Give Me Shelter: Trick

by admin on February 29, 2012

Give Me Shelter


            The beer isn’t doing the trick this time, and this is her favorite brand. The familiar cartoonish bull on the can is one she has seen time and time again: the logo of Schlitz Malt Liquor, the beer of the ‘hood.  Unlike others, she has remained loyal to the brand, consuming the above average alcohol content malt for a good part of her thirty-three years without fail. She tries to think back when she started drinking in between huge gulps from the plastic bag wrapped glass bottle, and she cannot remotely remember what year or age for that matter, it had been so long. What she does remember is her father allowing her sips of his beer as a child, him laughing as her low tolerance level was quickly reached and he would watch her stumble around the small roach-ridden apartment until she collapsed and passed out. She remembers one time vaguely. She was four, of this she was sure as it was her birthday and instead of lavishing in the attention of all her friends and family members who had come to wish her well while feasting on cake and ice cream, she had gotten drunk through no fault of her own and passed out on the bathroom floor, missing her own celebration of life. Yes, four was the age. She can still see the huge devil’s food cake with the four pink candles sticking out; still remember blowing them out, one by one, as everyone around her cheered, sang and applauded, then she draws a blank as all the beer her father had been pushing on her unbeknownst to her mother (theses secret sips had taken place in the kitchen, far from the eyes of the party guests and her mother) overtakes her and then she remembers nothing. Has it really been twenty-nine years since she first had her first drink of alcohol? She nods her head in disgust and takes another swig of her brew.

But the taste of the last guys cum still lingers on despite her almost finishing the bottle in two healthy gulps. Why do they always want to cum in her mouth and have her swallow is beyond her but the forty bucks she made for what was barley ten minutes of her time was worth it as she can get her crack and party in style without having to go back out for at least an hour or so. It’s a vicious cycle she realizes but after being hooked for well over ten years, its one she is not willing to part with. As the last remaining ounces of beer are consumed while leaning against the brick wall of the alley where she “conducts business”, she uses the last swig as a mouthwash of sorts, swishing it around, having it course between her gums and teeth before spitting it out on the damp concrete in front of her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and reaches into the left front pocket of her black blue jeans and comes up with a half portion of a Hall’s cough drop, wrapped in its original protective paper which has grown stuck to its bottom half. This doesn’t concern her as she pops the medicine into her mouth without a second thought, spitting out the remnants of the paper once it’s wet with her saliva. It’s an old trick of hers that she learned through a fellow crack head/whore some years back and has been using ever since; the cool, minty flavor easily overpowering any bad taste in a matter of seconds. She reaches inside her right pocket reassuring herself that the money is there and it is, along with the three condoms she had purchased earlier in the evening.  With a quick adjustment of her clothes and one final look back on the ground behind her in case she dropped anything ,she moves from behind the rather large green dumpster at the end of the alley being sure to look around cautiously for passersby’s or worse, the police.

It won’t be long now, she thinks as she heads north down Lennox Avenue, being sure to stay in the light of the streetlamps as much as possible to avoid being dragged off into the dark by the local drug dealers and other fiends. The last time, they had knocked out two of her bottom teeth and even when she finally gave in to their assault with a futile bit of resistance and let them have their way with her for well over an hour in an abandon row house not too far from where she was now, they (there were three of them) had beat her unconscious. She had woke up with her pants and underwear down around her ankles and what felt to be a decent sized welt under her left eye. No, the light will be her friend tonight as she makes her way to Jay Street where all the dealers and hustlers sell broken dreams and no futures by ounces and grams.

From the alley to Jay Street took all of ten minutes and to her, it couldn’t have come sooner. The money she had made that evening (80 bucks in all; give or take five for condoms, lube, etc.) would more than take care of the craving for crack that she had for about the last two hours. To her, crack was the truth; it never lied, never failed to take her mind away from her current troubles, and always, ALWAYS was readily available, especially from her pusher, Carl. Carl had been dealing crack for well over fifteen years and she was with him from the beginning of his shady career. She was witness to his early years of corner dealings, with him having to compete with the other dealers on the very same corner, to his very own crack house; a local haven and well-known safe house for all the junkies in the surrounding neighborhood. The best thing about dealing with Carl was unlike other dealers, Carl extended credit to her whenever she would fall short of money or didn’t feel like having to give her pussy away for her high. It was because of the loyalty that she had displayed towards him during his almost two decades of hustling. Another reason she stayed with Carl was that his shit was butter; straight fire. The other work around the way was decent, her taking anything in a pinch, but Carl was a master chef, taking the time not to cut his product too much during cooking , leaving the purest rock out there. This too is what kept her coming back after all these years.

Money wasn’t a problem tonight; she had made sure to that.  In her opinion, the strange cocks and all the fucking made it worth -while for times like this. As her beer buzz quickly wore off and the anticipation of her future high quickened her pace up to Carl’s place, she almost felt happy. This feeling usually came about two minutes before she received her crack and about a minute before she took her first hit. This couldn’t last forever, this self-destructive cycle she had gotten herself in for the last twenty or so years of her life, but as she makes her way up the stairs, ringing the doorbell and waiting for the door to open, that last thought goes out the window and she steps inside to her own private hell once again.

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

kenya allen 07.31.12 at 2:30 pm

Nice work im happy for you.

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