In the world of vice, it is always called, “The Last Dance”. Or, it is the last bar call for drinks. In the world of drug addiction, more specifically crack cocaine which I know all too well, it is called “The Last Hit”. It is this last hit where so much goes into. Let me explain.
I do not like, and I’m not going to be politically correct, “fat” women. I’m turned off, repulsed even, and it is not the problem of the “lots-of-me-to-love-women” as much as it is just something within me, which makes me who I am. In one crackhouse where I felt safe to be able to procure and use, two overly huge sisters would provide me a room in their apartment. One was large and the other larger! The large one wheels around in a wheelchair. One of her legs shot off during a bad drug deal with a shotgun. The larger one, huffing and puffing to get back and forth from the third level apartment, running errands and whatnot.
It was this “one last time”, it is always the “last” of something, is when you really see how badly you are addicted to whatever it is you’re addicted. She must have known I was getting lonely in that room, smoking drugs, and they weren’t offering any company, someone else who’d stop over for the same reason I was there, who would have been gladly welcomed, but she, the largest of them both, came into the room and said, “If I give you a hit, would you let me touch you?” I refused kindly. I could never get that high to even consider something like that.
Then, the last hit happened, and I’m “geeking”, or more familiarly called, “jonesing” and this means the thirst is so bad, you begin to get really creative about trying to get just one more hit. There is a saying in the drug culture which goes: “One is too many and a thousand is never enough.” It is true. I’m a witness. I went looking for Big Sis, and although I was not able to find her and disappointed, there was a part of me that will forever remain glad, but I did do my due diligence. I learned something about myself that one early morning. It was, never look down on my sisters who ply themselves on the street looking for someone to get money and they will do whatever it takes. That night I became the male version and it is not easy to do what they do, but what we want drives us to do it. And, it becomes necessary and that’s gotta account for something, right?
The same with the Internet/Facebook. I’ve been meaning to go to bed almost three hours now. Can’t do it. Although I don’t do drugs anymore, doesn’t mean I’m not addicted—still! Instead of a crackpipe, it’s a laptop. Instead of rock cocaine, it is a keyboard. Instead of the flickering flame of a BIC lighter, it is the luminescent screen to which I’m seeing these words appearing as I type, and you’ll be reading them in a moment. So, while my addiction to the Internet/Facebook is spiraling out of control of sorts, I’m writing. That’s why you are reading. It is a matter of pouring out one’s soul for the benefit of, well, maybe someone else who is like me. Someone who, like me, is having…
The Last Dance