The darkest times of my active addiction and homelessness are when I’m trying to find a comfortable way to sleep on a pile of cardboard. I’d usually have 7 hours to kill before the stores would open again and I could resume shoplifting the air duster that I had a powerful compulsion to inhale, despite the fact that it didn’t even get me high any more.
there’s no comfortable way to sleep on a pile of cardboard on a sidewalk in the ghetto (Flatbush Junction, Brooklyn), and I’d be alone with my thoughts, feelings and piss odor. Rats run from the trashbag piles to the drain grates, drunks stumble by, and sirens fill the air.
that’s the dark spot. I do not want to go back.
Originally published at https://www.tumblr.com.
