After the Viet-Nam War wounded veterans deadened their pain by shooting heroin. It was cheap and available. A knife, a fork, a needle, and a cork was the way Rastas spelled New York, the smack capitol of the USA and the other night my friends were telling me about this opium they smoked in New Jersey.
“Opium?” I haven’t seen opium in Thailand for at least fifteen years. “That ain’t no opium. That’s black tar heroin from Mexico.”
“No, it isn’t.” They were proud of their source and I asked them to show me the shit.
I dipped my finger into the goo.
“Heroin.” I knew the difference and I was feeling woozy. “Strong too, but better than that OxyContin shit those crackers are downing to deal with the pain of being nothing or the troops coming home and finding out the VA wants them to pray to God to stop the pain.”
“I done Oxys once. It’s fucked up.” The Jersey boy didn’t believe in Pharms. “Two of my friends ODed on that shit and the rest of them are robbing to get that shit. They shot it or snort it.”
“And you think that your opium doesn’t have it in it?” I don’t trust any drugs. Only beer and wine.
“I don’t know, you wanna give it a try?”
“No, I’m good.” I wish I could have said yes, but I’ve seen the damaged done back in the 70s and we ain’t seen nothing yet.