Tyrone tried to be as cool as possible, but the only way to find out where the good dope was at was to get out there where it was, and when youre there theres always heat. Everybody and his brother was willing to take his money and promise him theyd be back with some boss shit; or they could get weight that was dynamite; or they could set up a meet… Everybody had a story. Tyrone smiled and chuckled and told the dudes to go to Jersey to peddle that boolshit. He hung tough and loose for a few hours, staying away from doorways, hallways and alleys, and finally ran into a cat he knew and copped a couple of bundles. He was making his way down the street to get a cab when he was stopped by a couple of narcs. They frisked him, felt the dope in his pocket but didnt take it out. They took out his money and counted it, Twenty bucks. Thats a lot of money to be carryin around this time of night. They chuckled and Tyrone remained silent. He had over a hundred dollars left but said nothing. They shoved him in their car and one of them got in the back with him. Tyrone knew what he was supposed to do and he did it as quickly and smoothly as possible. He eased the dope out of his pocket and pushed it down the side of the seat. When they got to the station house they asked him if he was ready and he nodded. When they got inside Tyrone asked them what the charge was and they smiled and told him, Consorting. Tyrone nodded and waited to start the drag ass process of being booked. The holding tank was filled mostly with dope fiends, and winos. When he got his phone call he called Harry, but he was still out so he told Marion what had happened and where he was and to have Harry bail him out. He also asked her to give Alice a call before he was hustled off the phone. A short time later an old time dope fiend, who looked like he was a hundred and four, was thrown in the tank and made himself at home as if he had been born and raised in jail. He had needle tracks on the side of his neck where he had been shooting heroin into his vein. Thats why he always wore a tie. It was old and ratty and looked like shit but it served its purpose. Beautiful. Just go into a public toilet, cook up your shit, pull the tie tight and hit the sonofabitch. Cant miss it. Big as a fuckin rope. He also wore a jacket with padded shoulders that looked like a Salvation Army reject, but that too was part of his equipment. Every time he got off he shot a little dope into the pad of his left shoulder. You can always dig up a set of works in jail and so he would take some of the padding out, cook it up, and have one last fix before going wherever he was going. And I/ll still have a little somethin waitin for me when I get out. Probly get a six month bit on the Island. He bummed a cigarette from a young guy nearby and nodded to him as he lit it. Shit, I know fuckin Rikers inside an out. Been there so many fuckin times I own stock in it. The others laughed and Tyrone sat down on the floor a few feet away from the old guy and listened, along with most of the others in the cell, to the old guy tell stories about Raymond Street, the old Tombs, Rikers, all the joints upstate and especially Danamora which is really a fuckin Siberia. I been in some fuckin hellholes, but that fuckin place is the asshole of the world. Even worse than that fuckin chain gang in Georgia. Did three months on the mutha £ucka too. For a couple of hours he continued about the times he made it to Fort Worth and K Y, but only made that fuckin Lexington once. Got out and started to make it back to the Apple with this dude and he wanted to stop off in fuckin Cleveland to see some relatives, the fuckin asshole. We cop for some paregoric an we/re cookin it down and cold shakin it and get off a little taste and the next thing you know the fuckin man is breakin down the door of the hotel and we/re back in the fuckin slammer and we get two and a half to five for fuckin traces. Aint that some shit? That asshole started givin them some shit—he didn’t know how to do time—an he did the whole fuckin nickel. I did a deuce and I aint never been near that fuckin Ohio since. Aint never goin to either. The others were laughing and chuckling, Tyrone with them. You know something, that fuckin Ohio they got the fuckin death penalty for dope. But I hooked up with a young guy when I gets back here—jesus he was a good tief. He could steal ya blind and ya wouldnt even seeim, everybody joining in the laughter. The circle of guys drew closer to the old guy and there was a feeling of camaraderie among them as they listened to the man of years, of scraggly dead hair, gray skin and a few broken and brown teeth tell of the golden days o£ the past when you could stay high forever on a three dollar cap. Shit, they used to have some fuckin stuff that was so fuckin good it got ya high while it was still in the fuckin cooker, hahaha, and when ya got off it tightened ya ass