*** PLEASE READ FIRST: This is an ongoing story entitled "The Oxycontin Tales: The Lifestyle Behind the Green Pills". For the story to be best understood, the reader must read from first post to the latest post. I wish Blogger would do this for me? - your beloved author.. ***

The importance of Ace agreeing to buy any type of drug I could supply, is related to my latest purchase from Elvis. I can understand how this sounds complicated. On the contrary, it is quite simple. Less than an hour before visiting good old Elvis, I borrowed a sum of money from Burke and, in return, I would supply him with heroin for not only himself, but all three of us. Elvis, however, was holding oxycontin today, so, obviously, I had to spend the entire sum of money I had on me. Even if the money wasn't mine to spend. All of this said, if Ace didn't supply me with some form of cash, I might have to rob once or even more than once.

Ace usually has large amounts of unnecessary cash, which he spends, more times than not, on drugs or drug parafenalia. Now, although I almost never believe their is unnecessary cash, Ace's situation is different. Ace has a rich family and lives at home; plain and simple, unnecessary cash. Recently, Ace is more turned on to the prescription drug scene, a la yours truly. Although I originally hoped to hook Ace on oxycontin, he fell for a similar, but less addictive, drug.

Valium was Ace's fancy. He would never talk immediately about drugs, so we began this conversation by arguing turned to laughing in regards to Sunday football. I find myself often irriated that Ace would not tell me the nature of the conversation at its fore front. This could be a call for a large score or a useless discussion over his picks of the week. Besides drug abuse, Ace spends endless cash on sports betting. I find myself dreaming of being a bookie rather than a street pharmacist.

After several more minutes of talk, he blatenly asks if I could supply him with five hundred valium pills within three hours. It turns out, Ace has company from Phoenix in need of some stress relief. "Can you hold on?" I ask Ace. He complies reluctantly, as I motion to Elvis a hand with five fingers raised. As always, Elvis has absolutely no idea what this signal means and how it involves him. I place my hand over the cell phone and whisper, "Can you get me five hundred valiums for three hundred?" Elvis mutters under his breathe, but I continue to stare him straight in the eyes. He shakes, hands still cold, hoping that I will forget our past conflict.

"I only do this for you, you know," Elvis mutters and disappears into his back room. This back room is always double locked and Elvis is the only person with access to it. For Elvis, drugs were everything: a Saturday night out, an addiction, a job, a lifestyle, This back room has to have duffle bags filled entirely with pharmaceuticals, for Elvis has been my supplier since we met over two years ago and never once be short on an order. He obviously has a pill counter as well, as he reappears even before I finish negotiations with Ace. After Elvis is completely sure I am finished with my phone call, he hands me a ziplock bag filled to the top with small blue pills having a distinctive v shaped cut in the center.

Blues, bombers, hearts, 'v's, vals are all words used for these pills. I have always had customers, from bosses I hated to friends I adored, in need of a few valium. Five hundred is a higher request from Ace, as he normally only wants one hundred to three hundred. We agreed upon seven hundred dollars and a convient meeting spot for the both of us. I smile and rub the bag of valium against my face. Both Elvis and Bonnie laugh at me, as I take two out and chew them up. Bonnie takes several, as does Elvis and they both follow, as if we were dancing and I was leading the dance. It is only fair that we take a few for risking ourselves to supply these pills to the selected few.

I reach into my leather jacket and find my sunglasses. Even before I put the glasses on, Elvis knows it is time for our departure. He kisses Bonnie on the cheek and tells her how beautiful she looks in her outfit. Afterwards, we shake hands, as I pull him close for a hug. He kisses my cheek and tells me how ugly I look in my leather jacket. For a slight moment, I contemplate commenting on his receding hairline. This, of course, is only for a slight moment and for laughing purposes only. We disappear into the elevator as Elvis waves at us.

