Hot, Wet, and Miserable

     Walking down passed the brick row houses of South Philly, my stomach was doing backflips. Getting cold chills up and down my spine. I have to quicken my pace to the North Bound Subway. My baggy white UFO pants swooshing as I tossed my skateboard on the ground  and kick-push over the bumps in the sidewalk which slowed my stride. A break from skating was needed so I didn’t shit my pants.  I was close to the subway entrance , but not close enough.

                I was on a mission to meet my heroin dealer, Will. It was not a very far of a trip, but the fact I was dope sick and withdrawing made it seem like a voyage to the top of Mt. Everest. Hot and then cold, awful junkie sweat was dripping down my back collecting at my lower back. The sweat would then turn to ice and I’d shiver trying not to shit myself.

               Less then a block away from the subway and it happens. I feel the warmth of the brown liquid exit my ass and dribble down my leg. I slow my walk and stop briefly looking around for anyone who might be around. Being the middle of the day I feel  lucky no one is around. Awkwardly I twist my head around to glance at the back of my pants and look for a stain. To my amazement it looks to be still heavenly white , but the inside leg of my pants has a brown streak that stretches down pass my knee. Clean up is the first thing on my mind followed by not wanting to be late for my meeting with Will. Nothing worse then not having any dope and having liquid shit all over yourself.

            I savage for anything on the ground to help me. Luckily Philly is a dirt city covered in litter. Some dirt old newspaper make a perfect mop to clean up my shame. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk I clean myself as best I could. I have had prouder moments in life to say the least. I reach the Subway entrance with just enough time to  stop into the bathroom there. It smelled of old beer, stale piss and death. Of course the toilet paper was nowhere to be found and some citizen had taken it upon himself to rip the paper towel dispenser off the wall. I threw my stained underwear in the trash like a rape victim.

        Will was waiting in the CVS parking lot for me like our plan had dictated . I don’t know what smelled worse the North Philadelphia Subway bathroom or me. Dope fiend sweat, shit, desperation and cigarette smoke congers up an odd aroma. Feeling somewhat confident I fixed the literally shitty situation I jumped in Will’s car. I great him and fish the money out of my pocket. “ What da fuck happen ta you”?, he asked. “ Ya shit yourself?” I chuckle and try to act cool and mumble some bullshit about skating into a mud puddle and getting splashed. I get my shit and exit the car trying not revile my horrid pants stains.
      
        I feel focused now, like a man who is one hundred percent confident in finishing his goal. I march the half block down the busy Broad St. to the corner McDonalds. Filling the small paper cups meant for ketchup with water and bringing it to the bathroom with not a care in the world. After cooking and shooting two of my thirteen bags I stroll up to the counter feeling like a new man. No sweat, no back pain, no stomach doing back flips. I order a couple cheeseburgers and listen to my Disc-man. As I’m sitting and eating my lunch I notice a young black guy and girl looking at me talking to each other. The now know I see them and have made eye contact. The guy straights himself lifting his head he barks, “ eh yo man you done shit yo pants”. Flicking my headphones off I answer, “ must be this greasy food”. With the horse running through me I walk out the door and towards the Subway feeling like a million bucks, just with a lil shit on that million bucks.

It's Hot Indeed Sir

                     It was a boiling hot summer day in Philadelphia.  I was sixteen, and so was my friend Dave. Dave was driving his 76' Buick Skylark. We were two young men full of life on a innocent quest. A quest to find drugs. Nothing too crazy, just some weed. At this time neither of us knew many dealers. So if no one was around to buy from we did the next best thing, coup in the street. Which looking back was a very unwise decision. Two white kids from the suburbs are fresh meat. Since it was the middle of the day and we wanted to smoke we opted to take a risk because we had done it many times before.

                

                     The first area we cruised was Pike st. which usually had a couple guys selling shitty dirt weed dime bags. No dealers appeared to be selling there wears. For about fifteen minutes or so we drove around with the windows down waiting for the call of "weed", weed",  I got dat shit. No luck.

                  Just when we about to abort our mission and return home in defeat to our friends, A glimmer of hope shined down to a dirt abandoned. "What yall need, man", A young black kid, a few years older then us asked.  Dave parked along the curb. We quickly debated to safety aspect of the situation. It was decided that Dave would do business with this young entrepreneur.

               

                      They walked through the lot towards a back alley at the back of a building. Dave asked for four dimes, the young man said, " I got dat wet". Dave had no clue what he was talking about. Dave insisted that he needed some weed. They talked back and forth. " Man come on it's hot out", the guy finally told Dave. Dave told em he understood the weather was hot and that he was indeed hot too.  You see my friend David here was not up to date with street slang. Years of Gangster rap had given me the knowledge to understand the young man was in fact not commenting on the weather, rather he was informing Dave to the fact that there were cops all over.

                       When he returned to the car I inquired on how it went. He opened his palm and showed me four small jars. Inside was a deep black tobacco looking subsistence. Dave explained he felt rushed and was told this is weed and it's hot so hurry the fuck up. This shit is wet. What the fuck is wet Dave asked. Dust, PCP, wet, all the same shit. I could tell he was disappointed. I interjected that this shit was weed just soaked in something that would make us feel like we were walking on marshmallows and feel like we were superman. 

                      And so concluded the first part of our Wet Adventure.