A young progressive lawyer lived upstairs from me when I was a 20 year old heroin addict in the West Village. We met when he found me overdosed on the steps in our building. I sort of became his project. He was always getting me out of a jam, getting me out of jail, representing me in court, trying to save me. He couldn’t. The last time I got out of jail my parents bought me a one way ticket to a rehab in California. That was a little more than fifty years ago. I’ve been clean ever since. I never saw the young lawyer again to thank him. Kim Foster’s essay, The Meth Lunches, brought me back to those incomprehensible days. She painted a brilliant portrait of an addict.
While getting a grill going in our backyard in a Boston suburb, I came out of the kitchen to find a woman ODed on the steps next to it. I called 911. All the services arrived along with our City Councilor. She was revived screaming about her lost high. I felt responsible for her life for years after. What happened to her that she shot up in a stranger's yard? Did she ever get straight? Or did she OD somewhere else?
Thank you for the recommendation. Another nonfiction book to add to my reading list.
On my list now. Recovery and food, my two favorite topics.
Thanks for the review and the recommendation.
Thank you for this recommendation.
Kim’s original essay was one of the best pieces of food writing I have read over the last decade.
Was just looking for book recommendations. Perfect timing. Thanks!
Rape and pillage which is our current macroeconomic architecture, it’s not capitalism. Just saying.
A young progressive lawyer lived upstairs from me when I was a 20 year old heroin addict in the West Village. We met when he found me overdosed on the steps in our building. I sort of became his project. He was always getting me out of a jam, getting me out of jail, representing me in court, trying to save me. He couldn’t. The last time I got out of jail my parents bought me a one way ticket to a rehab in California. That was a little more than fifty years ago. I’ve been clean ever since. I never saw the young lawyer again to thank him. Kim Foster’s essay, The Meth Lunches, brought me back to those incomprehensible days. She painted a brilliant portrait of an addict.
I can't wait to dig in to this. Thank you for sharing it!
I've seen a lot of people recommend this book, so maybe this needs to go on my TBR. Thanks for recommending.
While getting a grill going in our backyard in a Boston suburb, I came out of the kitchen to find a woman ODed on the steps next to it. I called 911. All the services arrived along with our City Councilor. She was revived screaming about her lost high. I felt responsible for her life for years after. What happened to her that she shot up in a stranger's yard? Did she ever get straight? Or did she OD somewhere else?
Thank you for the recommendation. Another nonfiction book to add to my reading list.
Thanks for recommending!
I heard Michael Pollan loved it. All I need