We are in the car quickly; I am now driving the car to our meeting spot. As the clock continues to run, we need to get to the heroin supplier before sunfall, as the area is not the greatest. In fact, the darker it becomes, the better the chase of police interaction. Within three minutes, I am sitting outside a local diner, not so patiently waiting for Ace. Four minutes pass so slowly, it seems to be five hours. "Where the f*ck is this kid.." Bonnie grunts. "He'll be here, he is coming.." I act as if I have confidence, but Bonnie sees right through me. "Oh yeah, your nail biting is a sure sign of his soon arrival," Bonnie humors herself. However, as her laughs become silence, a sleek, black pick up truck arrives with two males. The truck stops directly in front of my car. Instantly, my grave face becomes a giddy smile, as business is about to begin.

Elvis is one of our oxycontin friends and an essential part of our posse. If I was to perish in action, I would expect Elvis to step up as the leader. Elvis is the type of kid who knows everyone, everywhere, no matter where you go. Once, we went up to Boston for a three day vacation. We stayed with my close friend Days, who he obviously knew before an introduction. Not only did he know Days, but he knew his older brother, Marcus, and his girlfriend Maria. In fact, he slept with Maria on several different occasions, when she lived in Hoboken. We would go out, hit the bars almost every night, and every night he knew, at the very least, four to six people there. What separates Elvis from us is that he is not an oxycontin child, but an all around drug addict. Smack, crack, crystal, blow, were among his favorites as well as the occasional ketramine. He does, though, put oxycontin on the top of his list, thus, his main priority. Because of his excellent networking skills in the drug under world, Elvis could get anything within a few days. This made him so essential to us.

I am still high off the last rail; I am floating away, wrapped in a baby blue, well worn, extra soft cotton blanket, the type only the best mothers can provide their children with. I could almost smell fresh linen and could feel the fresh, cool breeze from my cracked window. All of my problems do not exist, as I am no longer in reality. This is the ultimate euphoria, what heaven must feel like when you finally cross the gates. As my high begins to slowly diminish, I think to myself that the only regret I have from this experience is not keeping that cotton blanket. It only could exist in my mind now.

We pull up to two enormous towers, Elvis' place of residence. Although I have been there a number of times, I always forget which damn building, on the twenty-second floor, holds our drugs and our beloved friend. As we enter the building, I notice that absolutely nothing in the lounge has been touched. It seems, at least to Bonnie and I, as if it hasn't been touched since the fifties. Bright striped sofas worn through to the point where a spring might nick your behind if you sat in the wrong spot. I believe there is more than one wrong spot on both sofas, which also suffer heavily from stains, especially near the head resting area. An ancient grand piano sits in the center of the room, as if it were Michelangelo's David. In fact, it is the first piano I have ever seen with the paint peeling off it in large amounts. Questioning myself on the functionality of the instrument, I reach over the felt, blood red roping and gently press down. The sound, best described as a squeak, dreadfully rings in our ears. It felt as if the note was being bothered by my touch.

"Can I help you kids?" questions a stout, older aged woman with a distinctive mole on her left cheek. "This is private property, you know. I know each and every tenant in this building since I moved to New York in 1963. I still regret moving here, I think of what could have been if I had stayed in Hollywood.." states the woman who strikes a pose after her comments. Just what I need, I thought to myself; let's waste time listening to the life story of an obviously single, boring woman. As I turned to Bonnie, she wore a large smile, holding back laughter from the "pose" we had just unfortunately encountered.

Bonnie quickly spits out "We are here for Elvis, Elvis Nagy, twenty..." This growingly annoyance violently cut offs my Bonnie. "Twenty second floor, Apartment 3, a very nice gentleman that Elvis is. He is a bit odd though, at such a young age, I can't understand why someone would get groceries delivered unless they are just plain lazy." "Elvis is dying miss, its hard for him to get around," I lash back at her. Her face was worth a thousand words; possibly a million. Bonnie couldn't hold her laughter as we disappear behind the doors of the elevator.

The elevator is a fossil, matching the lounge downstairs. A sign posted claimed that this elevator was OK but only temporarily OK, until late November. Mentally I note to avoid Elvis during the later end of November. Finally, the dragging elevator musters its way to the 22nd floor almost three full minutes later. "At least there is no elevator music," I joke. Bonnie lets out a small laugh and a giant smile which is aimed directly at me.

