Car is kerb-crawling, pacing you. Feels shark-like, a white shark near. Cops. Fuck. Nah, an apparition. Gotcha! Cocaine nonsense. Tripping balls man. Risk a wee glance. POLICE. Fuckfuckfuck. Too much. Walk normal. What do they...they don't know shit. Can't know it was you.
Was it you? Running payphone to payphone, seeking one anonymous enough to report your impending death. Made the OD call then hung up spooked. Urgency in that voice. Concern. Then in just a three-count the sky lit up flashing blue, sirens closing. Yikes, get the fuck away. This is an emergency.
Now this. Cop car hasn't evaporated like most crazy coke-FX. Serious as a heart attack. Which hasn't happened yet, after all. Strange. Fucker's still on the gallop like a panicked stallion, but no more skittering stuttering stop-go shit. Downers must be kicking in...'ray for Valium! Or will it try to kill you too? Stupid prick.
But later for getting harsh on self, because that fucking cop car is STILL there. Look, they know fine well who it was messed everyone about. Not crime of the century, or even the night, but here's a fucking junkie pest and they're trying to work out if he's 'known'. Like, warrants. You known? Hey, who really 'knows' any---QUIT BEING A SMART CUNT. You'll be in shit put deep.
Shouldn't you falter slow, looking mildly concerned? Ask cops can you help them? Depends. Depends on sanity, or absence of. Really? Look, you're just a dude walking. Walking round the corner to the All-Nite to get shit. OK?...??
Oh man. Head's crackling like a welding torch. Shouldn't inject cocaine. Though a fifth of smack rode that coke rocket like a busty big-mane chick on a hell-bike from a comic. Despite or because of that, the load hit top and blew like a smelter meltdown. Death felt certain. This time, for sure. His poor mother. Isn't that sad? Just enough time to toss five yellows in the mouth - swallow, don't inhale silly. Stop panting then. Rush out the door, leap down the stairs. Out into everything to take on the world and phone an ambo.
No-one could meet that gaze, a man possessed. That was then. Now goose-step marching to the All-Nite, because it's bright and cop cars cannot enter. Chance a glance sideways. Boss-looking shit stuck on the motor door, heraldic stuff. Woohh! Peek at the window – then eyes front sharp. God save us from that. Black-clad Pan-faced Orc-type thing. Pure evil. Or was it a reflection? Well, maybe heavy drugs aid true perception. An idea that's heard around.
Ideas don't help right now. Stop thinking. Isn't that what these drugs are for? Who needs ideas, horrible ideas. Like, one horrible idea is: last place you want to go is All-Nite. In such a place, cocaine psychosis is screamingly obvious. Staff might call cops. Who aren't far away, as it happens. Already on it. Shit........
Look. Got to keep on. You're not stopping striding onward, more like wading now the downers are digested. Limited options while being clocked by law. Rule out bolting. Ditto attacking. Don't be a twat with no idea. The how and why in Hell. Bury the truth deep.
Story is, going to All-Nite for smokes and shit. Remember. But one's lit in hand and a deck on the hip...??? So? So, chocolate. Could buy it and toss it. Give it to some cunt. Anything but eat it, eat anything. Hang on, no good. Looks weird, buying stuff to hand out. Cops would just laugh. Look at this muppet! First a wind-up call, now he's urging Snickers on random public!?! OK forget it. Bottle of cider and out. Crack it, few tilts. Shit, drinking outside is illegal now. Also don't want that poison. Shoot, snort, smoke shit but no drinking piss. Thanks anyway but you're way past the age when that was fun.
Well here's the main road and still clueless. At least cops should fuck off here and bug someone else, someone bad. You're not bad...starting to feel bad though. A little. Without the heroin and Valium you'd be a scooped-out babbling wreck. Nope just numb. Opiates. You like them. Every day. Might be babbling even so. Check lips not moving, saying this shit out loud. Doesn't help the case.
So it's a case now? The Case Of The Crazy Druggie. Big mystery. Elementary, Watson. Recklessly injected a chemical cocktail. Went mad, freaked out. Note the many collapsed veins, doctor. A chronic case. Quite so, Holmes.
Crossing main road to All-Nite, cops don't leave. Well attention is always nice. And paying attention: don't get knocked down, idiot. Cherry on the fucking cake, get run over after a near-death-experience. Phone the cops, get a bloody ambo! Someone's dying! Haha.
Long road this. Longest built or something. Way back when. But not wide. Deceptively narrow. But trying to cross, there's more going on than seemed. Step back, consider. Almost there! The lit-up All-Nite. A beacon but a warning. That inhuman light. Cold commerce laboratory. Now the cop car has spun in the road and parked right outside the freaking shop. What is their problem? A coke-head feels picked on, man.
Look both ways. Funny how the cars look like toys. Tonka. Or what, Scalectrix. Ha. Up close though, fuck. Mass and speed. Woof. No idea who's even in them. Also noticed, this road is shining. Look at the tarmac. Shiny, like a river. A super-river. A river, but more. Scuff the soles back and forth. To determine if it's really shiny.
