I bought one of the cheapest flats in Falkirk just along the road from the friend who didn’t let me in that fateful night. I wish I done more research into the quality of the neighbours because there was more heroin addicts per apartment than were in an average 1970’s rock band.
Mind you, I won’t hear a bad word said against the heroin users, because many is the time they helped me out, after my TV or video got stolen.
I don’t know who their supplier was but give them a call any time of the day or night and they’d be round with an exact replacement model within the hour.
They didn’t bother with any of that warranty crap; it was twenty quid, cash in hand, Bob’s your uncle.
I did get a bit suspicious one time when one of them turned up with a replacement VCR only five minutes after me coming in the house to discover mine had been nicked again.
I hadn’t called them, so I asked how they knew mine was missing. He explained to me all about the heroin’s clairvoyant properties.
I thought alcohol was the only drug that made you psychic, although that only works if you overdose on it.
Then it’s like, ‘Fuck, fuck, I think I’m going to be sick’.
Sure enough, you always are, no matter how much you try to repress that thought. Once you’ve had it, that’s it, the spew is on its way, you know you are going to be sick.
There is nothing surer, except perhaps your TV and video going missing again.
Once I had cottoned on to the fact it was probably the addicts stealing my shit I went out and bought a few bags of pure heroin and some needles to leave on top of the TV so they’d find it, shoot up immediately and hopefully die in my living room.
One less heroin user for society to scorn at and I’ll save a fortune replacing my equipment.
Everyone’s a winner!
Unfortunately, I eventually moved out of the apartment before they robbed me again, and the heroin somehow got lost in the move.
Oh well, can’t win them all.
Let’s hope no-one else found it and thought it was brown sugar.
Cheers!
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