A Day in the Life of…Peggy

All we ever hear about fentanyl is overdose, overdose, overdose. What does the path to the end look like?  This series will feature various addicts that people can get to know, and maybe, understand.

A Fentanyl Fact Before our Story

Here in Honolulu drugs have nicknames. Fentanyl is called “fetty,” which rhymes with the name Betty.  No one ever says fentanyl unless they are not really part of the scene. For those with a close personal relationship with a substance that far out distances the depth of contact they have with any person, a familiar nickname makes sense. Let’s take a quick peek at what a fetty addict named Peggy did with her time yesterday.

Peggy, November 04, 2024, Honolulu, Hawaii, United States++insight into why addicts do what they do

This is what happened:

Such a liberating prison, drug addiction.  A person is inextricably bound to one thing, but totally free of something else: in Peggys case the memories, the nightmare, the intrusive thoughts about her tiny self wishing for a rescue that only came when the adult male in her life got tired and went to sleep. But then, unexpected freedom created when a desperate prayer was answered in the affirmative:  please, make it like that never happened.  For years she had begged God to take it away, to no avail. Then she went to a bar after years of God seeming to shut her out and she met those long forgotten people. They let her try the drug, carefully guiding her to maximize her experience, and loosen her grip on her ATM card. Her old life was lost due to the transformation of powder cocaine into rock cocaine that vaporized with the application of heat. The inhalation of that smoke opened her eyes to not just a new way of life but a new life altogether: This…this… is how I want to feel. All. The. Time.  And with that thought, a commitment was made to seek this feeling to the exclusion of all else, an addiction was launched before she knew what addiction was, it would be a problem for her.

Yes, the devil was a liar, and he was lying right then, and with each and every high after that. The first  lie was, if it feels good, it must be good. The second lie was that the present high is the only thing that matters because the past was gone and the future would never really arrive, but if it did, things like next month*s rent would take care of themselves.

Peggy had arrived in a place, this afternoon life, where only “now” was the only time that would ever exist and that present had but one feature– all consuming thoughts of drugs. Getting drugs, using drugs, and finding ways and means to get more

  Eventually, the only visible problems she had were both caused by and overshadowed by, addiction. If there had ever been anything in her life other than drugs, the craving for drugs and the consequences of drug use, well, she could barely remember what those things had been.   She owed these drugs her drugs a debt of gratitude for functioning a a mental erasure the way nothing else had done.

If you had told Peggy there was something in the world guaranteed to dispose of any and every horror endured, (including unmentionables) she would have started using drugs a lot sooner.

Peggy has discovered that the only way to deal with I tolerable guilt over losing custody of her kids was to take a breath, dive into the rough waters of crack then fetty, and upon running out of the air she had gasped on the surface, let herself drown in her drugs. Drug addiction was like the after-life of her real life. The person without an addiction was dead, a life that would not be resurrected like Jesus did Lazarus. The biggest difference between drug existence and life was that on drugs, nothing changed.  There was a constant illusion of new adventure when her ever present mission to find ways and means to get more dope took her to unexplored parts of the Hawaiian island of Oahu, with people she did not know an hour ago. But she never looked out the window of whatever vehicle she occupied, busy as she was  fiddling with the crack pipe in her tattered purse, a purse taken from a different exhausted addict who had fallen asleep without securing her belongings to her body.  If Peggy had had a home in one of the few places in paradise where there was little natural beauty to behold, she could have quipped, she never left home without it. She vaguely remembered that line from a commercial she had seen when she had had a television to watch years ago. Now she did not need TV because her life was an unpredictable adventure. But that was not true. On drugs, time was like a serpent with its tail in its mouth

Imagine living the exact same life a world away, a sameness so profound that Maryland days and Hawaii days were indistinguishable. In fact, the day is no different than the night. To come from the east coast of the United States all the way to the speck of land in the Pacific Ocean only to see the same view–a crack pipe white knuckle hand, while doing the same activity–hooking, in pursuit of the same goal–scoring more crack and fetty to get high and stay well.

Prelude to the high

Peggy climbed down from the Ford ForeRunner, bidding farewell to a man she called one of her clients, on the corner of River Street and Pauahi Street in downtown Honolulu.  Peggy had four twenty dollar bills clenched in her white hand topped off by raggedy, dirty fingernails. Peggycoukd have stayed on the “track” because business was out there 24)7 but her nose was starting to run, one of the first withdrawal signs.  The endless cycle of getting dope to get high, then needing more dope to stay well enough to get enough money to get high–this cycle was her circle of life. The obsessive thoughts did not bother her because she was not one to ponder the meaning of life. There was only one thing she really cared about–dope. She had a few dope related minor interests, like helping the people she used drugs with get well so they would one day assist her. Or making a client happy so he would spend money again.  Other than the dope and the people and resources needed to get it and use it, she cared about nothing else.  She did not know the president’s name. (Considering the invisibility of the sitting president in 2024, this lapse could be understood).

had to call the men she met something and she would never know or care to know their full names, the term “client” would do.  It sounded so much better than the old fashioned term “trick.” Peggy had met this new client, “Four Runner,”in one of Honolulu’s most infamous, drug infested locations.  Street prostitution was alive and well in this part of the  eleventh largest city in the country, known as downtown and/or Chinatown. The biggest change to occur in this district was the drug that motivated women, and others, to trade their time and their touch for cash.

