I had a crack dealer once and he was actually a really nice guy. I'll leave his name out of this, for it is quite unique and I do owe him a 'solid'. Once, I met him by the old Jockey Club on Killingsworth to buy a $40 and he told me that it was his birthday. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was just going to spend it with family and take it easy. During Thanksgiving, he told me about the deep fried turkey he ate and how much fun he had. This one time, when I couldn't reach him by phone, I ventured out on my own to find a rock or two. By happenstance, I passed him outside of that Paragon bar and he called me over. He scolded and told me that it was dangerous for me to be out there alone and then he sold me a $20. For a crack dealer, he was a really nice and personable guy with a lot of heart. I'll never forget the humanity my dealer brought to the experience of my 2 years of buying crack. I don't smoke it anymore, it's been many, many years. And to correct any of you racists out there assuming your shit, I am not black. So there.
Get the best of the Mercury each week in your inbox!