Walk Down Misery Street


Just a minute! What about love? Courtship, passion, and sighs? Flowers and chocolates? Yes, these must be described as well. Cupid rushes into substance abuse clinics, and especially so because passions run hotter where men outnumber women.

Love in this case is a bridge where a charming gentleman carries an open-hearted girl across to a dangerous shore. Females usually become drug users thanks to their boyfriends. Men are in the know. Men are the foragers. Men know from whom and how much to buy; they know how to snort or cook and shoot. From the start, they want their girlfriend to experience this sweet, harmless high.

Of course, they don’t suggest it without selfish motive—no way. Men have their interests. It’s good to be married to a hardworking wife who brings her money back to the nest. A drug user—oh, how he needs money! But a working wife has a serious flaw: She doesn’t like that you are covered in needle marks, that you are skinny and jobless. And that you spend long periods of time locked in the bathroom. Such a wife grumbles at first, then cries, and threatens divorce. It sometimes happens that she changes the locks on the door or leaves, bringing her child with her.

In contrast, the drug user’s girlfriend is a comrade in arms. She gets it. She isn’t going to complain or yell. She’s going to assist. With a woman, it’s easier to steal clothing from expensive boutiques—security guards check her less often, and her fingers are nimbler at cutting off the electronic tags. Moreover, she is a devoted friend who will give you everything she has, including her bags of drugs. In most cases, female drug users are very true to their men; they don’t cheat on them and tolerate and forgive all.

A man who is flat broke, desperate for money, and without any other means to obtain it can sell his junkie girlfriend to someone. This is often the finita la commedia of the love story.