Project

Background Check - part one
Enter Deep Ellum. Enter my life. Shitty apartment, great parties. Half of them, I can barely remember. Maybe that's for the better. I live a double life. Part time drug dealer; part time dj. I Ever since I was a little kid I was into some of the craziest trips. Experimenting with my parents pills, dropping acid with my teachers, and spiking my parents drinks just to get to know them like they know me. If it's a drug, I've done it. I never went to college. I dropped out of high school. Education...who needs it right? I got kicked out of my house sophomore year. None of my "friends" would let me stay at there place. This is where I started down the life I know now. When I was young it was pills and acid. When I hit the streets running, I got into heroine. I was cool with all the dealers in the area, so they just gave me the drop. By seventeen, I was already a mule. Transporting drugs back and forth. Then, trouble had risen. They started noticing that everytime I would bring it to them, the bag would be lighter and lighter. This lead me into The Underground. Everyone who was really anyone in this city went there. It was the place where nobody knew anybody's name. Everybody shared everything. Needles, trips, and on occasion, STDs. This is where I met one of the most known djs in the area. He had the scoop on all the illest places. I started traveling with him. Getting into music. Used my leftover drug money to buy a nice table and of course a few tabs of whatever I could get my hands on. A few years passed and no one recognized me under my alias. I emerged back into the world with a new name. Started dealing more and more drugs. Two major passions, collaborating together. I would play my shows and sell everything I had on me. It worked perfect. Got a very fine paycheck. And I'm not talking about the drugs. Twenty-third birthday in a few months. I decide to go big. I call up a friend and he hooks me up with a flier he created for the occasion. This is going to be sick.

The Sun is Rising - part two
I can only see the red on the backs of my eyelids. They are too heavy to even flutter. I don't know where the hell I'm at. I remember popping about a dozen somethings and that's all. It's all a giant multi-color strobe. Flashing back and forth. Color through color. Faster then slower to the pulse of the music. I slowly rise off whatever comfortable platform I was perched upon. The red is getting lighter. I'm walking towards the light. Automatically I turn around and stumble into a type of counter a few yards from the Texas heat. I could hear my skin sizzling in the non air conditioned rooom. The cool shade is delicious inside this mysterious room. I manage to open my eyes to see what I stumbled into. A trolley of drugs. Drawers sliding out in every direction. Cocaine. Heroine. Xanax. One drawer I can't even describe it's amazingness. A giant cocktail of the greatest pills invented. Estasy, LSD, oxycontin, opium and hydrocodone, vicodin, lortab, speed. Everything. I couldn't help but take a few handfulls. In the last drawer I opened, I found what I had been in need of. I grabbed two, popped them in my mouth which was unusually dry. Downed water from the nearest sink. What an abnormal reaction this time. I'm walking to the kitchen away from the trolly of drugs and run into an old pal.

Catching Up - part three
Normally isn't that hard, but after my run of the wheel, it's a bit difficult. Half the people I was hanging out with when I was sober, they have either gone on to better lives, or they have, sadly, overdosed. Thankfully, I am not in either of those categories. I have been making music and selling drugs and then later on enjoying the drugs with the other half of the people I would chill with. This "old pal" greets me with a stron punch to the stomach causing me to throw up whatever the contents of my stomach were. I stare at the things projecting from my mouth, none of it easy to recognize. The strong color of yellow reminds me of old, chunky, strawberry milk. When I can finally open my mouth without vomit slipping from the back of my throat, across my tongue, the taste burning my taste buds, over the tops of my manilla-white blend teeth, down to my chin, pouring to the floor, I ask, "Where have you been?" Easy answer for him. I didn't notice, but he had a badge. A shiny, seven-pointed badge. A beautiful golden, the true color without all the effects of television you never see, with dark blue letter incspriptions. He's been serving for DPD. Instantly I think about the trolly of drugs near the east side of the house. I don't react like I should, but think about how he did more drugs than me, back in the day. I ask when he sobered up. "Right before I joined the Police Academy." Instantly, I want the fuck out of wherever I am. His partner comes up and asks, "Who are you flirting with now, Sampson?" in a slurred voice. So slurred, you can barely tell his tongue is even trying to articulate the words. I run. I get my ass out of there. Fast.