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by Robert P. Jr. Harris (Author)
This was my private war. The streets were a battlefield. We were fighting over drugs and risking death. The syringes we used were filthy, we would get infected by diseases, but we didn't care. I was tired from running, hiding, hustling, and stealing.
So I escaped and signed up for the Army. But, the Army gave me orders to Fort Campbell, Kentucky, which was close to Clarksville; I was back to the streets, back to my private hell.
The junky, however, was excited, "We are going back to the crib; you are going to have a paycheck twice a month; that's enough money to go have fun in the hood all over again!" he screamed.
I had come full circle; I desperately wanted to get cured but couldn't get the cure. I was so close to getting better, yet I was so far from the cure.
