Down On The Corner

I can't say I have friends down there because, in reality, they weren't really friends. They were acquaintances; the only thing we had in common was drugs, sex and emotional vengeance. It was the party we lived for and the memories we wanted to forget. Pickton and his group played on that to get the girls to the farm.

The insanity of fighting over who's got the biggest rock in their pipe, the corner you're standing on or what look you thought I gave you, was very real down on the corner by the Astoria Hotel. It was all about survival and getting the anger out. It must have felt good to get the anger out because we'd always end up celebrating over a beer or a rock once the fight was over, and then it was back out on the street again. What a life!

Many jobs I've done more recently involved repetitive tasks; it was the same for me when I worked the streets. Work, score, use- Even when I'd get tired of working and go on a binge, sooner or later I'd have to get my butt back out to work.

I never thought about the poverty while I was hanging around Downtown Eastside. I almost always had money, and when I didn't, I had longshoremen or someone to buy me a beer and give me a smoke, sometimes even money. As long as I looked good and strutted my stuff. I never used the phone unless I was calling for drugs or the guy I finally married.