For anyone who has ever thought about using crystal meth or is may I offer you one piece of advice- do it quickly especially if death is in the back of your head….– Scallywag.
It’s a quarter past 8 in the morning, and my recent ex room mate (as it will soon become apparent for obvious reasons) is at this very moment jumping off the wall- metaphorically that is, high as a kite, and likely to stay that way until tomorrow afternoon. All I can do is nonchalantly look at him as I spread some butter on my pumpernickel toast while he sets up a tiny line of crystal meth (otherwise known as tina, crank, ice or by its clinical name – N-methylamphetamine, desoxyephedrine) on the back of an empty CD cover. He then turns around as if he has just realized a brilliant idea before turning to offer me my own very line of ‘Tina.’
‘C’mon bro- it will help you write better.’
And of course I know he is right. It will probably let me do a lot of things better, at least for the first few hours before it will catapult me to that zone called the point of no return- where disillusion and chemical euphoria (not to mention the misalignment of one’s biology as the euphoria is set to capsize to paranoia, fear and self degradation- feelings that I prefer to leave on the curbside).
‘Can you show me? – I ask.
At this moment the skank he came home from last night comes out of the bathroom, the tassles of her ripped dress skidding along the floor, the Corona in her hand shaking violently to Prodigy’s ‘Smack the Bitch up’ playing like a national anthem from one corner of the room. The inside vein of her left arm a few incisions north of foreboding trivia to never ever land. Hold on to dear lord or whatever else makes you feel comfortable.
He turns and offers her a cigarette (somehow they have perfected a speachless relationship where words are replaced by gestures and innuendo) before generously remembering to offer me one as well.
‘See,’ he says showing me the vial of America’s finest between his hands.
As soon as he is done showing me he gets on his phone and starts to call the local drug dealer. If you must know the local drug dealer lives on the 13th floor- while we live on the 25th floor.
He then turns to the skank semi passed out on the floor, who probably has a name but one which I am apt not to care about as she now wanders into my room and begins to look around.
“I want to lie down.” she says.
“You will in time.” I say. ” Forever.”
Brilliant. I have no doubt in my mind that is went on, as I have seen similar scenes myself plenty of times.
i thought this stuff only happened in shitkicker places like Tennessee or west virginia
get them outa here !
Don’t make me bring them back to the store…
love how your meth-addled little pets are making your life difficult… I did tell you if you wanted them they’d be your responsability, feed ’em, walk ’em, keep them clean….
Chris! This very story could get you laid. Keep telling it. Butt seriously, holy shit.
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