Its Friday afternoon and I just got searched. Don’t worry it’s standard when you get back from a pass. But more on that later, I want to catch the last few minutes of afternoon group. As I lean in the doorway an old vet talks in a soft voice about being a heroin addict. No empty chairs, it’s a small room. It smells like 14 junkies, in fact it smells like a muskrat just fucked a dirty sock in this room. The lack of an empty chair is a blessing. The lack of air conditioning disappointing. This isn’t a pretty place by any means. But a beautiful place without a doubt.

I smile as the vet goes on, his soft gravelly voice almost soothing in the hot humid room. I’m smiling because out of the corner of my eye I see the redheaded kid starting to twitch. And as he stands up raising his whiny voice I can’t help but laugh to myself and thank God I’m still standing in the doorway. 

“You mother fuckers, I am sick of this shit”. Jumping up on his chair, bushy red hair standing on end like he stuck his finger in a light socket. It’s time for the redhead to be heard. “You assholes think heroin, coke and meth are the only goddamn hard drugs? I’m a hardcore pot smoker, marijuana is a fucking hard drug!” He’s screaming now, balanced on top of his chair as I laugh and turn from the doorway headed to my room.

In the distance behind me his squeaky voice now loud he shouts “I’ve sucked cock to get weed, that’s hardcore!” 

Laughing so hard I’m in tears I think to myself, it is indeed hardcore young man, it is indeed. I’m the manic addict, welcome to the mens unit, ghetto rehab.

A couple weeks earlier I’m at the front door of Homeward Bound, a state funded drug rehab. Residential treatment center for substance abuse to be exact. I mean come on so many substance choices when one wants to lose their mind why just use drugs? I thought I had done all of them minus heroin, I missed a bunch of them come to find out. Probably better that way. Anyone want to get drunk on Dollar Store mouthwash? Wonder if the vintage matters?

This is Oak Cliff, the hood. Soon to be swallowed up and digested by the Bishop Arts District in Dallas, Texas. All in the name of progress, higher property taxes, and a short commute to downtown offices. Hipsters love to save gas, it’s good for the environment. I guess they could give a fuck where the current residents of Oak Cliff go.

They’re all poor, black, and a problem anyway. Always hanging about asking for money. And yes the money is for substances. Have no doubt about that the next time you’re asked for a dollar from a dirty, smelly, homeless person. How the fuck else do you wash away the pain, anger, resentment and shame of being poor, broke, homeless, addicted, and having to ask someone for a dollar? Substances of course. But I digress let’s get back to the fuckery.

And a few words on that. fuckery. A term first coined by one of my favorite artists, Amy Winehouse, God rest her beautiful soul. Later used often by my little kitty. I just love her sarcasm so very much. And it’s just a better word choice than chaos, they really have the same meaning.

Fuck it, an important term much like fuckery to keep in mind. Later I find out this is a standard term for rock bottom. You don’t hit rock bottom any more people. Please note that condition has been updated, you now get to the “fuck it” stage of addiction.

So let’s get on with this. I’m at the front door. Well, I’m parked close by, my probation officer insisted on a 4pm arrival. Although this is Tuesday and I think she had indicated Monday as the preferred day of arrival. Traffic in Dallas can be a bitch, so can my PO so the threat of 18 months’ incarceration if I didn’t get there certainly was on my mind. But like the rest of my life I am at the point I just literally don’t care. Besides, I’m smoking a joint, my favorite flavor of Colorado’s finest (Girl Scout Cookies) and its 3:54 so fuck it.

So, fuck it. I’ve got 6 minutes. And it’s not like I didn’t tell them I was there. I had gone in, hung around the front desk a few minutes, mumbled something about checking in, and given my name. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Oh yeah, I had come back to the car for my bag and got distracted. I’d better go tell them it’s in the car. 

Yes, confirmed, I have my bag, and it’s in the car. The nurse, cute and smiling at me, is standing next to a “tech”. Shit, looks like she brought muscle this time. She comments to me she’s been waiting and why don’t I stop getting high and come on upstairs. Okay darling let me get my bag out of the car. It’s 4:20 on Tuesday, nothing like being on time.