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I AM IN ONE OF MY QUANDRIES. I want to score again. The money's in my pocket. I am trying to distract myself by listening to the radio quiz mentioned below as I type, but it just ain't working. The cash is ready and waiting. The man is no doubt close. I feel like I'm going to. Aaargh! I don't know what else to say. What's the point of posting this when the outcome feels like a foregone conclusion. Let me talk to this guy.
Okay, I spoke to him, he said Come straight out. I went direct to the specified street-corner, called back to rub in I'm here and waiting. "He'll be with you there in under seven minutes," the surly dealer intoned. Grrr. First time we spoke, he'd been making it sound the guy was right there already. But this is typical.
Sure enough, on time, guy appears on bike, produces blue lump. On eventual inspection it turns out to be a (plastic-wrapped) lump of heroin not much smaller than a small sugar cube with a corner crumbled off. Which is not bad for £10. You seriously cannot tell a substance's quality with just the naked eye; an experienced junkie, however, can make snap—usually accurate— judgements. And this to me looked okay quality (better than his usual rubbish; that's why I don't phone him that much).
So, having cooked my gear up, I cooked up some of the shopping I got earlier: Sainsbury's cod in parsley sauce with “seasonable” vegetables (who am I trying to kid? They were frozen “farmhouse” cauliflower, broccoli, peas etc) on a bed of fresh wholegrain tagliatelle (well worth the indulgence at £1.17 for 500g) all liberally sprinkled with Parmesan. Mmmm. Yumm-mmeee!! And a vein on the back of my right hand behaved well enough to add genuine bon appétit. (I've not 100% “recovered” from that heroin food “problem” I described a day or so ago.)
Now it's late and I'm dead tired. And I'm gonna try & not touch that bit of gear left over till morning...
Speak to yous L8R,