If people didn't know me better, they'd assume I was prone to sickness and disorders. I go to a pain management clinic for the herniated disc in my lower back. I'm overweight, and go to an obesity clinic. My name is Howard Washington, and I'm only 19.
I have several prescriptions I take. Percocet for my lower back, adderall for my attention deficit disorder, ephedrine for my weight-loss treatment, hydrocodeine for my cluster headaches.
It's really sad, you know? If people didn't know me any better, they'd think I was a complete shit magnet. The ones that do know me know I'm the best pusher in the city. All day long I pretend I have disorders and diseases to get the pills that my customers need.
A professional liar.
A professional fuck-up.
It'd freak people out if they knew that all you need to do to get hard drugs the legal way is to ask. A lot of these clinics are labeled "pain management", but all of the people that get their pills there aren't physically ailing. They should call the clinics "misery management".
Everybody in there is getting narcotics for their headaches and tooth aches while the chiropractic doctor writing the prescriptions takes aspirin for his arthritis and drinks prune juice for constipation. The doctor would never take any of the volatile shit he deals out. He's a man who sells nice dreams and easy alternatives, not a moron.
After playing cripple and getting my herniated disc meds, I hot-foot it across town on my 10-speed Mongoose. Jamie and his little brother would be getting home from school soon and they wanted their percs. I pay 50 cents for each, and Jamie pays 2 dollars per pill. He usually gets them 10 at a time and runs through them in a week, mostly taking them over the weekend.
People say I'm a bit high-strung for a pill dealer. I learned lesson 1 from 80s drug movies. Never get high on your own supply. I take that to the extreme and never get high at all. Seeing all these burn outs every day scares me straight.
Drug dealing is my anti-drug.
How's that for a slogan?
I have three adderall left, which the girls at school like. They crush and snort them as a study drug. It hardly works. I've known guys who did that and their results were about 50-50. Girls love the ephedrine too, but I'm always out. They're always droning on about how fat their asses are. I smile, nod and dish out the pills as fast as I can get them. It's hard getting fat-pills when you're 6'0", 140 lbs.
Mom says I'm skinny. I do sit-ups and she tells me to knock it off. She says a person shouldn't be able to poke their fingers behind their ribs when they suck their stomach in. She's a round white lady. When she dresses in her gaudy church finery she looks like one of those striped beach balls. She still goes to the black church that dad used to make her go to.
I'm a mulatto. Mom says my dad was a real dark black guy, but I came out a nice mocha color. I don't have nappy nigger hair. I'm definitely not a pretty boy, but at least I don't have one of those huge squash noses. I'm a racist, but I'm not prejudiced. I'll fuck with you no matter what race you are.
Jamie's mom was already getting home when I rode onto their front lawn and abandoned my bike next to a sprinkler head. His mom was unloading groceries. I liked it better when they were home alone.
"Hey Howie, Jamie and Lenny are up there. Hold up, grab some groceries before you go in. No free admission around here", said Mrs. Manning, Jamie and Lenny's mom.
"See you, Mrs. Manning", I said and ran into the front door.
I threw the groceries onto the counter and headed for the stairs. The Manning boys would be playing video games upstairs. They were avid gamers. Personally, I can't sit still for that long. I might actually have ADD, nobody's sure.
When I slammed open the door they both spun around so fast it was a wonder they didn't break their necks. Then their looks of panic melted. The game paused and Jamie hopped up off of the floor.
"Your mom's home, so lets do this fast", I said after closing the door behind me.
"Yeah. So hows it been going?", he asked as he fished for his money in his top drawer.
"Oh, it's been going all right. Little of this and that", I replied.
"Right. Here's a 20", said Jamie, handing me a wrinkled bill. He always just crammed his money in his pockets.
"Okay, and here's...", I counted them out out loud, "ten percs."
They thanked me, and I left. Mrs. Manning offered me dinner and I said I was in a rush to get home. Mom was waiting for me. That I just needed to return Jamie's Eminem CD. I jumped on my bike and rode home twenty bucks richer.
Did I care that he sold some to his 10 year old brother? Not particularly. Whatever they do with their lunch money is their business. |
Submission Name: If people didn't know me better