Apartment 3 is distinctive because it has the head of Johnny Depp over the eye hole. One of his eyes is punched out, most likely with a pen, in order to keep the eye hole functional. I begin to violently punch Johnny Depp, for the few shitty roles he took in nearly an impeccable career at the young age of 40.

Bonnie begins to grow impatience, as she often did. "I want some more drugs" she said in a demanding tone. Giving her a clue less look, I shake my head. "Yeah let me just break it out right here, at the door.." I mutter under my breathe. "He is probably out, people do go out, you should have..." right in the middle of Bonnie's lecture, the door cracks; i poke Elvis through the hole and he attempts to slam the door on my hand. We both laugh and he opens the door, greeting both of us with hugs.

Elvis, cleaning the thumbprint I had just put on his extremely thick, black framed glasses. When I say thick, both thick in glass and in frame. They are the hipster glasses that New York University students love more than Fiona Apple. Elvis is nearly blind at age twenty eight. He is extremely pale and refuses to go outside without sunglasses and a hat when it is a sunny day. His skin is often dried out and his face peels. Although he has several ailments, none bother him more than his receding hairline. IF you are ever in New York City and would like to fight, try to find this man I just described and question him, as to wear his hairline has gone.

I was a victim of this, a few months back, and suffered my fourth broken nose from him. Elvis could never fight me one on one, I am bigger, stronger, more defined to begin; I still, to this day, participate in amateur boxing. But most importantly, I have become a street kid, due to my habit. Everyday, there is a chance of something going wrong; when this happens, I often hit and run, so I hit to hurt. But regarding this broken nose, I commented on Elvis going bald once, not even thinking, just incorporating it into a freestyle.

I will only freestyle under the influence of oxycontin. "I'm Benny-c, I'm the illest MC, can't you see, all my rhymes, hit you all the time, bustin' on your spine.." the freestyle ran on for a bit.. "Elvis is into drugs, always askin' my girl for hugs, but we all know he's not out here, he's in the bathroom, fu*kin' with his hair, because it's comin' out, damn, Elvis, you lookin' stout, better get in that gym.." and the minute the word 'gym' came out of my mouth, I saw Elvis right in front of me. The next thing I knew, I had my face in my hands with blood gushing everywhere.

Elvis apologizes every time he sees me, whether it be a meeting like this, at his house, or out in public. He does this because he knows that he's got his coming and he is worried. It is the absolute worst to have someone planning your demise. Especially if he is your friend and still considers you a friend, although everyone, even your mother, knows he is thirsty for revenge. Last week, I pulled out my stun gun and Elvis kept backing up and I kept approaching him laughing. He thought it was coming then, but I decided against it. He has beads of sweat on his forehead right now, as we discuss politics.

Today would not be the day that I beat this man to a bloody pulp. This is because he has some real good oxycontin and he is giving me great prices in an attempt to delay the known future. "How about, uhh, four eighties for two hundred bucks?" stutters Elvis, as his shaking hand extended out. Inside his hand were four pills indeed. My mind completely shifts gears at this moment. I pull the four pills from his clammy, white hand. "Can you spare more than four?" I questioned with a raised eyebrow. Elvis just shook his head from side to side. As I handed over the two hundred dollars, my cell phone begins ringing. Signaling Bonnie, she reaches for my jacket, thrown on an opposite couch and digs for the phone.

"You missed the call, baby. It was Ace." informs Bonnie. Ace is my right hand man when I can't handle a problem on my own. This kid was a genetic disaster, naturally a monster. Of course, he wasn't happy with being natural and has been juicing for three straight years with maybe two months of down time. All of those steroids began to make him depressed he was saying last week, I think to myself. Normally, I wouldn't call back, only because Ace is troublesome. Hoping he is trying to score some pharmaceuticals, I return the call.

"I hate when you get all worked up over nothing", says Bonnie as she sighs, obviously disappointed at my actions. I instruct her to keep driving and to leave me alone. The silence nearly suffercated both of us, although both our windows were fully rolled down. I could not stand to have Bonnie mad at me, especially today, when we needed to score. But, I was stubborn, labeled by most to be hard headed, and I refused to give in and apologize.

