OVERDOSE! in the Tenderloin

by Handsome Jack Mackeral

I've always imagined that nothing bad could befall me in the Tenderloin. I've retained this retarded sense of invincibility even as many times as the TL has handed me my ass. It's a myth maybe, but I nurture it. I'm originally from the East Coast. Our citizens are scarier, more blunt, and our dope is better. It might bother some people to walk through a zombie-scape of wizened black men burning their choreboys outside of bodegas, crackheads smoking under their coats as if they're really fooling anyone, the convenience stores selling lemon juice for those who prefer to break their crack down into shootable liquid for.... but personally, I find these things charming. I used to get off the bus at 16th and Mission and all the dealers would ask me "What's up?" Instead of seeing them for what they were, I fancied myself an indie movie star and all the drug dealers my fans.

Back on the East Coast, every so often, Puerto Rican dope would send me into that blue tinged torpor that requires dirty mouths on your mouth, pumps on the chest, and ultimately uniformed NARCAN delivery. Overdosing is a way of paying homage, of saying "That was good dope!" Montega was quite the companion—totally made watching Scrubs repeats in your ma's house (unemployed) somehow fulfilling.

So when I got a bag of black tar heroin and posted up behind a shopping cart on Larkin, I wasn't expecting much. Certainly not the heavenly rush I received. With no time to rinse my works or derisively mutter "pinche chiva", I capped the point, pocketed same, and told my copping buddy, "I'm just gonna sit for a minute."

The funny thing about dying this way is you're not worried about dying. You're too cozy for concern. And after all, isn't shooting stuff kind of a dry run for suicide anyways?

I'd saved my "friend" 20 cc's for gettin' me a clean point and just for being super friendly, so as he set up, I fell down and woke up wet in an ambulance. When I opened my eyes, my homeless buddy smiled, and I smiled back, thumbs up. Then the doors shut, and we were off to my choice of hospital. I picked UCSF cause I used to stay on the roof there.

"Your buddy back there dumped water on you to wake you up," said one of the EMTs. "You're lucky he called us."

I was lucky. A homeless junkie pushing a shopping cart somehow finagled a 911 call late at night to save a strange white guy he didn't know. Poor people are really something, man!

At the hospital, the nurse I met in the ER looked like Dr. Elliot Reid from Scrubs, and I told her as much. She admitted to being more partial to Carla, Turk's girlfriend, but she conceded that Scrubs is the most realistic hospital show on TV! (Who knew?!) I've always wanted to be like the sage janitor on that show. Every time I visit the ER I think about that.

"Dr Elliot, can I have some water?" I asked her. It felt good to have my dalliance back after being mostly dead.

She gave me some water and a shirt with brontosaurus print—crack gear for certain, but I wear it well. The whole thing was worth it, sketchy as it was. I really do relish all the good times and real experiences heroin has brought me, from jails and hospitals to the gender ambiguous person who shat on the sidewalk then smelled the toilet paper right before I copped my first bag of the day. Not only was the dope good, but the EMTs were prompt and professional. I was impressed!

No time to dwell however as I had to work in the morning. I stole out of the hospital like I'd done several times back east and waited for the NARCAN to wear off so I could return to being jammed.

Unfortunately, I'm more of a book learner, so it should surprise nobody that I OD'd again, a week later near the Civic Center. A few weeks prior, I got a tooth punched in half, but I like how it looks. Intrinsically, I realize there's nothing real wicked fuckin rad about desperate living. That said, it's still living. I wouldn't recommend anyone boxing with a large guy who's done state time, or doing drugs on a sidewalk when you're already inebriated, but it's more memorable than a night of television. I would encourage people to stumble onto their own spontaneous TL adventures. That is, unless Scrubs is on......

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