Drug Addicts Are Like Ninjas And Athletes
These events happened in the early 2000s. Toronto and Greater Toronto Area.
Chip hated Georgi and Allen. They once sold him a baggie of smack that wasn’t smack. “There were like threads and crumbs in it. It’s like they swept shit off the floor.”
“That’s probably what they did,” Jake said. Jake did the sound at the Big Bop. He didn’t like Georgi. Georgi was a proud Russian. His Russian hubris tickled Jake wrong. Jake was Czech.
“They could’ve killed me. What if I actually shot it up?”
“Yes. They could’ve killed you and they don’t care,” Jake said, and turned back to his soundboard. During his shift Jake talked to people he tolerated. Sometimes he was in a bad mood and didn’t turn around. That’s when you knew you had to leave.
I smiled at Chip. It was one of those polite smiles one gives before they retreat. I didn’t talk to him much. He looked too far gone in the mind. I don’t think there was a drug he didn’t do.
One day Chip got word of Georgi and Allen planning a heist. They planned to borrow Giorgi’s girlfriend’s dad’s pickup truck and break into a used electronics shop.
“I don’t want to know anything about it!” said Jake. Chip leaned into Jake and kept talking. “Stop right now!” Jake said, and turned his back on Chip.
