This Crack is Off the HEEZIE!

If you live in the Sedgwick & Division/Seward Park neighborhood of Chicago (formerly the Cabrini Green projects), then you know what the fuck I’m talking about.  A local dealer dropped a BOMB on ‘em son!  There are always a few random crack heads flitting about to and fro in this neighborhood, that is a given.  I’ve come to enjoy their antics, to be honest.  However, since Seward Park Crack Fest 2011 something is VERY amiss.  Mutherfuckers are off the chain.  Cats are running around with the same body motions as those virus zombies in ”28 Days Later”.  Just last week one of them tried to eat my dog.  Dancing in the streets, howling at the moon, talking to no one, screaming at trees, the whole nine.  Just this past Saturday–and middle of the afternoon in broad daylight mind you–the following scene went down at the giant intersection of North Orleans and West Division:

I responded to screaming from outside.  When I looked off the deck there were two men on the north side of Division on the sidewalk.  One in the street.  We’ll call them Les Trois Mousquetaires, or maybe just The Three Musketeers, since none of us are cheese-eating surrender monkeys.  The one in the street, Athos, was on a Rascal mobile device, typically used by the handifat, though our protagonist was 130lbs wet and wearing moon boots. The heroine of our tale, Aramis, was standing on the sidewalk making noises that I could only equate to an elephant being put down with a fucking razor blade.  As Aramis was going through various bodily convulsions, constantly hitting himself in the leg and back with his right arm, bending into shapes a contortionist wouldn’t dare, and wailing the wail of one of those Iraqi women on TV after an heroic American drone plane mistakenly drops a daisy cutter on her granddaughter’s wedding.  Our third Mousquetaires, Porthos was screaming at Aramis for losing his shit in the middle of the street.  Athos could only drive his rascal around in circles, stopping mid-day traffic and crying like a little bitch.  Athos was never one for high-pressure situations.  Aramis had dropped various contraband on the sidewalk during his interpretation of “Black Swan”.  Porthos, cool as a cucumber, continued to berate Aramis for cracking (double entendre much?) up as he quickly scooped the contraband from the sidewalk.  From my 6th floor vantage it appeared a bag of drugs, a wallet, a gun and perhaps a paperback companion copy of “For Whom the Bell Tolls”.  Porthos the wise then spirited the items west on Division Street as he astutely surmised that uniformed bring-downs of some sort were surely to arrive.  As Porthos made his break Athos gave chase on the Rascal, continuing to shout the shout of the damned and drive in the middle of Division like a snake with a broken back.  Aramis was left to battle his invisible demons alone.  I yelled from the balcony unto Athos and Porthos, “What the fuck happened to all for one and one for all, you assholes?”.  But when you are higher than 10 kites and staring a come-down at Cook County Jail in the face, shit breaks down.  Poor Aramis, he fought the good fight and hit himself another 20 times before succumbing to his formless attackers and falling to the sidewalk.  He continued to writhe, flail and wail on the sidewalk as passersby chose either to give wide berth or stand and stare from afar as though they were watching a really despicable act being performed at a sex club in Amsterdam, yet couldn’t avert their gaze.  As I left the balcony (mostly due to Aramis being now 90% shielded from my view by a tree branch) I knew the sage wisdom imparted by Rick James was certainly true, “Cocaine is a hell of a drug”.

So former Cabrini Green neighborhood crack dealer, this Bud’s for you!  How do I sign up for a hit of this magic crack?  It looks fun as shit.  I have no idea why you wouldn’t do it???

***Seriously though brah, might want to dial the ether and pcp dosage in your tincture down a notch or two.  People are going to start snapping their own fucking spines trying to escape their buzz.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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One Response to This Crack is Off the HEEZIE!

  1. Anonymous says:

    This is your ticket! You should become the Jane Goodall of the crackheads. Observe them and learn their ways so you can go live among them and study their social dynamics…publications, a book, and I daresay a movie are in your future.


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