Dave

Writing yesterday's post reminded me of another incident, almost a year ago. I was using heavily, but not as emotionally addicted as I am now. We would drive to the outskirts of town where we'd meet our dealer, a little old Greek man. He sold to cover his own habit and he gave us beautiful smack. He was an old softy, but pretended to be gruff. He was a bit sweet on me. It's funny how well you get to know a dealer, you see them more than anyone else, two or three times a day. This particular day was thick with clouds and grey rain. We met him on the usual street corner, by the Greek pub with a corner of slot machines and good cheap coffee. It was the three of us, me, my boyfriend and Dave. Dave is one of those people who talks about illegal things loudly in public, cheats on his girlfriend (that he loves) and lies about it and borrows money with no intention of paying it back. But somehow, despite it all, he's charming. We drove through surburbia, rushing to find an alley. My boyfriend was driving and Dave was in the back seat. He wanted to cook up as we drove, but he needed water. So, each time the car slowed down, with me yelling at him, Dave would open the door and lean out, trying to suck up water from the murky puddles on the road with his syringe. It still makes me laugh to think about it.