Mr. Chemistry

Drug dealer. Such a profound term. One who deals insaid."You want to take it in my apartment?" I asked,
drugs. Not only the selling, but often the trading, using,"Sure, like I don't get enough attention by the cops.
and producing. It's not just some homeless guy on theNow I'll have a corpse on my floor.""I have $600," she
side of the road trying to sell crack for some drug lord,said."It might be possible," I said, as I scratched my
just so he can have a place to sleep. Nowadays, it'schin.We walked back to my room. "Put the money on
some 17 year old punk, carrying a book of acid and athe table," I said, "I have to make a phone call." She did
pound of weed, all wrapped up in tin foil and plastic,as I asked."Hey, Johnny," I said on the phone, "What's
and at home, his bathtub is full of sugar, water, 50up, man? Hey, you think you can help me move a
mashed organges, and 10 packets of yeast. Ask himbody? Yeah, I know the normal fee. Sure, sure, come
about it and he'll say, "Technically, it's still alive when Ilater tonight. Peace, brother.""Can I ask why you're
drink it, but I just pour more water in there when itdoing this?" I said, as I picked up the money."Several
starts to run low, and it's like a Jesus: turning water toparts of my life are a mess," she said, "Bad parents,
wine, just on a slower and less tasteful method." He'llbad boyfriend," she grinned at me with some wit."Hey,"
have a repetoir of legal and illegal highs, ways toI said, "Don't get cute on me. After all, I do have to kill
dodge prosecution or arrest when police inquire.you." She nodded with a smile and I started counting
"What? You found a meth pipe? Oh, my god... Are youthe cash. "So, really, why are you doing this?""The
serious? That's what he was doing. Oh, man. My friendreasons are my own and my own to --""Hey, there's
was with my bag. That fuckhead must have put itonly $450 here," I saidd, looking up, "Where's the other
there." Five hours detainment while your body is$150?""That's all I have," she said, "It's everything."I had
dehydrating from the speed, and then you're a freeto make a decision. Help her die or let her go with her
man. Everyday was walking on a tightrope of the law.cash. As a drug dealer, it decently pisses me off that
In a pill or a bag, I am holding a piece of heaven thatsomeone says they have cash for something but end
lasts 8 hours. One day, I make $170, the second day, Iup not having it, or having half. Sometimes they offer
hop two fences after making a $20. We're living onthe argument that they'll get me back, but that's bullshit.
the fringes of poverty in the ghetto, struggling to makeThey're addicted to a substance they can get from
a living. I guess I provide a rather important industry. Ianyone. The next five dollars to hit their palm will go to
help people forget they are here.It is not uncommon.another dealer, not to pay debts. Unlike these people,
One day, I am facing someone who gives me their lastthis girl couldn't do that. She was not going to be
$25. Maybe they intended for it, but their next fouraround next week."Well, fine," I said, "I suppose we can
hours were their last. And as much as I felt that I wasstill do this... Sit on the bed." I sat down at my desk and
a slave to this system, I felt free, too. Free ofpulled a coffee filter out of the trash can, and opened it
starvation, free of bruttish conditions. Yes, I have beenon my desk. It was ful lof a wet, green powder."What's
shot at by cops and other dealers. One time, four kidsthat?" she asked, trying to look over my shoulder."It's a
tried to jump me for my shit. I had to stab one to gettoxin byproduct that comes from making high grade
them to realize that I wasn't a push over. Asmethamphetamine," I said, as I started to fill the gelcaps
dangerous as it was, I had a life. I had a living. I couldwith it, "It's not painful, unlike most toxins, but it is by far
survive in this horrible place, wracked with misery asmore lethal." I started to fill some with basil, which helps
much as it was. And, honestly, I called it a home. Therestomach digestion."Are these band lyrics?" she asked,
is something prophetically human about this profession.referring to the paper on the wall.I turned around,
A friend of mine was on a bad acid trip. He kept"Those? No... They're nineteenth century poems." I
shaking. I let him stay in my room. He kept talking aboutwent back to filling pills."They're beautiful," she said, "I
police, not making much sense. I gave him a blanketenjoyed this one about love at first sight.""Yeah, it
and put on soothing music. Next morning, I found outmocked the concept of it and then talked about loving
thath someone tried to burn down a department store,someone after knowing them," I replied."Yeah," she
what cops called, "seemingly from a drug user." Isaid, "I get it. I was curious as to what kind of band
remember holding his shaking hand, kneeling down towould sing a song like that.""That's the thing," I said,
him. "It's gonna be okay," I said, "Don't worry about it,"None would. Or at least, almost none.""And what's
you're safe here." He sort of calmed down and I letthis?" she asked."That?" I said turning around, "It's a
him stay. I suppose I also harbored a criminal, but thatpainting of a face, using only red and black paint. I paid
never bothered me. I have my own definition of legaltwo hits of acid for it. I would have paid more, because
and illegal.The kids or old wash up junkies I sell to, theyit's just so beautiful.""Mmmmm," she replied, "It is nice."
