Just Another Day
After “the first real job,” picking up and dropping “stuff” wasn’t such a big deal anymore. It became a routine—similar to my brother’s routine of waking up at 4 am to deliver all those bagels.
Life was complicated back then but kind of simple at the same time. There wasn’t much responsibility to handle. The boys I had taken under my wing were all geared up and motivated to prove themselves to the lieutenant in charge—me. The nightlife was booming everywhere. 90’s were something else... Forgive me. The Disco King tends to digress—drugs are a bitch when it comes to being focused. As I was saying, nostalgia is a hypocrite. Things weren’t so perfect after all.
Remember those Dutch ecstasy pills they nearly caught me with… Yeah, Marko—the guy who took over the pills was caught selling them to an undercover Italian cop. Shit hit the fan. He could easily snitch on me. It would take him just one word—and he could forget about doing time in jail.
"Marko—the guy who took over the pills was caught selling them to an undercover Italian cop."
After a week of expecting cops to break into my flat, another blow. An old friend of my brother—who happened to be a police captain—warned me not to sell in Ljubljana anymore. Italian “Polizia” was supposedly already onto me. After putting completely no thought into the idea of quitting whatsoever, a simple nod sufficed for them to shut up. I had left school, my father's bakery business, but I wasn’t stopping here—not when the bosses finally treated me as their own. Not when the boss no. 2 trusted me enough to invite me to his place.
It was quite a standard apartment, except for the dining table—fully covered in undiluted, 80% cocaine. The privilege of consuming class-A cocaine. Aaaah, words are useless here. It was something you can never come across on the streets. It came in huge rocks, and it had to be diluted with lactose. So, I ended up staying the whole night—playing poker and diluting pure cocaine.
For a split second, the pure cocaine made me feel like we were in a movie—it was so unreal. The result, 8% cocaine, was still too much to be sold on the streets. My 12 Souljah boys (2pac was still alive at the time) had to be careful who they were selling it to. The “good” stuff gets a lot of fans quick—along with haters.
"For a split second, the pure cocaine made me feel like we were in a movie—it was so unreal."
Summer was slowly winding down. Together with the need to spend my days high on the X. Partying on ecstasy doesn’t make sense anymore if your body adapts to it. To stimulate it, you have to introduce it with new “habits.” The lack of ecstasy left an enormous energy gap. I was the first who would get tired at parties—like a 70-year old. To keep up, I had to resort to drastic measures.
As the money was pouring in I had the privilege to resort to one of the exquisite stimulants—cocaine. It became the breakfast and the nightcap. Right before dozing off there were strips of cocaine, ready to be sniffed from my bedside table. Even when going out for a drink I had to take a “restroom break” every 15 minutes. Despite living on such a high note, keeping my feet dry from reality, there was still one thing I said I would never touch —heroin.
I’ve seen its effects on the “junkies”— zombies, formerly known as people. Nostalgia is a hypocrite. Things weren’t so perfect after all. To be continued.