Post-Modern Drunk: The Problem With Crack Addicts
Or why I should go without my iPod on the subway more often

As overheard on the F Train out to Prospect Park on a Saturday Night

...so by this time I'm getting really tired of supportin' this nigga, but I'm going down to A.C. and I wants some fuckin' company on the ride. I give this nigga $150 to ride wit me and to suppor' hisself there. I'm there not a fuckin' hour--a fuckin' hour!--and this bitch comes back up. "I'm cleaned out, bro. Gimme some fuckin' bread." So I'm on a run and this bitch is crampin' me, so I give him a fifty, and he bounces.

He fucked my game, that nigga, and I got cleaned the fuck out right quick. I'm broke, and he's saying he broke, and we got no fuckin' way of gettin' home. No money for gas, not for a fuckin' bite on the road, no money for fuckin' tolls! So we's at the fuckin' gas station trying to figure what the fuck, and this nigga pulls out all the fuckin' bread I fuckin' give him! I means, he coulda at least give me the fucking fifty back when we left!

Fuck!

Afta all I done for him. He's stayin' wit me after that, for awhile. I's got him a job, and the first check he gets, he borrow my car and go buy rock with it, and burn fuckin' crack into my seats. He fuck up smokin' rock in my car! Stupid bitch fuck even that up!

Last fucking straw, and I beat his ass wit a fuckin' bat and kick him the fuck out! Bruise and bloody him a bit right quick.

He call the next day, man, and say he need his clothes and shit, can he come over? We cool? We cool, I say, but we are fuckin' not cool. I want to fucking end him.

He come and grab his shit--I make him wait outside for a fuckin' minute and he screams up at me a bit, just so I can get the fuckin' notice. Crazy nigga yelling shit, people notice even in my 'hood. But he come in to grab his shit.

So I says to him, hey man, check this shit out, and I toss him my piece. "The fuck?" he's going, touchin' the fuckin' thing all over, getting his fuckin' prints all good and over it. "The fuck!" he goes, and tosses it back to me.

I almost shot the fucker right fuckin' there, and would have gotten away clean with it, too. Prints all over the fuckin' thing, in my house, probably rock on him too. But you just can't get blood out--I need to recarpet the fuckin' guest bedroom, and that shit costs fuckin' money.

Bitch ass nigga ain't worth my fuckin' carpet. Fuck!

Okay, nigga. I gots to bounce here.

Peace out, bro.

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