Occasional Companion
"Nothing ever starts on time " I hear some crack head remark in the foodline. He says this with conviction as if he has important places to go.
His partner asks him "where the fuck you need to be homey?!"
Great minds think alike.
I smile at the friend with the subtle recognition that the partner he is Rollin with is a lop. A lop is a step below a lame which is a step above a mark. A mark at least has some money. A mark is a kid that comes to the city. You pinch his drugs and charge him double. He accepts this with a smile. This fool, this lop, has the nerve to believe the world owes him something. The world owes you nothing, friend. You got to take that shit. You have to grab life by the balls and get the world to beg for mercy.
I try not to associate with this or any crowd. When I pair up with someone, it is out of desperation. The drugs suppress my desire for food, for love, for self respect but they cannot suppress my desire for an occasional companion. I saw him in the hallway. A drag queen kicked him out of her room. He was out in the hallway of the hotel in the middle of registering. I could see the blood mixed in the syringe. Like rotten maple syrup and kool aid, I saw something so grotesque in him. It drew me like a moth to an open flame. Here was a man sicker than me.
As he pulled of the tie he was screaming to the queen "You are just going to put me out in the fucking hallway?' Slam went the door. That was his answer.
He was sweaty and alabaster and perfect to me at that moment. He actually had the gaul to finish shooting up in front of me or anyone who was bold enough not to avert their eyes. What a magnificent creature. He out junkied me by a mile. As he licked the blood off the fresh hole in his arm, he noticed I was staring at him. I was on the landing between the third and second floors. I had moved in here when I was released from jail a few weeks ago. Six months and sixty pounds later, I was working on a small time habit. A bag here, a bag there. I was not much to look at with my coke bottle glasses and big ass but that didn't stop him.
He started walking towards me "Are you coming?" He had this blue eyes with pinned pupils, blonde hair. He was toned in an way that was unusual for a an addict. Was he doing push ups between hits? I wasn't sure how this was possible. Without speaking a word, I started following him up the stairs. I was looking for some excitement. I had found it.
His room should have clued me in that I needed to fucking run. Everything was torn apart. The mattress had burn holes but that is fairly standard. The nightstand had some rigs, some cookers, and a thing of store bought lemon juice. There were empty wrappers, empty backpacks, cigarettes packs scattered in piles. he moved a few mounds of clothing out of the way so I could sit down on the only place to sit, the bed. He has the lamp with no shade on the floor. He leaned down to turn in on in a frantic motion.
"Do you want to get high?" he asked me as he plopped down on the bed after locking the deadbolt.
This was truly poor addict form. He hadn't even asked me my name or spoke more than a few words to me and he thinks I am going to suck his dick for some drugs. I must look really fucking shitty right now. Damn. As I try to get up, he grabs my hand. This wasn't a grab of force but more of a quiet gesture to let me know he did not want to be alone. When he smiled at me, I saw there was something else there. He was tweaked! He was speedballing in the hallway and clearly did a little too much.
Then we talked, and he talked, and I talked and he listened and talked and talked and talked and talked. His name was Brian. He didn't want a girlfriend or a relationship but he really wanted me to stay there with him. He would get me high if I would stay even though we just met. Yeah, it happened. And eventually he fell in love with me but he loved crack just a little more. I would nod out while he tore the carpet apart for a rock he never lost. He liked me because I hated crack. He knew I would never steal his first love and it only cost him a little bit of his comedown stash to keep me happy.
But nothing ever stays the same. Nothing ever starts on time. There is no happy ending.
A few weeks later he was on his knees.
"I would rather wait in the fucking food line then watch you tear the room apart Brian" I uttered as I left in disgust. I left him there panning for gold. I am not sure he even noticed I was gone. I had no place to be but I could not stay there watching him kill himself.
As he pulled of the tie he was screaming to the queen "You are just going to put me out in the fucking hallway?' Slam went the door. That was his answer.
He was sweaty and alabaster and perfect to me at that moment. He actually had the gaul to finish shooting up in front of me or anyone who was bold enough not to avert their eyes. What a magnificent creature. He out junkied me by a mile. As he licked the blood off the fresh hole in his arm, he noticed I was staring at him. I was on the landing between the third and second floors. I had moved in here when I was released from jail a few weeks ago. Six months and sixty pounds later, I was working on a small time habit. A bag here, a bag there. I was not much to look at with my coke bottle glasses and big ass but that didn't stop him.
He started walking towards me "Are you coming?" He had this blue eyes with pinned pupils, blonde hair. He was toned in an way that was unusual for a an addict. Was he doing push ups between hits? I wasn't sure how this was possible. Without speaking a word, I started following him up the stairs. I was looking for some excitement. I had found it.
His room should have clued me in that I needed to fucking run. Everything was torn apart. The mattress had burn holes but that is fairly standard. The nightstand had some rigs, some cookers, and a thing of store bought lemon juice. There were empty wrappers, empty backpacks, cigarettes packs scattered in piles. he moved a few mounds of clothing out of the way so I could sit down on the only place to sit, the bed. He has the lamp with no shade on the floor. He leaned down to turn in on in a frantic motion.
"Do you want to get high?" he asked me as he plopped down on the bed after locking the deadbolt.
This was truly poor addict form. He hadn't even asked me my name or spoke more than a few words to me and he thinks I am going to suck his dick for some drugs. I must look really fucking shitty right now. Damn. As I try to get up, he grabs my hand. This wasn't a grab of force but more of a quiet gesture to let me know he did not want to be alone. When he smiled at me, I saw there was something else there. He was tweaked! He was speedballing in the hallway and clearly did a little too much.
Then we talked, and he talked, and I talked and he listened and talked and talked and talked and talked. His name was Brian. He didn't want a girlfriend or a relationship but he really wanted me to stay there with him. He would get me high if I would stay even though we just met. Yeah, it happened. And eventually he fell in love with me but he loved crack just a little more. I would nod out while he tore the carpet apart for a rock he never lost. He liked me because I hated crack. He knew I would never steal his first love and it only cost him a little bit of his comedown stash to keep me happy.
But nothing ever stays the same. Nothing ever starts on time. There is no happy ending.
A few weeks later he was on his knees.
"I would rather wait in the fucking food line then watch you tear the room apart Brian" I uttered as I left in disgust. I left him there panning for gold. I am not sure he even noticed I was gone. I had no place to be but I could not stay there watching him kill himself.
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