Slowly, I pull my trusty kit out from underneath me, as it was stuck in the back pocket of my jeans, as if it were my second wallet. I begin to crush up half a pill on a CD case left in the door of the passengers side. As I push and play with the pill, I begin to smirk, as I felt Bonnie's eyes burning down upon the back of my head. The more I played with the now powdered remains, the more reckless she drove, swerving around corners in an attempt to spill my prized possession. When she realized she could not succeed, after several noteworthy attempts, I settled down in my seat.

"Would you like to get high me lady?", I questioned in my best attempt at a British accent. She ignores as I let out a slight laugh. The silence begins to set in again, so much that I have to bite down hard on my lip so that I don't start cursing at her. "You know I want to get high. Why would you crush an entire half if you thought I didn't want to? You never snort an entire half in one shot because it scares you, am I right or wrong?" snarled Bonnie. I continue to bite down hard, now fearing my lip would begin to bleed.

Without a word, I quickly break the pile of powder into two thin, long lines with one hand as the other rolls up a dollar bill. I had become quite good at working with both hands over the past two years. As I inhale, I smile as my fears, stresses, anger, and more importantly this fight disappear from my thoughs and become just a memory, locked deep in the back of my brain. Slowly, one of my hands takes control of the steering wheel. Although I say nothing, Bonnie quickly reacts, swiping, as if she were stealing, the case and straw off my balancing leg. She snorts in deep, then again, and licks the case. I hear her let out a long, silenced sigh, as her thoughts faded away, just as mine had done, moments before.

Bonnie continues driving as if we have a permanant destination. I begin to nod off, but just for the moment. A warm, tingle begins at the center of my body and works its way through out. I am completely immersed in the high. My head falls back and then foward, as if I were one of those bobble head dolls. I run my hand over my face and wipe clean a small layer of beeding sweat. Slowly, I run my hands through my hair, down to the back of my neck.

Oxycontin gives me an uncontrollable itch. Although I didn't suffer from this set back everytime used, at this occasion, I wasn't so lucky. I started itching the back of my neck and followed to the center of my back. The itch is crawling now, down my back where I cannot reach it. It feel as if something is under my skin, like a parasite sucking my blood. Trying to relieve myself, I rub my back against the soft leather seat. Without any sucess, I attempt, again, to reach and, again, fail. I finally give in to the itch and begin to nod.

"Where are we going?" shouts Bonnie. At least, it sounded like a shout, being I was just in a nodding state. Because I don't want to be bothered, I think of a far location. "Let's make a stop by Elvis. I think he might have went out last night, possibly made a score. He always has something and besides, it's too light out to rob someone," I decare. Bonnie doesn't respond, but I sense that she is happy, as she always loved trips to see Elvis.

When one begins using any type of opiate based drug, the user looses his appetite greatly. Bonnie could go days without eating; she could go a full week off a bowl of cereal, granted she had enough pills around. Today, however, we need our energy, so I make a quick stop at the deli. After scoping the area, I devise a plan to steal some lunch. First, Bonnie enters the store with two lottery tickets I had bought the previous night. Both tickets were losing tickets, but Bonnie didn't think so and she made it a point to get her point across.

As she argues back and forth with the man at the counter, I fill a book bag with pop tarts, candy bars, ice cream, a bag of potato chips and several cans of tuna. If Bonnie didn't spend so much time getting high, I was sure she could go to Hollywood and instantly become a famous actress. Not only did she anger the cashier, she began to confuse him. He thought she had agreed that the tickets were not valid after some argument. Bonnie orders three more tickets and begins to scratch them at the counter.

The cashier then requests his payment but Bonnie insists that she had already paid. "Didn't I give you my tickets?" she started.. "I don't know why you're giving me a problem here. I come to this fu*king dump all the time and.." He quickly tries to quiet her, as her tone becomes increasingly loud. "Please do not curse, miss", he tries to reason with her again, "Didn't we agree those tickets were not winners?" "No we fu*king did not. Where are the tickets? I pointed it out to you three times.." Bonnie knew that he had thrown the tickets out. As soon as he begins picking through the garbage, she notices I was already in the car, snacking on some dirties. "I don't have time for this shit. Don't expect my business again." says Bonnie.

