Life of a drug dealer
January 20th 2007 09:46
High school had a double meaning for this guy. "Let's get high," was the anthem as he remembered. When reality hit and he found he needs to earn his money, dealing seemed the only option. Besides, it was an easy shift from being a runner.
His neighbourhood gave him the thumbs up to expand his interests in the area, and his finances grew as he began selling poisons that came from the ends of the earth.
And the people he met seemed to be from the same place. One man, the manager of a upmarket cafe, had a habit for setting bombs in bottles of champagne: "If you pop the cork, you're gonna lose half your brain." Another was a bricklaying contractor who was responsible for the (admittedly ugly) expansion of Pyrmont. He ran for lawyers and accountants, a promise given to them for their investment in the schemes which employed him.
As the Ice epidemic grew, the dealer found himself out of luck. He was known for dissaproving of labs run in the home. When one of his men got caught at the airport in Bali, he knew he was doomed.
"They say his firey limp gave him away/ As the Feds rushed 'um comin thru Customs."
He made a quick exit to the Cayman Islands, which was fairly easy as he knew he didn't really have what you would call friends, and his family disowned him long ago. It was a stealthy exit, and he never returned to what was once home.
The only traces he left were from tracks on the arms of what were once his loyal customers, whom he told to go to rehab in a desperate attempt to shake them off. It was these tracks which the International Police used to find him.
When they came bursting through his apartment door, he had nothing to put up a fight with. He had little money for a court case, and it is not generally known where, or if, he was jailed.
His neighbourhood gave him the thumbs up to expand his interests in the area, and his finances grew as he began selling poisons that came from the ends of the earth.
And the people he met seemed to be from the same place. One man, the manager of a upmarket cafe, had a habit for setting bombs in bottles of champagne: "If you pop the cork, you're gonna lose half your brain." Another was a bricklaying contractor who was responsible for the (admittedly ugly) expansion of Pyrmont. He ran for lawyers and accountants, a promise given to them for their investment in the schemes which employed him.
As the Ice epidemic grew, the dealer found himself out of luck. He was known for dissaproving of labs run in the home. When one of his men got caught at the airport in Bali, he knew he was doomed.
"They say his firey limp gave him away/ As the Feds rushed 'um comin thru Customs."
He made a quick exit to the Cayman Islands, which was fairly easy as he knew he didn't really have what you would call friends, and his family disowned him long ago. It was a stealthy exit, and he never returned to what was once home.
The only traces he left were from tracks on the arms of what were once his loyal customers, whom he told to go to rehab in a desperate attempt to shake them off. It was these tracks which the International Police used to find him.
When they came bursting through his apartment door, he had nothing to put up a fight with. He had little money for a court case, and it is not generally known where, or if, he was jailed.
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There is a harbour walk which has recently been finished. I believe you can walk from Glebe Point through to Circular Quay (passing through Pyrmont), all waterside, if my sources are accurate.