By James Simons-
Crack addict’s become hot and sick without their fix, the eye of media.com have learned.
A round the clock crack addict told the eye of media.com on Monday that she becomes very hot, agitated and sick when she doesn’t have enough money to have her fix, or when she is broke. She is one of about half a dozen via k heads who smoke crack for about 12 hours of the day, daily.
” I have been raped three times on the job, had a knife stuck to my throat, I’ve seen it all, nothing scares me now”, the Southend crack addict told me. This was my third day at the Southend crack den at the bottom of one if the towns most notorious roads, which we are not allowed to name.
Incredibly, the crack addict said she never reported any of the attacks to the police because she knew what she was doing was wrong and illegal.
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That’s a shame because the police have a duty to investigate all crimes, irrespective of whether the victim of the crime is indulging in criminal activity themselves.
This woman was definitely misinformed in her views, though she states that reporting to police would have brought unwanted police attention to her. Well, sounds like a catch 22, since she cant expect to have her cake and eat it.
She then challenges my assertion, asking “can a drug dealer repor to police that they have been ribbed of their drugs”? That’s an exception, I immediately tell her, but the law does not view prostitution on th e same kvek as drug dealing, I tell her.
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Emma tells me her drug dealers are her best friends “they look after me, they keep their phone lines open all night for me. Others get dodgy deals, but I get good deals”, she says.
I accompany her nervously to get her next fix, risking being viewed as a punter by any observing police officer we may not be aware of. She rings her dealer repeatedly to explain she is running late.
Their meeting point is rotated each time in order to avoid any pattern being detected by the police. He eventually pulls up in a car, and a quick exchange of hands take place, and off he goes.
She stopped at a star way nearby and breaths a sigh of relief as she pipes her first hit. “Thank you very much for coming with me”, she says. “It’s a pleasure”, I reply. But this was the biggest lie I ever told, because it was Bo pleasure accompanying her to meet her dealer.
She was no longer feeling ill, though of concern was the fact she was going to combine her hard drugs with a bottle of side still three quarters full at the crack den. What a life!
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