The Daily Telegraph ran the story today as its Monday lead, “Drug lords hit town – cartels get rich on Aussie hunger for cocaine”.

A “generational shift” the paper explained, has pushed the demand for the drug making Australia the world’s most lucrative coke market.
While this was surely a shock for the few Sydneysiders who haven’t stepped out to a bar, club, trendy restaurant or party in the past few years, for the rest of us, the story was more a case of no shit Sherlock than shock. Because, if you live in Sydney and are under the age of 55, chances are you will run into the drug every day if you knew what you were looking for.
To say cocaine is endemic in Sydney is an understatement – it is a full-blown epidemic.
Take my foray out for a drink with a friend in an upmarket beachside bar the other night, where young girls dressed like two dollar hookers who would gladly give change gather to take photos of themselves to launch on Facebook and trawl for men.
Wearing tops – albeit expensive ones – as dresses and shoes a veteran dance party trannie would find challenging, they tossed their platinum blonde manes suggestively and acted like they were in conversations with their friends while scanning the room for better options.
Turning to my friend, a playboy type still not ready to settle down, I asked, “what happened to classy young women?”
He turned, frowned, and recited a part of my CV where I worked for a particular women’s magazine that “educated” women by offering blowjob tips and guides to finding his g-spot.
“You did this,” he suggested, sending me into a guilty decline. “Not really,” he added, noticing all colour had evacuated my face. “It’s coke. All these girls should be wearing t-shirts saying ‘will f**k for a line’ but that would mean they have to cover up skin so they don’t. ”
“I reckon I could have any one of them,” he continued, tempting my ire. “Give my five minutes and watch.”
My friend disappeared to the men’s toilets returning in two minutes with a small white bag of powder in his palm. He then moved over to the gaggle of girls and, within seconds, had two following him to a toilet cubicle.
Welcome to Sydney, where the key to the city is a baggie full of powder and all dignity is lost in its pursuit.
In my many years of living in the inner city, I have seen coke go from an occasional treat for high flyers who could afford it at chi chi dinner parties or New year’s eve blow-outs to Monday night pizza and beer get togethers and sneaky trips to the loo at work.
It has changed from being something shared to something secreted, with certain parties greedily devouring a gram together while others wait for their return from the bathroom only to have them gibber mindlessly in their ear for the next hour about absolutely nothing.
I have seen dinner parties go from being about food (after I have schlepped to the fish markets, spend a mortgage on food and a day on preparation mind you) to guests pushing solids on a plate anxiously waiting for the dealer to arrive and the real party to begin.
I have hopped cross-legged outside restaurant toilets which are no longer used for ablutions but as tiny party cubicles (note the shiny-edged ledges installed and stainless steel cisterns for easier chopping).
Three weeks ago I went to a 21st where the kids had chipped in to give the birthday girl a gram instead of a present. The main course her parents had catered to the last detail hadn’t even arrived when said birthday girl came over to say hello but instead mumbled nonsensical bull while chewing the inside of her mouth like a masticating cow.
Yes, welcome to Sydney, coke central, where you can’t escape the drug no matter how hard you try. Hell, now it’s even on the front page.
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