It never takes my mind more than a moment to remember when and how it happened. It was an incident that led to a greater diverting of my life than any other in my 22nd year of life, which is why its all the more amusing that the incident was me getting my ass handed to me by 4 strangers. To this day I am not sure if the actions that followed that event were more beneficial to me than not, but I was never the same.

On an unseasonably balmy Wednesday in October of 2014 I had my window rolled down as I drove down highway 95 towards Baltimore, Maryland. I have always loved the city. It looks like a part of history, anachronistic but beautiful in its meaning. The historical aesthetic changes in American architecture are present throughout the city, but the bridges surrounding and infusing the city have always been the best examples of the city’s beauty; a fading thing.

I entered the city in its downtown, a short walk from the harbor. The harbor always drew the attention of a passing eye. So much came through the harbor. Goods and products from across the world came through this port and into Baltimore. Food, clothes, toys, electronics, and one of the most popular commodities in the city good old heroin. It came through the port from as far off as China.

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The heroin would start at the port and a few bridges in a few different directions later it would be everywhere in the city. It was easier to find than weed and just as plentiful. But quantity was not why i went to Baltimore, it was quality. There probably is not a mid sized city or greater in America that you can’t get heroin in, but by the time it is a couple of dozen miles from the port it came in it has almost always been diluted with anything a particularly careless drug dealer would put in it to increase profits.

That’s why i went through the trouble of driving the close to 70 miles once a month to stock up. If you knew where to go you could find heroin as pure as that in a Afghani opium den. And I knew where to go, I knew Dimitar Aleksandar.