RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER

Crack: not for everyone

The buzz around crack has been around since the mid-80’s, but missed opportunities and bad timing have kept me from reviewing this popular drug. I know that I’m late to the party, but I thought it was still worth a try.

Unlike its big brother cocaine, crack is an equal opportunity high: cheap, common and accessible. On most of my crack runs, I was able to purchase a couple of small rocks for anywhere from $5-15. Crack is easy to find in most major cities. A good rule of thumb is to look for raggedy, jittery men pushing shopping carts down the street a little too fast.

I bought my crack right on the street from a high school kid. I thought of smoking my “blue tops” in an abandoned house, but the gentleman out front told me that the cover was $8. And that $8 was just the door fee. Once you’re actually inside, house crack-whores engage you in high pressure sales tactics, pawing at you with bony hands and licking their lips like desperate crack addled drug addicts. Also dissuading me was the lack of basic amenities like electricity, plumbing, air conditioning and valet parking. Authentic experience aside, I decided to take my crack home.

Not eschewing authenticity entirely, I stole a car antennae/pipe from an old Toyota Corolla and decided to smoke my crack in the small alley behind my house. On first impression, I thought it was fucking awesome. What a rush! Like the fast food version of cocaine, crack hits you fast and hard.

Each step becomes determined. Everything is forward and everything has purpose. No one can stop you. Then like 15 minutes later that shit wears off and you’re looking around your house for shit you can sell. How much can I get for that air conditioner? That TV? The bedding on my mattress? And where can I find a shopping cart to haul this around in? Damn, my lips are dry.

As you soon learn, everything in crack culture is about earning crack money. In the end, I found crack culture unappealing. While the pursuit of crack gave purpose to my increasingly pathetic life, I was left unfulfilled. I missed my job and a steady paycheck. I missed not having intestinal parasites and foot rot. Most of all I missed not coughing up blood.

My stint with crack may have been short lived, but I understand its appeal. While it wasn’t for me, crack dovetails nicely with the lifestyle of many Americans. And while I haven’t smoked rock for more than a year, I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for that harsh chemical taste and crazy bug eyed rush.