Didn't people die every day that you did whatever it was that you did before the day that you died? All while the uncomfortable truth emerged and whispered that you made no good goddamn difference, while the others stress to burnish into new time the lie that says that even that has got to stand good for something, even if, in truth, it was good for absolutely nothing.
Thursday, August 15, 2024
The Metrics of Narcotics
A local woman told me that she was present when kilos of cocaine, 2.2 pounds each, arrived in Morristown, Tennessee early one morning in the late nineties. They had dolphins emblazened in the centers, perfectly placed by cartel underlings, from the jungles of South America. She swore it her made her wet, especially when a AK emerged from behind the door, just in case. And terrified. In representing persons accused of narcotics crimes for almost 34 years, I've damn near learned the metric system. Big eights are an eighth of full keys, eightballs are 3.4 grams, which is one eighth of an ounce, keys are one thousand grams and suffer cuts with baby laxitive or novacaine by greedy purveryors of what remains most dangerous drug on earth. Those little bumps eventually cause brain damage, e.g. Robin Williams and Anthony Bourdain. And as the brief, 15 minute euphoric, and deadly intense lift it provides wears off, it's time to reboot, re-up, all night long. Slavery is hell on earth.