The Colors of H
You'd assume that living in Malaysia, which is located south of Thailand and pretty close to Burma, ensures you of primo quality H. But the reality is a joke. What passes for H here is pink. Plus, when there's a big United Nations or other international leader's meeting, Malaysia goes nuts and clears all the junkies off the streets. The dealers, who sometimes sell right next to the police stations, are told to cut down their 24 hour business to between 7-10 pm.
And the H? From pink, it turns to yellow, orange, maroon... You can't even see if you've hit a vein sometimes because it's the same color as your blood.
Then there's North Malaysia. The stuff there is white--better quality due to the proximity to Thailand, I guess. But again, right before elections, you get purple H. Really. Lilac colored. How bad is that?
Try to run south and the stuff is pale yellow. That's why when things get bad, we make daily trips to Thailand. But no more, I guess, since they shot 1,300 junkies and dealers in the first three weeks of their new anti-drug campaign which started February 2003. Plus the Malaysian government started doing urine tests for Malaysians returning at the border.
All that shit makes me miss the days as a student in Bloomington, Indiana where the stuff was good and junkies aren't treated half as badly as they are in Asia.
Even better was the time my poor mom sent me to stay post-detox with friends in Karachi. She thought I would stay clean because women aren't allowed out alone, I had no friends, and I couldn't speak the language. How fortunate that the gardener's helper could be bribed to go and score for me. That was the best two weeks of my using life. Only $2.00US for an entire day of nodding and scratching without even shooting up. That brown sugar was the shit, pure stuff before the dealers get to cooking and cutting.
These days, I've relocated to Indonesia. Even with cops who shoot first and then yell "Stop!" the quality and prices are worth it. All I can say is Thank God for Nigerians!