No Salt for day-trippers
We all know this place on the east side you go into the basement then there’s a warren of tunnels. Urban legend has it lined with bodies if you pissed off the heavies who run this. You’re always lead there’s the room people leaning against wall nodding, out fixing over in the corner a couple a men in suits. They’re smoking off foil. I am nervous but my guide nods, that it’s cool.  I am waiting for Jill so we can take a shot together. She got a trick or it would be a sick day, at rot-away beach chugging Vick’s.
Jill shows true love, as she could get high without me. The suits are checking her out. She is already starting to get sick nose running. We don’t have much.  It’s enough for a quick nod, and not to get sick.
I am coming down. I see the suits, smoking China white.  My mouth waters, I want I feel the switchblade in my pocket, but seeing our minders’ shuts that down. I would disappear fed to rats in the tunnels.
Jill leans over and, whispers in my ear “I am going to work them for some china white.” She is wearing her mini, fishnets heels her work clothes. About half the woman here are dressed like, that.
Jill at 17 is a good deal “fresher.” The Westchester cheerleader her bleached platinum hair body by junk still turn’s heads.  She walks over to them. *I see her smiling shaking hands and sitting. She is now the envy of every junkie of the lower eastside.  This is serious dope.
They’re no longer smoking; they’re scoffing it up as they nod Jill who has the tolerance of a bull rhino is taking some of their stash. Under the guise of collecting it for safe keeping for   these tourists. They have everything I see shiny clean spikes rubber, tourniquets some high end junkie kit.  I know what she’s saying, if you’re going to smoke it, scoff it, then shot it; more bang for the buck.”
She hits the first one he’s out, then the second.  The second starts convulsing, and turning blue. He is ODing,
Jill still has a soul she screams for  “salt, he’s dying!” a syringe of kosher salt and water to stop the OD. I don’t why it works, but it does.
I have the same bemused look everybody else does. I look at her, and say, “No salt for day trippers.” The minders drag him out, and his friend they will put them on the street, and call an ambulance unlike us they would be missed.
Jill has the stash, and the two are quickly forgotten. She asks why did no one help?”
“They were day-trippers out on the city, not one of us,” I answer. I am loving this kit, that she managed to steal, and the best dope in Manhattan. I let her nod. I need to go somewhere else if I want to keep this.  The dope tastes so good, but I have to wait, or let the heavies feed me to the rats.