Erik: Hunts Point, Bronx
“I have already destroyed myself. I can’t walk by a corner with a pocket of money and not buy dope.” – Erik
From New England, Erik started drugs early, at 15, to escape from beatings. “My old man was a bitch when drunk. I did coke for a year, thought it was disgusting, but then started selling it.” His first girlfriend died of an overdose.
He met his wife, a former “Soccer mom” in Rhode Island, where he was working the fishing boats, before they both fell deep into heroin. Their three kids were taken by the state and put into foster care. The promise of good dope brought them to Hunts Point, where they now live in an abandoned building. “This place is ghetto. Niggers are fucking pieces of shit.” She panhandles, he does odd jobs. “I have a kitten hustle. I take the stray ones here and sell them on the Upper East Side for twenty bucks each.”
“What did I lose? Lost time, lost my children, I fight with my wife. I could of finished college, if not for the drugs.”
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