NEWSLETTER

Ecstasy Dealer Shits His Pants
I had just lost a job and I had a friend that was dealing ecstasy. I was like, “Fuck, I need to do something,” so I got my hustle on with that shit and it started going well. I met one dude and then I met another dude, and so on. It went from selling ten hits to selling 100 and then before you know it, I got wrapped up in this shit for five months and made a shitload of money. I was fucking young, too, like 22.

So one night I was leaving that old nightclub Coney Island High to go meet this guy who supplied me. I had $30,000 cash and about 1,000 hits in my bag—I smelled like ecstasy, you know what I mean? I was going to meet this dude and I had the backpack on and I saw him about three blocks in front of me, so I waved.

All of a sudden a cop is right in front of me, and he’s like, “Excuse me,” and I was just about to pass out. I thought that was it, I was being set up. I mean, I was looking at 25 years in the feds. Then the cop just goes, “Do you know where there’s a good coffee shop near here?” I don’t know why the fuck he asked me that. I just stammered out something about a bodega around the corner and he thanked me and walked on. When I met up with the guy he kept asking me questions about the cop that I had no answers for. I quit dealing drugs the next day.

TRACEY HAWTHORNE

All presenter photos by Patrick O’Dell. Styling by Sara McCormack. Sandra: Jones New York dress, Toujour Toi necklace.

Acid OD
Five years ago my friend and I bought two bottles of liquid acid at £150 a pop from a freak who lives in Thailand and takes it every day for breakfast.

What great fun we had, taking it every day, thinking it a “safer alternative” to our other favorite drugs of cocaine, ecstasy, and heroin.

We would do little droplets of the delicious minty liquid pretty much every couple of days for a period of about four months. We were so high all the fucking time that we had little idea, or control over the fact that we were both slowly going totally insane.

Our first scary experience with the liquid lover was when we accidentally poured waaaay too much of it onto a good friend’s hand at an outdoor party in East London.

I’d taken a gram of cocaine and two ecstasy tablets as well as three drops of acid, so I was already feeling a little “giddy.” When 30 minutes after my friend had taken the dose, he emerged from the dance floor shaking like an epilepsy victim, his eyes wide open like he’d just glimpsed a vision of hell, pointing at me and silently mouthing the words: “Youuuuu’ve fuckkked meeee uppppppppp,” I started to freak out.

Things were made worse when he started to puke up, then commenced crying and claiming that he had had “visions of Brazil.” As my scrambled brain told me that he was probably going to die, I envisioned being locked up in prison for 25 years for murder. I went home hysterically laughing and crying at the same time.

It turned out that he was OK after about four days of sitting in a darkened room but, quite rightly, he hated me for what I’d done to him.

After this experience, I resolved to put the acid away for a while. I stored it in my top desk drawer at work. In the next two months, I carried on being a heavy user of cocaine, booze, heroin, and ecstasy, so I boiled my psychedelic visions and laughing and crying out of context during meetings down to that.

What I didn’t realize was that I hadn’t put the top back on the bottle of liquid acid properly and it was slowly leaking onto all the papers, pens, and CDs I kept in the drawer. Every time I reached to get something out of the desk (about five times a day), I was getting acid on my fingers. I was tripping the whole time. When I found this out, it was kind of a relief because I thought I was becoming biologically insane.

ANDY CAPPER


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