My life as a drug mule.

I get her on the phone in the middle of the afternoon and something bad has happened. A seizure, or a psychotic episode, from the description she gives. I can barely make out the words and I don't see the point in making her re-live it so I can figure it out a little better. Then there are boyfriend troubles, as in he's been broken up with and won't go away. Bottom line is she needs cannabis, and fast.

About an hour later, the boyfriend's car pulls up in front of my house and picks me up. I give them a small bag of dro, and some resin scrapings, because it's all I've got. She's cleaned me out completely this week. Now they're going to drive me to Greenpoint, which is the price I put on the bag. I'm supposed to go down there and help someone move a couch up a flight of stairs.

There is the usual pretense at civility. I find one of her Valiums lying loose and hand it to her. She is deathly pale and barely able to light a cigarette. I talk, because no one else seems to want to. We drive around, and when she sends him into 7-11 for more smokes, tells me, "this is impossibly weird". Later she says it feels like she's been swallowed up by hell and spit back out.

In Greenpoint the couch has already been moved without me. I score a nickel bag there; it's the best I can do on such short notice. I hear myself promising I'll score her a quarter-ounce from somewhere else tomorrow.

They bring me back here and drive off together. He's losing her, but he still has her. I will have her forever but I can't touch her.