.
.
22 August 2013
Rain was pouring, pedestrians were scurrying under umbrellas trying to avoid collisions. Joy was sitting hunched on her box below the overhang of the library. She said, “Come back here, I’m dry. Just watching the puddles and people being splashed by the cars. There’s another one. The ones with the umbrellas are dangerous. Everybody’s cranky this morning; they’ve all got scowls on their faces, as if they’d never seen rain before. I’ve hardly made a thing.
I asked, “Have you heard anything about Big Jake? Did you phone his parole officer?”
“Yeah, I phoned, but didn’t get much information. He said it was confidential. I don’t like that guy, Jake doesn’t either.”
“That’s what happens when people are given power. They love to lord it over everybody else. What will this mean for Jake?
“He’s got a parole violation, so that’ll mean an extra three months added to the five left on his sentence.”
What violation was he charged with? Was it missing appointments with his parole officer or drinking?”
“He violated the restraining order that said he couldn’t come anywhere near me. He stayed over one night. Someone knocked at the door. I didn’t know who it was, but I answered it. It was the cops. It wasn’t like it was eleven o’clock at night. I never would have answered then.
“How did they know he was at your place?”
“Someone must have told them, but not that many people know where I live. I’m thinking it may have been Rodent. That’s where Jake stayed when he first got out. He probably said, check with Jake’s old lady.
“Mariah said she saw Andre yesterday. She said he looked like shit, just skin and bones. He’s either contracted something from his new girlfriend, or he’s back on the crack. That stuff will really make you lose weight.
“Mariah asked Andre if everything was settled between him and me. He said, ‘Yeah, it’s all sorted.’ I said, ‘Bullshit, nothing’s sorted. It’s just like the last time I told you’. Then she said, ‘So, it’s okay if I pound the shit out of him, next time I see him?’ I said, ‘Yeah, fill your boots.’
“The crack you get on the street now is combined with all kinds of shit that you can get under the kitchen sink. Some mix it with ammonia, hydrochloric acid and acetone. I see people with sores on their mouths, it eats their skin, some have even lost their lips.
“When I was cooking people knew what they were getting, just straight shit.”
“You cooked your own crack? How do you do that?”
“It’s just four to one coke to baking soda in a teaspoon, add a tiny bit of water to make it muddy and run a lighter until it until turns into rock. I messed up the first time, but the guy I was with had an eight ball. He said, ‘Try again, you gotta learn some time.’ So I did, and it worked. That’s all there is to it.”
“Hardly anybody uses straight cocaine anymore, unless they’re shooting it into their arms.”
Streetsister 