when the cab came i grabbed the watches and some old expired drivers license i had and ran out the door in nothing but a thin sweatshirt and jeans....shoes with no socks. it was about 20 degrees out and there was hard dirty snow everywhere. i jumped in the cab and said in a loud shaken voice "take me to harlem!!". that poor dude turned around and asked me if i had money, so i showed him the watches, garunteed him they were gold and he could hold them till i met my friend with money. after about 5 minutes of junky manipulation, i got him to drive me to harlem...as soon as we pulled onto the palisades parkway my heartbeat settled down, and not suprisingly i wasnt that sick anymore....back in the day when we used to drive down from woodstock to pick up three or four times a week, there is a spot on the parkway that as soon as you come around this bend you see the george washington bridge. that was always the mark where the sighs and sickly ridden cheers would be let out....because we were so close you could see it. a junky needs that most of the time...when i was sick and waiting for someone to bring me my drugs i would need them to let me know where they were at every moment, i would call every 5 minutes and make them tell me exactly where they were...yeah...i was that guy..
so we come around the bend and i see the bridge and i swear a little drop of cum dripped out the head of my penis. my penis hadnt gotten hard in about 2 years let alone see the great white babymaker....i had made a plan to meet my friend at my dealers apartment in harlem at noon, it was now 11:45. everything was working out perfectly except for the fact that i had no money for this cab and no way to get back to rockland and push the car back in the driveway. but i didnt care, the pull was way to strong and there was absolutely nothing i could have done about it. my guy in harlem was the one stop shop...you go to his pad, he goes and gets everything. the dope, the coke, the rigs...then he comes back and ties you off and hits you for the first one cuz we were usually to sick to do it ourselves. that was all i was thinking about, wasnt thinking about the car, the money, my mother, the dissapointment, what was going to happen the next day...nothing.....it was all about just getting to the dopeman to get hit just one....more....time.....
going across the bridge felt like it took 15 years, the meter was ringing up a lovely bill of around $78.00.....i had the watches gripped tight in my sweaty palms, i was going to give one to the cab driver to hold while i got the money, and give one the dopeman to get me high....we pull up to the 170's area and i have him pull up to a ghost apartment a block away from where i really have to go. i give him the watch and my expired license and tell him i just have to run into the building to get the money and ill be right back....he wanted my hoody too, so now im in a ripped t shirt and jeans in the middle of february in harlem...awesome....hey, whatever it takes....
i run into the building and quickly run out the side garbage door, hop the fence and book through to the next block....i scream his name at the open window of the 2nd or 3rd floor and his girlfriend pops her head out.....this one was straight out of a spike lee joint. she waves me to come up. my mouth is watering, my veins are jumping out of my skin, and i know that as soon as i get to the top of those stairs it will all be worth it.....
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