Slamming the door behind her, she smirkes at me, then blows me a kiss. "How'd I do babe?" wanting my praise. "You are such a great actress. You really are my Bonnie babe, I'd starve without you," I replied. She is absolutely in love with me, as I am in love with her. She blushes at my comments, as if we are on our first or second date. I lean over to kiss her; we exchange several kisses before she gets into my bookbag. "What's with the tuna? All sugar coated shit and tuna??" she laughs. "I have to keep up on my protein intake", I reply in a serious tone. She rolls her eyes at me and I am forced to let out a laugh.

Just as I begin to reverse the car, a white suburban pulls in and nearly smashes into my car. I hear the tires skidding followed by the driver cursing and blowing his horn. Quickly, I throw the car in park. His threats before more violent as he continues to blow the horn. I begin to count the blows in my head.. 6, 7, 8, 9.. "Move that piece of shit, asshole!", I hear him yell. By the fifteenth blow of the horn, I get out of the car. "Please don't baby, not today..", Bonnie warms. "Get in the drivers seat right now", I order her as if I am a general in the army.

"Whats up buddy?", I say, laughing, as I walk to my trunk, which I had popped before I got out. "What the fu*k are you doing as*hole? Move your fucking car right now!" he demands of me. I suddenly loose my smile and glare at him. Obviously, he is a kid, probably in his early twenties. He is light skinned with clear blue eyes which I immediately see fear in. As I walk upto his car, I see him fumbling around; I later learn, he was putting his car into reverse. He is dressed in a full baby blue velour jump suit, and has a hat on, titled to the right. I hate this type of kid; he is the typical white kid who listens to too much Tupac and Eminem.

Although I am still unsure, I believe he saw the bat that I took out of my trunk as soon as I came to his window. "Whats up? Whats the problem?" I question, standing directly out his window. As I attempt to grab him through the window, he begins to reverse. I take a quick swing at his truck, but barely catch the back bumper. You could smell the fear like you could seem the burning rubber from his tires. "Fu*king punks.." I mutter, as I throw my bat in the truck and jump in the passengers side of my car. "Drive baby, just drive", I order Bonnie once again. The only thing that I hate more than that type of kid is this type of encounter. I should have just opened fire on his roof instead of trying to talk things over. So much for an apology, I think to myself.

As I sat on Burke's sofa, the percocets began to kick into effect. I began to feel as if I was a literal part of the sofa. When you are peaking on any type of opiate, your senses become overly sensatized; I ran my hands along the sofa and thought how smooth it felt. The living room has track lighting which catches my eyes. I stare at that blaring light, which nearly burns my eyes, thinking how bright the light is and how something could be so bright. All around me, I felt a warm feeling of satisfaction, I had a smile upon my face which I unsuccessfully attempted to remove more than once. My attention moves back to the sofa and then to Burke. I began to laugh, as Burke's eyes were just open enough for him to see out of, the whites of his eyes mixing with dark red to form a new pink color.

"What are you doing?" I questioned Burke, trying to keep a straight face, yet still not loosing my original smile. "I'm fu*king high Clyde, I am real fuc*king hihg. Those who truly get high, never survive, you know.." Burke responded, with a smile of his own. At first I laughed at his statement, but then began to feel bad for Burke. He was a twenty five year old, first year associate at a big New York City law firm. He wears that same suit to work everyday, I thought to myself, seeing it hang on the back of his bedroom door. He had a real junk problem, not just a habit like myself, and had overdosed a hand full of times. Although he starting using at a mere sixteen years of age, his family had no idea until they found him, this past Easter, passed out in their guest bathroom with a needle still stuck in his arm.

Because of these past events, he was forced into a thirty day rehab, lost his girlfriend of that time, and lost the respect of his family and clean friends. It was his fault, though, for hiding his addiction. When he was released from rehab, he had no one left to call except me. After recieving the call, I ditched my night class, speed down the freeway, deep into central New Jersey, and picked up my hurting buddy. He looked worse than when he was using: bloodshot eyes, thick beard, long, disheveled hair. He even had a bad odor to him as he stepped into my car. "How do you feel?" I remember asking him. After hearing his response, I did what any good friend would do: I made a quick stop in the ghetto and picked up ten bags of dope. We had such a great time that night, I thought to myself.

