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I did some weird shyt back in those days, too many weird things to describe. But I'll tell you a couple.
I remember one day when I was really paranoid from snorting and staying up all the time. I was driving my Ferrari up West End Avenue and I passed these policemen sitting in a patrol car. They knew me—all of them knew me in my neighborhood—so they spoke to me.
When I got about two blocks away from them, I became paranoid and thought that there was a conspiracy to get me, bust me for some drugs. I look down in the compartment on the door and see this white powder. I never took coke out of the house with me. It's winter and snowing and some snow got inside the car. But I didn't realize that; I thought it was some coke that someone had planted in the car just so I could get busted.
I panicked, stopped the car in the middle of the street, ran into a building on West End Avenue, looked for the doorman, but he wasn't there. I ran to the elevator and got on and went up to the seventh floor and hid in the trash room.
I stayed up there for hours with my Ferrari parked in the middle of West End Avenue with the keys in it. After a while I came to my senses. The car was still sitting where I had left it.
I did that another time just like that and a woman was on the elevator. I thought that I was still in my Ferrari, so I told her, "bytch, what are you doing in my goddamn car!" And then I slapped her and ran out of the building.
That's the kind of weird sick shyt that a lot of drugs will make you do. She called the police and they arrested me and put me in the nut ward at Roosevelt Hospital for a few days before letting me out.
Another time, I had a white woman dealer and sometimes—when nobody was at my house—I would run over to her place to pick up some coke. One time I didn't have no money, so I asked her if I could give it to her later. I had always paid her and I was buying a lot of shyt from her, but she told me, "No money, no cocaine. Miles."
I tried to talk her into it, but she wasn't budging.
Then the doorman calls upstairs and tells her her boyfriend is on his way up. So I ask her one more time, but she won't do it. So I just lay down on her bed, and started to take off my clothes. I know her boyfriend knows I got a reputation for being big with the ladies, so what's he going to think when he sees me on her bed like that?
So now she's begging me to leave, right? But I'm just laying there with my dikk in one hand and my other hand held out for the dope, and I'm grinning, too, because I know she's going to give it to me and she does.
She cursed me like a motherfukker on my way out, and when the elevator opened and her boyfriend passed me, he kind of looked at me funny, you know, like, "Has this ****** been with my old lady?" I never went back by there after that.
I've heard how he used to call their African features ugly and notice how all the younger kids were addicted to plastic surgery.
dont start that shyt
