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SAMMY HEYWARD finds a face behind a stereotype Between the Cracks 
Advertising for Pabst beer in a Belltown Alley. With the advent of the "Belltown crack smokers" video, the focus is negatively on the male disenfranchised black person smoking crack in the alleyways of Belltown. But it is the widespread usage among people you don't usually notice which belies the stereotyping of the crack smoker as a dribbling dirty black man completely addled from smoking crack. Here is the story of someone you wouldn't notice-a girl in her thirties, with light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail wearing jeans sneakers and a short, black leather coat. She doesn't have on any makeup; she carries a large shoulder bag. She comes up to the apartment as we have set up a time to talk to her. Her name is Hanna. She's originally from Tacoma and came to Seattle ten years ago working as a paralegal. She always drank, but started drinking heavily and smoking meth on weekends until she took too many days off from work and showed up for work disheveled too many times and was let go. She couldn't go home because her mother had died and the rest of the family now lived in Texas. She lost her nice Capitol Hill apartment and stays here and there with friends. When she is balling and has money, drugs, and a new pimp, she stays in one of the transient motels on Aurora. The buzzer rings and we let her in. "Come on in and sit down. We'll change your name of course for this article. We'll call you Hanna; that was my grandmother's name." I laugh out loud. She laughs at the joke and lights up a menthol cigarette from the pack I hand to her. "We're writing this article to put a human face on addiction. We're sick of the stereotypes presented in the media about crackheads. It's like whenever someone sees a black person, especially a street person, they are always derided as a crackhead." "Well, there are a lot of people who smoke, and really it's not so much different from the snorting powder or smoking speed. Actually, I think it's all so hypocritical. I mean the whole difference is the scene; really, the visible people are targeted cause they don't have a place of their own but that has to do with being poor and depressed. Most of the street people get SSI but that's not enough to live on, so you have to sell drugs or your body to survive." "Do you have a place to live now?"  "No. Well kinda. When I need to crash, I'll go to a friend's apartment. He's a junkie but is able to keep a place. I'll bring him some rock or a couple of cans of Joose or Tilt and he will let me sleep and shower."
"Oh by the way, we went out and got some Tilts." We crack open a green Tilt and pour out some for all of us. The green color is weird but the Kool-Aid taste ain't bad, and it doesn't even taste like booze.
"Thanks, do you mind if I smoke? "The glass pipe is already in her half gloved hand, fingernails painted a cool pink. She quickly takes out a cut down chopstick and pushes it into the pipe."
"Why are you doing that?" I ask curiously.
"I'm pushing the Brillo down to the other end. See I've been smoking this and I need to see if there is another hit so I push... " She flicks her lighter and takes a long slow pull on the pipe concentrating on the task at hand. Eyes closed, she lets out a thick plume of smoke. It smells sweet and sour at the same time; weed smells a hell of a lot stronger. We watch, trying to discern a change in personality, but nothing changes. She seems calm not jittery or jumpy. She doesn't start scratching or sniffing or geeking. She leans back, lights another menthol, and takes another gulp of Tilt.
"Do you guys have any Sprite? I get really thirsty for sugar when I smoke. Let's go to the store and get something." She smiled a cool smile and added, "I tell you what. You promised me that you would give me some money for rock. I'll take you guys along with me and we can score. Sound like fun?"
We leave the apartment. It is already dark. "Now you guys just don't say anything. I'll do all of the business. You just walk a half a block behind me. So first off, we'll go down to Mexico. That's where most of the good dope is but lately the cops have been around, especially on Fridays. I like to shop here cause you don't have to break off."
"What do you mean break off?" I feel like a fool asking... but.
"It's just like when you get some weed; you have to give your guy a little bud. Same old business."
We walk down through Mexico but it is deserted. No one is on the street, not even looking for work. We keep strolling down to the park but, again, there are just a bunch of drunks lolling on park benches. She waits for us to catch up. "Well I guess we'd better go back up to Belltown; somebody's gotta have something."
The streets are crowded with the usual Belltown partiers. Groups of girls in spaghetti-strap dresses and thin high heels clatter into clubs ready and willing to drink expensive cocktails while snorting powder in bathrooms of the party zone.
"You guys stay back; I think I see someone up ahead."
We lag behind until she whistles for us to come up to the edge of the alley. "He said it's alright if you want to check out whazzs up, but I promised him that we could all go up to your place to smoke, alright?"
We walk fast up to the apartment and blow into the room. He tells us his name is Scrooge. He is young and vaguely African but we can't tell by his accent, which is vaguely east-coast. Hanna already has her pipe in her hand and is starting to fidget a bit. "Are you guys buying?"
"Ok, sure I guess. Here's 20."
Scrooge lets us look into his salesman's carrying case. He opens his mouth to reveal about 20 white rocks nestled in his red tongue. He picks one out and drops it on the coffee table.
"Now, could you guys turn down the lights and put some music on? I'm gonna hit this right now." She lights up and lets out a long plume. "Nothing." She says and, after a long pause, looks over at us and laughs. "Just clowning," she said. "This is great dope; thanks."
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