It was such a great memory that I suggested, "How about we get some dope tonight? I can get some money together..", not quite knowing how I would complete that task just yet. "Sure, go get it," replied Burke. "How about you throw me some cash?", I responded quickly, as I knew Burke was trying to weasel his way to a free high. Reluctantly, he reached deep into his pocket and pulled out some crumpled bills. "All I got is seventy bucks man" Burke said and pushed the pile across the coffee table towards me. I began to straight out the bills and file them into my wallet. "I'll be back", I replied, walking towards the door. I heard in the distance, Burke asking for a specific time, but I just ignored him. These things take time, I thought, catching the glare of the sun on the face of my watch. It was only two in the afternoon and I had plenty of time to get things together.

Although my job bartending paid out amazing cash, there is never enough to support a habit, even if it's a small habit. I was broke because of my car, which needed new brakes and tires. No thoughts of what to do, I thought to myself.. maybe, I could rob somebody. I never stole alone so I drove back to my place to find my partner in crime still asleep. She had been awake earlier though, as a new pill was polished clean and broken into four separate parts. One of the four parts was missing, all that remained was a few crumbs, as she never really crushed pills properly. "Baby, wake up", I shouted in a low tone. I began to shake her softly and then saw her beautiful brown eyes looking deep into mine. Our lips immediately lock us together, as I am now laying on top of her in the bed.

"C'mon and get dressed, we need to get some cash together.. Party time tonight.." I said with vigor. We began discussing what to do; Bonnie always wanted to rob pharmacies. She loved that rush of being in there, the acting that went into it, and obviously the score. "You get a register full of cash and you get high on the way to the spot", she debated. "Yeah, if your real lucky. And we haven't been that lucky..", I was cut off by her again. "Which means we are due to get lucky!", she said laughing. I thought my idea was much quicker, easier, and most importantly, safer. It didn't always pay out, but when it did, it really did. It was possible because of a trip out to Los Angeles we went on last year. China Town in Los Angeles is so much better than that of New York city. They had weapons, New York has watches. I picked up a stun gun for twenty bucks and since have profited nearly a thousand dollars. You just find someone alone, usually outside a public spot, hit him with the stun gun, and run his pockets. It usually worked out but it wasn't flashy enough for Bonnie. She sighed and agreed to help me, as I vetoed her pharmacy idea and vowed to go alone if she hadn't complied.

It is the beginning of October. This is my two year anniversary with the love of my life, oxycontin. It all started one night at a fraternity house at the Catholic University I graduated from with honors. The 'with honors' part, I give thanks to the two joys of my life: oxycontin and my significant other & partner in crime, nicknamed Bonnie. You might guess I am Clyde.. Well, your right.

"Today is going to be a good day", I said, as I rolled out of our single size bed. I remember when we had a queen size bed and we used king size sheets on it; it was a comedy watching me make the bed every morning. But today, I have to settle for this single size bed. Hey, it was free from the University.

After wiping the cold from my eye, I slowly made my way to my seat. The hard rocking chair that I sat in day in and day out for the past six months. I search around my messy desk.. a notebook hits the floor. Ignoring the book, I find the bottle that I was looking for. 'Yummy', I thought as I quickly pulled a green pill from the small, slightly cracked bottle with the prescription name ripped completely off. I had previously written 'Clyde's Drugs' on the remains of the mangled sticker.

The pill seemed to glow in my hand. Such a great mood, such a great day ahead, I thought just until I peered into that bottle. I squeezed it as hard as I could and watched it crack even more, now more than half way down. Just four days ago, we hit a local pharmacy and made a pretty big score. Although I didn't count the green ones, I knew there had to be at least sixty that past Thursday. Upset that we were down to several pills, I gathered up enough strength to count them.. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.. Six left.

