JENKFELLAS (2)

I wasn’t always this fucked up, either.

	Growing up in the kind of neighborhood I grew up in, you could sink like a turd or float like a corn kernel. All the guys in my neighborhood worth looking up to had three things every kid dreamed of. Money; Power; Respect. Nothing against my old man, but he knew he’d never have any of the three. He wasn’t surprised when I started falling in with a rougher crowd.

	I hit my first balloon at 14. I’d tried most things by then. Booze, pot, Valiums, Percocets, a little coke here and there. Nothing, and I mean nothing came close to that first balloon. I took a deep hit, shut my eyes, and laid back on my bed. I’ll never forget what came over me. It was as if I passed through the ether, into some distant realm where only I and the Stank Gods existed. We spoke not with our mouths, but with our asses. I told them of my wants and dreams, and they gave me the keys to achieve them. That was the day that I knew I was deep in this shit for life.

***

	I had no idea how I was going to start slinging this shit on my own. I could homebrew, but the risk of manufacture as well as trying to sell on the corner with the pigs sniffing around made it too risky. I needed a warehouse, and I needed a constant supply of base. I could get the warehouse easily, but what I really needed was harder to acquire. I needed some Mexicans.

	My buddy Carlos had just gotten out of the pen after a 3 year stretch for distribution, so I knew he was the guy I needed to hook up with. He hadn’t rolled on anyone to get out of time, so he was still in good with the Brown Hand family based out of Tijuana. We met up over dinner one night to work out a few things and to catch up.

	“Ay, Chico.” Carlos said, smoothly untying a knot on a fresh balloon full of Oaxaca Firebomb under the table. “I haven’t had this shit since Pelican Bay. You importing this?”

	“Yep. Personal stash. I can get it in tanks over the border, but I need the people who shit this, or the raw product base to really turn a profit. I’m not gonna sell out of my own stash.” I replied, leaning down in the booth, inhaling a hit of my own. “Fuck that.”