are hardly stereotypical. I have seen couples come toWith her affection toward the painting, she had thrown
me, and say that they want ecstacy, something toa smile in my direction. I could see that she was
increase their love for each other and experience itrational and logical in her decision of suicide. She wasn't
through new channels. They were young and poor, butin tears. She wasn't broken in pieces. She was very
they still had more than many others. I've had junkiesmuch together, or very effective in subtly convincing
come up to me for a fix of meth so they could be upme of this.I walked over to the bed and handed her
for a fourth day. Burnt out, shaking, destroyed body,four pills. "I'll get you a glass of water, I said, "Mostly, I tell
otherwise dysfunctional brain, and worst of all, comingmy customers not to take it all at ancoe, but that is
down and in tears, "Please, please, just give me somepricesly what I am telling you now." She swallowed the
tweak..." Begging with their last dolars. I sold to him ofpills, two at a time, with the aid of water."What's your
course. He had cash. And, as much as I would love toname?" I asked her."Julia," she said, "But most people
be able to give it away for free, I need to survivecall me Julee.""Well," I said, "My name is Caley." I had to
myself. Twelve year old street urchins come up to metell her, because I felt like she wouldn't ask."It'll only be
and ask to buy LSD, handicapped men on Social30 to 60 minutes, before you're gone," I told her."Why
Security ask me for Codeine. Artists and Musiciansdid you get into this business?" she asked."Well," I said,
flock to buy absinthe, and they finish off a bottle and"It's easier cash, it requires little work, I am always well
stay up to 6 AM talking on a city bench, flesh turned tostocked in my favorite commodities, and I'm not on the
fucking ice, drinking a cup of coffee that has beenbrink of poverty. Why?""I guess I always just wanted
empty for the past forty five minutes.I suppose byto know," she replied."So, how was your day?" I asked,
now, it is obvious to tell that I have a particularly keena bit uncomfortable with the overall situation."It's getting
observation of my environment. Unlike other deals, Ibetter," she replied, "And your own?""Oh, it's doing all
don't spend my profit on a new pimping car or aright, "I said, "Making money..."A slow silence befell the
mansion -- and the only dealers who could get that areroom for thirty seconds as we exchanged glances
coke lords and heroin merchants. The rest are on theoccasionally, myself somewhat uncomfortable still, she
fringes of poverty. One of my hobbies, I can confesssomewhat uneasy, I imagine. A car outside blowing
that I love the beauty of the human face. It may seemMexican rap music goes by with a bad engine.
like a fickle or otherwise shallow enjoyment. I look toCluttered feet trample by with a mix of foreign
the face of a girl walking down the street, see a smile,languages. Her eyes look down and then are brought
and as I feel my entrepenurial spirit crushed, I findup to mine. As little as I know about her, I feel sure
something beautiful and unique. Some homeless childenough that she spoke with more subtle ocnfidence
struggles for warmth on a city bench, his face with athat second than aty any other moment of her life.
