I'm Cheating On My Dealer

That's what I feel like. We've been hooking up with "G Money" pretty regular now, but this is because Frank only wants to meet in the morning, when he actually has some shit to sell. He hasn't had stuff for 5 days now. That's fucking retarded. What dealer doesn't get stuff for his customers for a week? Your clientele gets strung out and impatient. It takes all my power not to constantly text and call him.

The good thing about G Money is he's always available to meet when I contact him...as long as it's before 11 or midnight. The bad thing is that he's selling really cut shit, and not very much of it. Frank's junk is so much better and cost effective. This sucks balls...I've blown all of my IRS return already because Frank has shit and I've had to meet with G every goddamn day just to keep from being sick. My girl has been sick for two days now, even with the junk we've got. I think our bodies were used to the good stuff for too long.

G Money is young...he MIGHT be 21 or 22, who knows. He's paranoid as shit during the day, and at night sometimes you have to wait 20 minutes to an hour for him to show up at the meeting place. Are there any dealers out there that show up early or on time? I'm guessing not since junkies need their fix and will fucking wait. It's not like dealers need sales tactics or any fucking thing. They just need to show up whenever they want and charge whatever they want and give you whatever they want.

Here, take this piece of cut with a tidbit of heroin in it. Maybe next time it'll be more balanced out. You can either get ripped off or have nothing and get sick. Your choice, asshole.

And of course, we take the really cut shit and get pissed about it.

Today he tried to pull some shit. He told my girl that a gram was 80 bucks. I go there with 80 and he wants 90...not to mention what he gives us as a "gram" is not a fucking gram. It's light and cut. Goddamn I hate it. Come on, Frank...go meet your guy and call me.

That's the problem with a dealer that has a day job and a life. There's no rush for him to actually get more junk. It's not right...but it's how it is.

Reading Nikki Sixx's "Heroin Diaries" about him in 1987, the height of his addiction. It's pretty scary...and doesn't make me want to quit any more than the nicks and cuts covering my arms and hands.