Cocaine Hurricane.
Last night, my coke dealer boyfriend made a special trip to New Jersey to stock up on his supply of cocaine before the hurricane. He told me I would be responsible for making drug runs in his absence—even though he knows I’m not very good with directions or finding specific addresses. I guess that’s how I ended up almost drowning in the East River when I tried to ride my bike to Greenpoint (goddamn Bloomberg, why you gotta shut the subway down so early?) to make a delivery. I was feeling so terrible that I had to do a few bumps before I finally found the apartment. Needless to say, the customer was very displeased. I’ll probably get backhanded when my coke dealer boyfriend finds out about it.