It's 10 am and my body is aching. As I open up my kit, I notice a fourth of a pill. Disappointed, I crush that fourth as quickly and as violently as I could, smashing the lighter against the dollar bill. My kit included a lighter, four small cut straws, a razor blade, and a few mints. After all, the kit was held in an old altoids box; this one had a picture of a bodybuilder on it. As I looked at the picture, I was reminded of my only choir of the day, the God damn gym. At times, I used to enjoy the gym. Now, I despise going, although, I have the will power to force myself to use it. If only I had that will power to stop my growing habit.

'Oh well', I said to myself. I quickly concluded that I need this habit, as my life is still stressful and boring. How would law school be without my fix? What would I do at my cigarette breaks at work? Smoking, now that's a disgusting habit. I thought of those truth ads and chuckled to myself. I had almost forgotten my breakfast, still in the dollar bill. Using the razor, I formed a beautiful line on an Elvis Costello CD case. Quickly, I grabbed the straw and deeply inhaled through my nose.

Many describe the high of oxycontin as a state of euphoria similar to that of heroin. Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against heroin. It is cheap and gets you a real nice high, but unfortunately, it is dirty. Half the heroin on the street is cut, then stepped on, and cut again, so you got yourself twenty percent heroin, ten percent rocket fuel, ten percent cocaine, ten percent laxatives.. You get my drift. Oxycontin on the other hand, you know what you're inhaling. I like the idea of that, it makes it not so scary.

The oxycontin has made its way into my bloodstream. As I sniff, I taste more dripping down the back of my throat. This means that more fun is on the way. Full of joy, I rise from my seat and get dressed to tackle my first day off in almost two weeks. Before I leave, I always have to double check for my keys, watch, wallet, and, most importantly, my kit. "Two pills should get me through today", I thought after slipping two into the dented altoids box.

To clean the time release capsule is a very simple process. It is also beneficial because the pill no longer is green and no longer has writing on it. Once, I was driving home from work close to three in the morning. A real hard ass cop pulls me over and demands my paperwork. He flashes light into my eyes and asks me what drugs I am using. Long story short, I get two more cop cars, six more cops, and a through search of my car and myself. They got into my altoids box which, luckily only had the razor blade in it; this being because, when I use a straw, I throw it away, especially when driving home from work. Although I had two yummy pills in the box, the cop thought they were all the same. "ecstasy, son?" he said, with a large smirk on his face. Obviously, I reply in the negative, explaining that altoid boxes usually contain mints. After taking a mint without even asking, he agreed with my logic and let me go. Now you understand why it is beneficial to always clean your pills before you leave the house.

It is a cold, but beautiful day outside today. It is a Sunday and my Miami Dolphins were in town to play those damn New York Giants. I dislike all New York and New Jersey teams, with the exception of the New Jersey Devils. After calling several of my junk buddies, I learn that Burke scored a shitload of percocets last night and was inviting a few people over for football. Luckily, my Infiniti is a fast car, so I could show up first and grab a hand full for myself. As I walk into Burke's apartment, I look to see if anyone beat me there. At first, I mistook his girlfriend for my buddy Andy. Andy has long blonde hair and a thin waist and Burke's girlfriend, well, looks like a man.

Freddy Got Fingered is on the huge plasma TV that hangs on the wall like it is a Michelangelo piece. Burke loves electronics and begged for the TV as a graduation gift. His dad wanted to replace his 1988 Toyota Corolla, but Burke wanted his TV. I would have preferred a Michelangelo piece myself. My eyes catch sight of a bottle, all the way across the apartment, and my attention completely shifts gears. Like a hawk stalks his prey, I moved swiftly and silently towards the bottle. Burke begins laughing at me.. "Help yourself but don't be greedy." I glance at Burke and then at Tom Greene playing a piano with sausages on his fingers, connected my strings, and rib eyes strung to his ears.

"Daddy would you like some sausage.. Daddy would you like some sausage.." repeats Burke, laughing out loud, alone. I began to sing along: "Benny would you like some percs.. Benny would you like some percs.." All three of us laughed as I swallowed two of the long, oval shaped blue pills. Normally, I am not a person who takes one's drugs. In fact, I am usually the person who people take the drugs from. Burke was one of those people, who owed me close to fifty thousand dollars for all the times he "felt sick". After that past "don't be greedy" comment, I decided to transfer half of his bottle into my trusty altoids tin.