stone-cold expression, as he pulls a hood over his"I've led a good life.""Then why end it this way?" I
face, with little eyes peering at me. In some other life,asked, as the curosity of the homo sapien nature
my current one completely forgotten, I imagine I wouldurked my spirit.She shrugged."That doesn't seem like
be an artist. I am not one now, but I remember duringyou're confident in your reasons," I said."No, it's not that,"
my last year of school my art class (apparently 8thshe replied, almost in a faded tone, as though the
grade). One student was exceptional, and the teacherpoisons had sapped away her soul before it took her
allowed him to do as he pleased. He used flint,body, "It's just that I don't want to, or need to, talk abou
charcoal, a variety of inks and paints. On those solemntit... I assure you it exists, but I'm not bringing it into this
nights as I try to fall victim to sleep's claws, I fantasizeroom.""Understood," I said... "How was your life?""I told
using the complex tools of art to capture the smile oryou, good," she said, "I have this friend, Celine. She was
anger of a person. But, just a dream, nothing I've told toalways so nice to me and admired the things I did. She
anyone.Asside from this one hobby of mine, I cancould be a friend on mutual terms, too. She loved me
admit that I enjoy poetry. The resurrection as fadedso much.""I'm sure she still does then," I replied, "Why
love through columns of words, I can feel more freeuse the past tense?" She didn't answer."I'm leaving
than I have ever before. Perhaps itis the human instinctbehind a son," she replied finally."Oh?" I said, surprised,
to seek out what we do not have. In poetry, nothing isas my eyes widened."He'll never know, though," she
written of the tringiness of the ghetto, the life andsaid."What do you mean?" I asked.She caressed her
death horrors that every man in poverty must face.hand over her stomach."You mean... you're pregnant?" I
Yes, poems about it are written, but not those prior toasked."Yeah," she said, "But only three weeks.""Is that
1800. For the same reason I find necessity in trying tothe reason?" I asked."No, she said, "I told you, I wouldn't
escape the hardened life of a drug dealer, I can see alet the reason enter this room.""Okay," I said. I tried to
yuppy reading "Treasure Island" or some otherreach for something to say, some way to comfort her.
adventure-based novel. For myself, it is Thoreau,"Would you like to hear a poem?" I asked."Sure," she
Tennyson, Shelley, Rousseau, Emerson -- anyone whosaid. I brought out perhaps my most moving and
put on paper some thoughts that were original,emotion poem I have from the 1800's. It subtly touched
creative, honest. Unlike my hope fo being an artist, thisupon the points of happiness and sadness. It subtly
hobby of poetry was shared and expressed withtouched upon the points of happiness and sadness.
contemporaries. They seemed to regard it not withEvery few months, my most favored passage will
animosity, particularly curiosity, uncomfortability, or anychange. Maybe just its another poem, another stanza,
other xenophobic thought, but they just considered itor another author altogether. Here I read to her the
as another part of who I was. I suppose that it waspick of the season."That was very nice," she said,
the tolerance all of us must have for each other, underthrowing at me a smile with closed, relaxed eyes, as
such horrible living and working conditions. So, what aone hand of hers rubber her forearm ently, turning her
man does in his own home, is his own to consider.Inface away. Maybe it was a crime, an indictment
this line of life, I get a variety of awkward requests. Foragainst me, my character. In only two examples have I
certain chemicals, people request that it's not in getabs,ever shared the poems of my heart with others. I
but just in powder. Some people want it dissolved innone case, my friend was going in to the military, and
alcohol. PCP on Marijuana, freebased cocaine (crack),would serve 2 years over seas. We hugged, thinking
freebased AMT, DMT,or DiPT. Or perhaps anwe may never see each other again. In that case, I
intensified powder that will give potent effects by justdidn't even read him a poem. I slipped a piece of paper
being in the same room as it. There would be one dayin to his pocket with a beautiful poem written on it. And
where I receive a very awkward request."I want younow, with Julia, I have read her a poem. If I thought she
to make me die," she said.I've heard this before, butwould be alive in two hours, I wouldn't have gone that
only from friends and colleagues who were witty.far."Can you hold me?" she asked.I stood up and
"Give me 20 hits of meth, and take a month off mywalked over to the bed, where she was sitting. "I can,"
life." But, no, this girl knew who I was, because shesaid."Please, hold me, then," she said. I put my arms
knew my customers, and she wanted help in suicide."Iaround her and laid down. Slowly, sleep came to both
don't know," I said. I've been in fights before with peopleof us, peace in our minds.I would wake and feel her
for trying to sell heroin in the wrong areas. Helpingskin. It was cold. Life,Punkerslut (or Andy Carloff) has
someone die might be just as bad."Please," she said, "Ibeen writing essays and poetry on social issues which
know people who told me you could help.""Look," I said,have caught his attention for several years. His
"If you have a problem with your parents, just try towebsite provides a complete list of all of these
settle it with them. If it's your boyfriend, get a new one.writings. His life experience includes homelessness,
I'm not interested in murdering anyone." I let her knowsquating in New Orleans and LA, dropping out of high
straight out that I didn't want to partake in this and Ischool, getting expelled from college for "subversive
wasn't being open-minded about it at all."Listen," I needactivities," and a myriad of other revolutionary actions.
a drug to kill me and I need some place to take it," she