Street Junkie's Nightmare - Part I: Breaking My Fast With The Mob

I wanted to share this with you because it means a lot to me. What you’ll see in this video is me showing up fully, without filters, no act. It’s real, it’s raw, and it’s a piece of who I was, where I came from and why I do what I do. Check it out and let me know what you think.

Johnny

September 22, 2025

John Makohen, Author Co-Founder, Educational Enhancement CASAC 

When you use street or club drugs, you're taking a lot of risks. The drugs are dangerous, and usually, there's no way to know how strong they are or what else may be in them. It's even more unsafe to use them along with other substances like alcohol and marijuana.

Author John Makohen is a seasoned substance use counselor who survived 20 years as a street junkie and wrote a book published on Amazon: A Heroin User's Guide To Harm Reduction: Staying Alive in the Age of Fentanyl, which skillfully combines his personal experiences and professional knowledge to save lives. Street Junkie's Nightmare encompasses Part I of a two-part series. 

According to John Makohen:

When I was living the life of a street junkie, I thought of myself as industrious—an idea machine. I had to hustle. No one was handing me bags of dope to keep from getting dope sick. My ideas existed in a gray area between legality and illegality. Come on, give me a break. When you have nothing, you must take chances and hope an idea works to make some cash before getting shut down or pinched by the law. There was nothing good about having to cop dope in Utica, New York. 

One way​​ I thought I could make some money was to sell Christmas trees in New York City. I wasn't aware of the permits or permissions. You can bet that I would never think about the consequences of my actions. I drove upstate to my brother-in-law's father's land. I chopped down about 40 pine trees, wrapped them in plastic, and loaded them into the truck. The bodegas were selling trees for $45.00 and up. I would sell my trees for $40 each. I should sell them in about a day. 

Walmart Stop  

Before leaving upstate New York, I went into Walmart and stole a whiteboard, an assortment of paints (reds, greens, gold, black, and blue), brushes, and a few Sharpies to draw my design. I designed two elegant 'For Sale' Christmas tree signs. I was so determined that I painted the signs first and then shot dope. I know it's unheard of, but I didn't want to pass out and mess things up. The signs demanded respect.

New York City Arrival  

Once I parked the truck in the East Village of New York City, I sat in the front seat, trembling and scared to show up and act. The honest Johnny stepped in. I could feel all my flaws and strengths, social awkwardness and self-doubt, distorted thinking, and anxiety surge and cripple me. I was frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Bang, bang. Bang. I hear someone knocking on my window. I snap out of my daze, and a businessman stands by my driver's door. I roll the window down, hoping he'll tell me I need to leave. 

First Customers Arrive 

He asks me, "Are you selling those trees?" Great, now he'll want to see my permit. I look blankly back at him. I assume he'll ask to see my permit. Does he sense my fear? I don't get a chance to answer. He never takes his eyes off me as he reaches into his back pocket and says, "How Much?" He catches me off guard. I wasn't prepared to talk business with him. I wanted to pretend I was angry and defend my right to sell Christmas trees in New York City. I manage to say, "Fo, For, Forty Doll Dollars each." "Give me 3. They're huge and fresh. Can you drag them around the corner for me? My wife and kids are standing on the lawn around the corner. They will wait with the trees over there." He hands me $150 and tells me to keep the change.

My fear has vanished. I am trembling with excitement. I grab a cigarette, gloves, and head to the back of the truck to pull out trees. I place them on a wrought iron fence. Behind the wall is a hilly lawn with steps carved into the center, leading to a café. Art dealers, booksellers, and record vendors are always set up here without any issues, so I figured it would be a good location for me. 

There was a lot of traffic around me. I was kitty-corner from Ray's Pizza, within NYU territory, just a stone's throw from Cooper Union. I was set up in front of what was then a coffeehouse. Still, now it is a student union looming its shadow over what was once the Mecca to people experiencing homelessness, gutter-punkers of New York City's East Village. While I was pulling out the trees, two more people stopped and bought some from me. I couldn't believe it. I didn't have to work hard at selling; the trees sold themselves. 

Police Arrive 

A sleek black car pulled up in front of me, and two guys dressed in custom-tailored suits stepped out. I assumed they were detectives. My business was about to be temporarily shut down. Most likely, they would make me pack up and leave. I would drive to a new spot and reopen the shop. Something felt strange about these two guys. They didn't carry themselves like cops. They were unique, felt different, and emanated powerful energy.

"How 'yous doing?" the guy closest to me asked. The other asked me, "How long have you been here selling Christmas trees?" "Hey, kid, you look nervous. Don't get worried. We want to know how long you've been here." I told them I had been there for about an hour. "Do you guys want to be my first customers? The trees are only forty dollars and better than what's across the street." 

The bigger of the two stepped closer and leaned his strong face near mine. He looked around and spoke into my ear, "Do you know what you're fucking doing, kid?" 

I just stared at him. I didn't know what to say. It was clear these guys weren't NYPD. 

"We will be very nice because it's Christmas, and you're just some strung-out street kid without a fucking clue. Put the fucking trees back in the truck, and then we're going for a ride." 

"Who the fuck are you?" Figure it out, kid. He leaned back against my truck, showed me the pistol hiding in a shoulder holster, and said, "Get your ass moving."

The other guy leaned against the fence, smoking a cigarette. He glanced over at me and yelled, "Hey, kid?" I looked at him as he slowly pulled back his suit coat and showed me the piece tucked neatly into a holster. "Don't make me shove this up your ass!"

The lightbulb came on. No, these guys weren't cops. These two goons were from the Italian Mob, talking a mile a minute and freaking the hell out. My attitude changed fast. 

I quickly grabbed trees and dragged them to the truck. The bigger man said, "I'm glad you've come to your senses." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundreds. He handed me two crisp hundred-dollar bills, smirked, and said, "I changed my mind. You're gonna drive the trees to my restaurant. It's not far. Okay, let's go."

I loaded the remaining trees and got in through the driver's door of the truck. The guy who handed me the money climbed in. He told me, "If I should ride with you. Nothing gets lost then." Smiling, I replied, "I'm crazy, but not crazy enough to try and fuck you guys over. Plus, I can do work for you. My truck is legal." He winked at me. 

We got to his restaurant and went inside to eat. The restaurant wasn't open yet, so we were the only three people in the dining room. I was scared shitless. I'd seen enough movies to know I was about to die in that spaghetti factory.

After a while, I started to relax. The food came, and it was delicious. I had several cups of dark Italian coffee, hard-fried eggs, salami, and cheese. They had a blast making fun of me and my lifestyle. I had them laughing and shaking their heads at all the crazy shit I pulled for my God, Heroin.

Today, I can joke and laugh about my street junkie lifestyle. But on that chilly December day, it was a street junkie's nightmare before Christmas. NOTHING MATTERED when I was living a ridiculous life, struggling from one fix to the next. 

All I wanted was to keep dope in my veins. Heroin had power over me. Today, I respect heroin's power. I don't fear it, nor do I regret my past. I can't change any of it. The only thing I can do is live a life of gratitude, thankfulness, humility, and happiness peacefully and with respect.

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John Makohen also authored two influential books: A Heroin User's Guide to Harm Reduction: Staying Alive in the Age of Fentanyl and Xylazine. The first is a bold, honest survival manual for people who use drugs in today's overdose crisis. Resilience: Building Strength in Early Recovery, a straightforward guide with practical strategies for building strength and confidence during early recovery.

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