Just another day in the Life

   I'm high as fuck on crystal meth; Up for three or four days at this point. I walk into Shoppers on Davie st. in Vancouver. Just from the way I looked (and, likely smelled) the security guard was on my ass from the moment I walked in. That, and I was the only 'customer' in the whole store. It was around 1:40am. That's what some queer with a watch on had let me know when I asked him, "Hey, bro" I found it much better,while asking a gay for Anything, to always use 'bro'. It's just not a word that I've ever encountered a gay man use or call his peers. Dykes on the other hand, were more bros than most of the bros out there. I haven't been a homophobe for at least 20 years now. Idk what it is, but gay guys love me, and not always in a 'gay-way'. And who could hate on em for that? I've had multiple queer buddies over the years BTW.

     I could see the shorter, but wider, and definitely older security guard making a point to follow me around the store,always close behind. More than likely this was a tactic they'll use to deter shoplifters. Like, who's going to take it right in front of a fully- uniformed security guard? One who's watching their every move? You'd be supprised; sometimes. In this situation, however, it was obvious who would do such a thing and I think he could feel the vibe of desperation emninating from my being. I would never grow to be okay with any employees or even customers seeing me steal something. But there were those 'sick-days' when I knew exactly what product I was going for, in which store I would get it at, and Noone was going to stop me. Noone. These were the days where I worried myself as I may be violently unpredictable if anybody tried to physically stop me. Tonight, as with most sick-days, I had very little energy and doubt if I would have a chance of outrunning, wrestleing, or thinking anyone who was the least bit in their right mind. So I had a new plan of attack tonight. I had a plan that was fool-proof and it wouldn't matter if security had seen me take an item: When I whipped out this bad-boy I was sure that Noone would want to come anywhere near me. Next to a bomb-vest I'd say this was one step down from a fucking dynamite-vest. I had one thing on my mind and one thing only. 'Sonicare Electric Toothbrushes', (water-flossers if this store only had the empty boxes on display like all of the drugstores were more likely as you moved past the downtown core and toward the East side. These toothbrushes and water flossers were my #1 go-to for at least a year in the city. All I had to do to ensure a guaranteed $30-$80 was get this box back to the East side. I saw it as a game of football in a way. Win or lose. I'd basically grab my ball and begin my run to Pigeon Park, the endzone These babies were no less than $100 a pop in the store and ranged all the way up to $250! 

   I was in luck as I hit the toothbrush Isle and didn't take my eyes off that green-and-black monster. $250. The most expensive one in stores to date.Security was right behind me but I didn't care as my shaking, malnurished arm reached out to feel the full box. My heart then skipped a beat as I walked off. I wouldn't have to do any more stealing or robbing all day if I could just get to my endzone. As I walked right by the only open cash register the uniformed guard stood in front of me and blocked me from leaving! Not only was the Punjabi man much older and shorter than me, but he must not have known the statistics and that drug addicts (especially those from Vancouver) carry rigs everywhere we go (and diseases) and would often pull one out to get guys like this to leave us alone in these dire situations: I was high on meth. True. However, I had been hitting the jib so hard these past few days that I had not realized that I had gone into full-withdraw from methadone, heroine, and other opiates.I wasn't leaving without that toothbrush. Apparently, not even the pharmacists on Davie St. know the dangers of junkies with needles. As this "6'4-"6'5 white kid that looked younger in the face than me (at 28, my youthful appearance still got me ID'd and had UBC professors and their sophomore students checking me out, a different story altogether) Anyways the, full long-white lab coat he wore moved forward from an isle as I began to run for the door.

After having a few seconds to think logically, the guard must've came to the conclusion that he would sit this one out. Smart choice (obvious one, for most). If it really Had been a dirty AIDS or HepC rig, would it really be worth it for this shit-type job in one of the most expensive cities to live in the country? The lanky pharmisist, on the other hand, apparently didn't feel that way. These 'Joe-Hero' type dudes were getting younger and younger. This one probably felt sure of himself due to his sheer size.and the fact that his parents told him that he 'could do anything' every day of his life; But I doubt they meant to attempt to tackle (or whatever the fuck his plan was here) and stop, hols, or even get in the fucking way of a stinking, out-of-his-mind junkie brandishing an uncapped syringe and yelling "I have AIDS", all because you want the girl at the front cash to see you in action. He only stepped forward when she looked up in his direction. However, this kid was a fucking alien! He was no bigger around than me at the time. (or one of my legs at this point in my life) And I've been out of jail for like four months! Serving no longer than a weekend in NorthFrasier pretrial center at this point, so I only had time to get smaller, stinkier, and un-healthier due mostly to the long list of illicit street-drugs and potent opiate medications that were just as easy to find on the streets here, if you knew what block to walk through, and it wasn't hard to find. Just from doing crazy shit like this(usually not this bad) I'd make 300-500 every day, and even much more then, when I could still get inside a liquor store to 'look around' for a few minutes.

Still, it seemed as though it didn't matter how much money I made, I still ended several days and nights of stealing, walking, running, selling, and useing until I'd eventually pass-out broke with a shot of down to wake up to if I was lucky and didn't come across another dopesick individual who'd always pull on my heart-strings and I'd give my last 10-paper to.think I spent any of that on food? Nope. So as I pick up speed toward the only exit in the fucking place this white basketball-type motherfucker sticks out one super long alien leg and trips me. I should've jabbed him with the thing. But really though, even if it's a clean, how's that look on a guy? Not the kind of look I want. Neither was this, of course, but sometimes I just don't think and that's something I've learned to live with: I'll be doing time until I die. The trick is to not get D.Oed or Life. At this point they'll try to DO me after another stabbing, and I feel one coming on any day now. I've always seen myself as more of a baseball bat - tire iron kinda guy, gives you more reach: 

   Speaking of reach, I see alien-boy stick out his leg from a mile away: even before I went to make my getaway. We even looked each other in the fucking eyes and I don't know if it was the alien mind control or my lack of agility and awareness, but I ran directly as to trip over this motherfuckers waiting foot! As I began falling however, I came to the realization that if I was going for drugs, not jail, I'd have to put some effort into this. I twirled as I fell as to keep the clean rig pointed in their direction and as quick as I fell I was back to my feet. As I rose I found myself sliding upwards at the front counter as I stood, finding myself face-to-face with the young lady working the register. I hate that. Shameful. Really. 'Sorry' I managed to mutter. I was tired and a part of me thought of just falling asleep right there. I could wait for the cops to come arrest me, possibly have a talk with miss register. I could sleep in cells and when I got to jail where id be fed. Food.and at court (no blankets or mattress there though) 

   The thought of the cold court cells all day with no blankets was enough to snap me the fuck out of it. Mr.secrity guard was now manning the door. He must've saw how weak I was. Before I knew it I was plowing him outside with me. He probably would've moved, and he yelled such as I booked er to the alley out back where I chucked my hoodie in their trash dumpster. 

  Dirty, stinking, sweating me. I made my way back across the city back to the downtown East side. Where my toothbrush would be sold and I would have drugs. It was a busy night downtown. The triads were everywhere buying stolen shit. As I crossed the street diagnolly at Pigeon Park and took the box from inside my jacket so the crowd of mostly-Chinese buyers swarmed the kid with something new, in the box,as usual. I was already getting used to it. It was easy. Just don't bring shit out of the fucking garbage or second-hand to sell downtown.