Writer, freak & outspoken crazy person Gregory Pleshaw penned an insightful essay for his self-published opus,
The Collapse of Time. A few years back, when living in San Francisco's seedy Mission District, he became a man possessed, a man on a mission:
Last night, I crossed the line. I did the dirty deed. I just said no to just saying no, and I went out and bought myself a $10 rock of crack. It had been a long time coming. I wanted a rock of my very own, one I didn't have to share, one I could do all by myself in the kitchen, so I could experience the deviant thrill of it all, all by my lonesome.
Screw all this "is it spiritual or is it chemical?" talk -- It's not often that someone with such obvious (and recognized) literary skill dives to the bottom and lives to tell the tale. This one is up there with old Billy-boy Burroughs and Hunter S.
