"Well the thing about me," he says, his eyes half closed, trying desperately amongst the the abrasions to find an untapped vein,"is that...I'm really only attracted...to bitches that are hot."
"Of course you are," I say, not really understanding what he means since the girl is actually pretty attractive.
"What is her name again?"
"Carrie."
"Right. Right. Carrie." Too close to Karen.
He then goes on to explain how Carrie has the bedroom and he sleeps out on here on the couch.
"Oh, I see," I say, knowing what he really means: the fucker just can't get hard anymore, which is typical.
I look around the room and notice a copy of Fear of Dreaming on the coffee table, a VHS of Trainspotting over on a shelf, and next to it a small stack of Burroughs(the Wild Boys, Ticket that Exploded, and of course, Junky.) Half the junkies I know are like this: completely into being a junkie, as if they made a conscious decision to get to this point. It's sort of like when you were in adolescence and you went through some stupid phase, like say, punk rock and you were so proud of your self for finally forging that sense of identity, so you would use anything you could to display that you were indeed "punk rock." Wearing the fact that you were punk rock as a sort of badge. The only difference now is that these assholes aren't in adolescence, they're in their late twenties to early thirties, and they can only wear their badge half the time. The other half they have to wear long sleeves.
Carrie comes back from the bathroom and chunks up a new piece of H on her piece of foil, which is comically large.
"You know it's probably for the best," I say to her.
"What is?"
"That fact that you can't get those Oxycontin anymore."
"What are you talking about? What do you mean?"
"This stuff is a lot cheaper you know. A lot easier to deal with. I used to do Oxycontin and if you like this kind of high, which obviously you do, you might as well do this stuff," I wave my foil in front of me,"the real thing."
"Yeah, I guess so. I just, well, you know, I feel kind of dirty smoking this shit. But right now I'm withdrawing pretty bad and it can get pretty annoying at work."
"I know exactly how that is. What is it you do again?"
"Hairdresser. So standing all day can get to me. You get the kicks. You know? Then the pain shooting up my arms and into my hands while I'm cutting hair. And not to mention those goddamn dope sniffles.So for now I just take what I can get, but I'm going right back to Oxycontin as soon as I can get them."
I definitely know about taking what you can get. Why the hell else would I be here right now? I throw Milo two twenties and he pushes two balloons across the coffee table. The asshole is probably double charging me but I don't really care because my guy is closed for the night and all I really want is to get high.
"It's some really good stuff," Milo says. "Fuckin' Julio came through man. The Mexican came through."
I open up the first balloon and put half the H on a clean sheet of foil.
"Let me ask you something," I say to Carrie, "when you do those Oxycontin do pop them or do you smoke them?"
"I smoke them."
"So what's the difference? Why do you feel so dirty smoking heroin?"
"It's just that," her eyes are fixed on a couple of needles laying on the table, "It's just that...um...well..."
"It's just what?"
"Nothing. It's just nothing.
I notice just how pretty Carrie really is and think about what Milo said earlier. I want to stare at her staring at those needles for as long as I can until she looks up and notices me. When she does look up though, she doesn't look at me, she looks at Milo, who has nodded off. The expression on her face tells me that she feels bad about something; but what? Maybe she thinks she contributing in some small way to Milo's growing addiction or maybe she thinks she offended him in some way with her comment about feeling dirty, but if she was of any intelligence she would know that Milo is always too fucking high to ever know if something offensive is said towards him.
I take two hits of my H then notice Carrie's breasts in the gray silk top she's wearing which is low cut, and has spaghetti straps, one of which is hanging down on her shoulder. Her breasts look amazing and I start to think that maybe I should try to fuck her, or maybe not, because, even though she is nothing like Karen, just her name alone sounding too much like Karen's is a little more than I can take at the moment.
"Uh, look, I should really get going," I say.
"Stay a little longer, hang out, it's Friday night," Carrie says.
Exactly. It's Friday night and I want to get the hell out of here before I make another poor choice. I'd rather go make that poor choice in a bar somewhere, all of which down here on Maryland are bound to be full, and even if they're not, there's got to be at least one party in the Crest, maybe over at the Lodge.
"I'm sorry but it's getting kind of late and I really just want to go home and get into bed."
"Alright, but maybe tomorrow you can come back? We'll hang out. Get high."
"Hey, Milo," I yell, waking him up, "I'm leaving now but I'll swing by tomorrow night."
"Alright man. Hey, do you want to help me out? Not tomorrow but just sometime this week. I have to go start cleaning a few of my dad's rental properties."
"Yeah, that would be cool, I could use a little extra cash. Say, do you have a cigarette?"
"Yeah, for sure," he hands me a Camel.
"Goodbye guys," I say to both of them, nodding, as I head out the front door. I make my way over to the AM/PM on the corner of Maryland and Trop and buy a sixer and a pack of cigarettes for myself then head down Elizabeth and into the Crest.
Another desperate little night, in a desperate little apartment, in a desperate little city.
fantastic.
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