Run Don't Walk

My position on drug legalization has been well-stated over the years, however I am not naive enough to ignore the problems besetting those using drugs in extreme or the people surrounding them, mostly innocent family members or neighbors.

Pot is no longer pot. It's turbo-powered skunk.

I don't smoke that mutant shit.

Blow is a concoction of cocaine, heroin, and Viagra.

The Mexican cartels exercise no quality control at all and it's driving addicts crazy along with their insensate dealers and a female friend was totally stressed by the dealers across from her house In Bushwick.

"I'm looking to move because of the ignorant drug dealers and surrounding neighbors who are users and the gossipers and the fact that I need to get out before it gets out of hand as I am apparently the only one with a small child who has a living reason to care."

"The war on drugs has failed you." I was surprised to hear that cocaine was making a comeback.

"Because the government didn't go for the Chairman Mao option." Cheryl hated having to deal with cokeheads 24/7

Chairman Mao had killed most of opium dealers and those addicts who the Communist Party could not rehabilitate. That tactic was not an option in the USA, although PM Thaksin of Thailand had death squads murder most than 3000 suspected druggie in his War on Drugs.

Result?

No change, so I suggested that my friend move ASAP.

Sometimes Tai-Flee is the best course of action.

Asshole

My old corner on East 10th street was always hot.

Reefer, cocaine, and heroin were the action, but the dealers and I had an understanding. No one dealt off my stoep and I didn't call the police.

If someone dealt off my stoep, I still didn't call the police. I fucked with them myself.

The dealers and I had a truce for many years. We were friends. When Franklin went to prison, he gave me his season tickets to the Nets. They sucked, but I got to see NBA basketball played by the other team.

When I left my bike on the street during my trips around the world, they watched it.

Not all of them were cool.

One night I came home and found a young dealer on my steps. Rakee wasn't from the neighborhood.

I told him to push off.

"Fuck you, you don't tell me what to do."

"You're an asshole."

"Asshole. I'll show you what kind of asshole I am."

Rakee showed a 9mm tucked in his waistband.

"Okay, now I know what kind of asshole you are."

I went inside to my apartment, filled a trash bag with water, and climbed to the roof.

"Rakee was dealing from the steps.

"I took aim and dropped the bag. It hit him on the shoulder, but the impact knocked him out. I went back downstairs, took his piece, and dumped it in the sewer. Later I came home and stopped in the bodega. Rakee entered with about 10 other sinse brothers. "This is the motehrfucker who called me a niggah." "Niggah. I never called you a niggah. I called you an asshole." I looked to his back-up. "You ever hear me call anyone a niggah." They shook they heads. They knew me. They didn't really know the accuser. "Asshole." was his name from then on. They were cool, some of those dealers back then.