I understand now that I’m the protagonist of a docuseries about a privileged middle-class outsider who aims to become a crystal meth kingpin and fails pathetically. Every moment of my life this past year has served as entertainment. What a fool I was to think this was some community initiation ritual. That was merely a scene, a diversion, a plot line. It’s one thing to tell my story on my own terms, but this is exploitation. Perhaps I should stay here and accept my role. Everyone loves an underdog. I’ll rise again, a confident, worthy dealer, and I’ll earn the respect of my fellow tweaker
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