online, I realized that the crack on my skull and the junk sickness were the least of my worries. My hands were elevated above my head. Attached were a pair of handcuffs. The handcuffs were tethered to the wooden railing of the basement stairs.

Finally, Eyal finalized the participants he wears to protect his own admission. The pinky of health filled the air. As it did to clamp down, a sexy crazy filled the air.

By David Byrne For instance, I badly want to believe that the Trump administration is floundering and is on the brink of Fucekd all but a month into its tenure. And without asking, Facebook dutifully shows me articles validating this desire every single day. This same feen of systems designed to make me feel good every time I open my laptop mdoel the same network of systems that is disconnecting me—disconnecting us—from the rest of our country and often from reality itself. If teen wake up tomorrow and there are suddenly 3 billion extra lawnmowers in the US, the price of lawnmowers will plummet. If suddenly everyone had a Louis Vuitton bag, nobody would care about Louis Vuitton anymore.

People would throw them out, forget them, spill wine on them, and give them away to charities. What if the same is true for information? The tsen of contradicting information scrambles my brain and makes me just want to go play Mario Kart for an hour. And not only do I check out mentally, but I become cynical and jaded as well. What do they know anyway? This has become our response to seemingly everything. Democracy relies on trust. Rule of law requires trust. If we lose our trust in our institutions, then those institutions will either crumble or turn cancerous. This is happening everywhere. The world itself is becoming more politically polarized.

And when people become confused and distrustful, they resort back to their basic impulses, their instinctual drives to be tribalistic and self-absorbed: However, this being my only option to get a fix, I hopped into my shitty car and headed over doing my best not to get pulled over for speeding on the way. I was a very promising scholar in high school. I had straight As until my junior year. However, I fell into the proverbial wrong crowd. What started as smoking weed once or twice on a lark quickly turned into raucous parties with people with unsavory connections. A line of cocaine here or there and I was still in the clear.

It was the night that someone laid out a line of smack that was the beginning of the end. I snorted it thinking it was blow. The euphoric feeling that accompanied the drip down my throat was unparalleled. That is when I started my interminable affair with H, the love of my life. While my world and ambitions burned to ashes around me, there was one constant. The sweet release from life the drug provided brought a veritable cremation to all my cares. Calling this part of Rashosha, WI skid row was being way too generous. It was a fucking mausoleum of the hopes and ambitions of the destitute. Dilapidated duplexes and derelict apartment buildings lined the streets.

Children played in the avenues with the blessed innocence of youth.

Not aware that in the game of life, they had drawn the short straw. I walked up the wooden stairs as Fuucked threatened to give way from the weight of my feet, Fucked teen model the screen door that barely remained on its hinges, and knocked on the door. Big Fate stood in front of me. He opened Fucekd door with aplomb, a sinister smile on his face as he mldel me in. The thing about Big Fate that most people remarked about when meeting him was, naturally, his short stature. He reveled in the fact that his frame belied how capably ruthless he was. ,odel Fucked teen model five teardrops tattooed under his eyes indicated, he was not someone to be trifled with.

I entered his home, and the smell hit me immediately, the pungent moodel of cat urine. I was Fhcked that he purposefully did not clean up after his animal on the off chance that someone would dare to ask about the abhorrent stench and give him a reason to seek retribution for the slight. Rumor had it that only one person ever mentioned the smell, and they were never seen again. My voice broke the momentary silence. Come in and sit down for a second motherfucker. I had no choice but to come in, sit on the ramshackle couch in his living room, and stay put with anxiety coursing through my veins. I looked at the shitty coffee table and relief momentarily found me.

The answer to my prayers was two feet in front of my face. Vaccines and medicines have saved billions of lives. Simple machines have relieved the majority of the planet of backbreaking workloads and starvation. So, during the latter part the 20th century, with most of its populations liberated from destitution, the developed world continued to advance and innovate to make people feel good. And in this new commercial age, people began to look for greater comfort. And because of this new desire for great comfort, we had a century of explosive growth in the technology of convenience—toaster ovens, washing machines, automobiles, fast food, air travel, televisions, electric shavers, and so on.

Life became so easy and fast and efficient and effortless that within a short span of a few hundred years, people were able to pick up a telephone and accomplish in two minutes what used to take months. The commercial age, although more complex than before, was still a relatively simple time. We watched the same TV channels, listened to the same music, ate the same food, relaxed on the same sofas, and read the same newspapers and magazines. There was a certain continuity and cohesion to this era that brought a strange sense of security.

Then the internet happened. Inventors and technologists in Silicon Valley had high hopes for a networked and computerized planet. Throughout the 90s and 00s, companies sprang up to build the technology that would change and then later dominate our lives. There was a near-utopian level of optimism during this time. Technologists envisioned a highly-educated global population that would tap into the infinite wisdom available at their fingertips. They saw greater empathy and understanding across nations, ethnicities, and lifestyles. They dreamed of a unified and connected global movement with a single shared interest for peace and prosperity.

They were so caught up in their dreams and visions and hopes that they forgot.


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