In 2024 fentanyl, fetty, was most popular. In decades past crack had been epidemic. Ice, or crystal meth, had always been a local staple. These drugs were still around. It would be hard to find a Honolulu addict that just did one drug.  These was the primary, usually fetty, The secondary was meant to take an edge off the sedating effects of fetty.. While Peggy was on her date, as the client encounter was called, her mind was busy assembling a list of fetty dealer locations to explore during this fetty drought. She was not worried about finding crack.  It was ever present and the price had been constant for decades.

Peggy found clients by walking the streets near Safeway while men drove slowly in their cars looking for sexual favors from women, or people who resembled women. Peggy had looked at the oncoming traffic, pausing her gaze on every male until the guy driving the Four Runner indicated interest in the standard way.  Four Runner  returned her look and made a gesture to indicate he wanted to meet up right over there, a block away from Safeway on two lane Kukui Street.

Peggy had hurried to join him before one of the men who dressed like a woman or was in the process of transitioning to become an anatomical female, could intercept her date and hop in the passenger seat.  Peggy was a mildly pretty, genuine female, always had been which did not always make her everyone’s first choice, but she had her fans. However,she did not get complaisant when it came to getting into a waiting vehicle because by the time a driver had committed to picking up a sec worker, he was not going to deviate from his course. Whoever got in the car got the date.

She has heard that she should be careful how she talks, in case she gets in with an undercover cop. But she didn’t have time to dance around the matter of how much money he would pay.  Peggy was an even tempered woman in her 30’s which was young in a place where sex workers could be over 60. Also, Peggy was white. Clients liked that.  Peggy did not have to argue rates, especially since she was not saving to buy a sports car or a house. 

Once she had the money she had to do the deed. Many might find intimacy in a car with a stranger on a seldom used road unpleasant and awkward.  Peggy was so happy to have the money , the work was a small sacrifice. Emotionally, she was consumed by an anticipatory thrill that comes with the knowledge that getting high was in her near future. She needed  to get this  done so she can find something. The only thing that bothered her was wasting time in a drawn out encounter. Afternoons were perfect times to date. The men only had short lunch breaks and the fetty dealers were out and about.

Peggy walked along the street side of a park called A’ala park. The dealers who were along the perimeter of the park saw her coming and had her crack ready for purchase. Peggys mission was only half complete.

There was a fetty drought these days and good fetty is really hard to find. With only about 3 hours between doses before she begins to withdraw, there’s no time to waste. Peggy wants to make the deal, go to one of her neighborhood spots where it seems safe and private to fuck below the passenger side window and get really personal without having to waste time on unnecessary conversation. A man looking for no strings attached quick sex finds a soul mate, of sorts, in a woman whose fetty addiction motivated her to pursue the most money in the least amount of time. How much money?  On the street, the average is $100, give or take.  How much time? From pick up to drop off, possibly as little as 10 minutes. She might spend more time with repeat clients but that is if and only if they are willing to drive her around to look for fetty. Old timers have told her not to let clients see her do drugs because her asking price goes down. But so what? Any loss of money is worth finding the guys with the time and the interest to run her around in search of the opiate that replaced black tar heroin as her closest relationship. 

Yesterday, however, there was no chauffeur service from the new client in the Four Runner.  That afternoon he had to get back to work before the end of his lunch break. And she only made $80.  Oh well.  That would work. Peggy was easily distracted and always on a mission but other than that she had a pleasant personality that made it easy for her to get along with others. She was non-confrontational and slow to anger, which was especially true when her mind was on dope.  Dope was always on her mind, making her an even keel person in the drug scene with its large population of people with issues and maladaptive behaviors.  Peggy race walked to one of the people sitting on the low wall on River Street. The rock wall would be too alive with large winged roaches and plump, healthy rats once night came but it was ok for sitting during the day. She saw the guy who was said to be holding the good quality fetty, what was known as “fire.” At this time, fire was rare, and stuff that looked like fetty was plentiful.  All last week there was stuff that looked like very light brown sugar, but when she put some on her ever present palm sized square of aluminum foil, then lit the foil’s underside to turn the powdery crystals into liquid, which then vaporized, and she sucked the vapors in with a straw, the stuff left a really dark streak on the foil that tasted like glue.  Someone said people who could score legit government fetty from their doctors for cancer would scrape the medication off the sticky transdermal patch in order to sell it at an insane price ($400 for a portion that was half the size of a small marble). The cancer patients couldn’t separate out the adhesive. The adhesive was toxic, but wasn’t it all?  The worst part was not potential toxicity, but the disappointment in the low quality of the fetty look alike. It didn’t really get a person high!  Four hundred dollars spent only to start getting sick within the hour

Four hundred dollars of black tar heroin would last for days. But it was seldom strong enough to overdose a person so people abandoned it for a drug that slammed a person with the first puff but if they regained consciousness only lasted 10 minutes or so.

Peggy craved the bear death experience. She had a $20 crack tock and $60. That was enough to make everything alright for now. But as she scanned River Street she understood that there were no getty dealers out. She had been tricked by wishful thinking. What would she do now?

To be continued…