hole right up man. Shit, you couldnt even tink a takin a shit. Ya couldnt even remember what it was like. Ya tought the shitter was fa washin ya feet, the others laughing loudly, all the energy of their frustration and fear going into their laughter. Before the war the fuckin Germans was sending stuff over here that was pure stuff—you tink ya know what pure stuff is? — an ya could get a pound of pure for fuckin nothin practically, but thats all we had was nothin, everybody laughing louder. I guess the fuckin Germans figured theyd turn on the whole fuckin country an win the fuckin war like that, eh? But nobody gave much of a shit then. Ya could cop all the fuckin p.g. ya wanted an all kinds a shit had opium in it. Laudum. Great shit. If ya sick. Just gulp down a fuckin bottle a paregoric and dump some goof balls then chew some guinea bread real quick. Best way ta keep it down. In those days it was practically legal ta have pot. It used ta be growin in empty lots—there was lots of empty lots then, not like now. All these fuckin empty lots all over the fuckin city—lots a times no body even knew what it was. Can ya imagine what would happen now if ya had a whole fuckin lot full of fuckin pot? The fuckin animals would break ya fuckin head ta get it, eh? everybody laughing and straining to hear more. They used ta burnem every now an then, but they had to notify the people— somethin about fire laws—I dont know. So they put notices in the paper—I aint shittin, right in the fuckin paper—that such an such a lot is gonna be burned on such an such a date, you know, the time an everything. I remember one, I was just a young punk—hadnt even had my first real habit yet, not a real one—an they was gonna burn this lot in the neighborhood, eh? So the night before the guys pick as much as they can, right, an the next day when theyre gonna bum all these fuckin weeds every head in the neighborhood and from all ova the fuckin city is standin a few yards down wind, breathin hard man… whata fuckin sight man… Theres gotta be hundreds a guys standin in the street lookin like theyre doin some kindda deep breathin exercises and laughing their asses off and the fuckin firemen are lookin at us like we/re fuckin crazy as we just stand there man an get high all over, even our fuckin teet an hair was high. Everybody was roaring with laughter so much that one of the guards cruised by to check out the cell. Tyrone found himself hooked on listening to the old dope fiend who sat like a guru in the corner dispensing his stories of glory and enlightened wisdom. Yeah, Ive known some fuckin winners man. Guys that would—we had this one guy in Danamora that was really sometin. He—they called him Pussy McScene — he would fuck anythin. This here guy would fuck anythin he could get his cock into. He was in that fuckin Siberia so long man he forgot what a woman looked like, but you know the joints, theres always plenty a assholes ta play. So Pussy McScene gets out an he hooks up with some broad by Needle Park an—I tink her fuckin name was Hortense—so they get together—shes about fifty because Pussys gotta be in his sixties by this time, but he can still get it up—so he writes back that hes fuckin a woman. Naturally nobody believes him. Hes fucked so many guys we figure he dont know how ta fuck a woman so theyre takin bets all over the joint if Pussys really fuckin a broad so they gotta get somebody to find out to settle the bets, eh? So a guy gets paroled and he looks up Pussy and he writes back that Pussys really got himself an old broad an he takes a picture of her with Pussy holdin up her dress showin her snatch an—you know what? that old fuckin broad was turnin tricks for Pussy for krists sake. Yeah, about once or twice a month she/d get a fuckin John—outta Bickfords, eh? — an then bring the money to Pussy an tellim, Here ya are baby, everybody was laughing and giggling and slapping each other on the shoulder, Youre too much ol man. Youre one fuckin pisser pops. Yeah, Ive been around. Ive seenem come an go. A lotta big time fuckin junkies, eh? But I’m still here. Theyre all fuckin dead. Potters field or some fuckin place. Its not easy to make it in this racket, eh? Ive seen a lotta good guys get blown away or hot shotted. He bummed another cigarette. I/ll tellya how to make it. I/ll tellya why Im here an all those other fuckin guys aint. Sure, Ive had some ups and downs, but the reason I made it, and am still makin it, is because I never got fucked up with a cunt. Theyre fuckin cancer, the kiss a deat. Hey pops, whatch yoe talkin about? Aint nothin wrong with a little pussy now an thain, hehehehe. Yeah, eh? I/ll tellya somethin—I usually charge for my advise, but I/ll tellya for nothin, eh? Pussy is like quicksand, ya fall in and itll suck ya right down, an the harder ya fight the deeper ya sink until ya drown. Sheeit, whatta way to go. Im with you pops. Fuck them bitches jim. They get you