Wait: everything is shiny, mega shiny. Whatever holds a gleam, is full-on gleaming. Drugs! Must still be tuned up. Hard to tell when so much buzzkill shit goes down. All and sundry distracting you. Hey! Why can't they do them, you do you. Fuck them all.
Then again, lots of lights right here. Many colours. Eyes dilated, plus. Full spectrum. Try sonar. Close eyes, listen. Squiggles, re-verb, croaks, ping-pong? Right, well the mission awaits. Whatever it is. Should abort. Back to base. Except cops sit watching the pilgrim's progress. Like you seemed so keen to get here, now you turn 180? Hmmm.
Those guys? Respect. But... They're no longer a huge deal. Like the thing going on 3 blocks ago. They had you going a bit. They were just THERE. Realer than real. Thought they were angry. Hoped you'd made them up. Would have prayed but why? Then nothing happened. They're in that tricky car. Maybe being informed. Instructed by radio. Them there, you here. OK their faces look like carved from gravestones. But it's part of the job. Vigilance, eternal. Nothing goes wrong no drama. Protect And Serve. But that's not them. What is?
Oh. Too heavy for a motto. Right? Everyone knows anyway. Behave Or Get Crushed. Yup. Hey, you could get a fat marker from All-Nite. Write that motto on the doors. Roof too. Whatever you like guys. All caps. Ha-ha that's funny. See, you're not bad. Could banter. Laugh along. Really they should help you. Help you across. Trained and stuff.
Fuck a duck you're mad spun. Slamming righteous. Mixing this shit? People sometimes don't get a grip, or keep it. Don't mess up. May still die. But right now...yeah. Just get this done. Shop for snacks, jumbo puffs. For later. And a cheap lighter please, man. Or no. Not a lighter. Don't say man. Or even please. Just hand a note. Get change walk out.
Cops? By now It's cool. You guess. Did you lose it big? Break things, alarm folk? You did not. Not that you know of. So. Could even trade words. Coin-chap cop window. Make a smile. Legit bag in left hand.
Ahem. Good evening officer. Bit shiny for a Tuesday, isn't it? Or Thursday, sorry. Word to the wise, gents. Very shiny river tonight - you take care, now. Braking. Be gentle. Hate for you to mash. Not dark like usual either. Behold the lights. That's why. Oh yes... Behave or get crushed, right? Nod and wink. Another wink. That means all know the score. And it's cool - if handled. Like this, the good way. People do shit, insanity. But rules are rules. No breaking things nearby. No touching people. Stuff like that. Because. What the fuck? Really, what the fuck? It's like that, so that's how it is. Heard that said. Maybe it was radio. Maybe it's a saw, an old saw. It should be. Let's make it so. A good old saw.
Strange to think. Kind of shame, drugs. Guess so. Get so high yet no escape. But it's a sort of thing. Many ironies. Like, best part is getting them. Going here, going there. Talking to all sorts. Always on amber alert. It's like a thing. Seeing shit you don't forget. Marks time. Makes you take journeys. You could be in the tube. Maybe got cocaine. Screechy metal rails. Like a rush, full effect. Gram in hand, noise in ears. Thinking mmm yeah bring it.
Specious balls. Of course drugs need took. Otherwise just score and toss. Sorted. No chance. Easy to think things up later. Things that sound true. Like if you take heroin, a day feels longer. Longer than usual, much. At first. But you don't remember shit. So what's going on? Something like, taking all your laters now. Is it true? To some it's obvious. They act that way. Balls balls balls. Making up balls.
So dangerous. This mad road, or river. Or super-river. Whatever. Call it a ribbon. Finally you cross the ribbon. The orange-black shiny ribbon. Clock the cops. Peripheral vision. You shouldn't trust it. But anyway. Seems cool strolling past their sinister grille.
Shop isn't busy. There are puffed snacks in coloured shiny bags. You zone out for a minute. Reflecting on stuff. How things seem one way, then another. Jerk awake, dropped the bag. Oh.
Enough shit. Go up and pay. For whatever's in hand. Let the boy ring it up. See the back of you. Poor dude. Working this fucking place. Mental. This late, this road. White shirt. Fluoro lights, way bright. You'd rather die. You're working on that. Let him do him, you do you. Yeah?
Why? Fuck alone knows. Fuck alone isn't telling. For now, anyway. Fuck it. One thing is... Be good to have a bit more. Nina blanca. Cogs start turning as you exit.
Oh yeah... Cops. Now you really don't give a fuck. What? Frisk you? Whatever. Calm now, very calm. It works. Cop car fires up, slides off. It's a free country. You were just shopping. Prove you did whatever. They can't be arsed. Over some bullshit. Not the first time a junkie thought it was the end. When it wasn't. And the other way round. Vice versa.
Anyway. Next. One thing for it. Bell Jimbo. Use your change in that payphone. Bound to be awake. Up smoking up shit. Talking shit. UFOs and racehorses. If anyone's daft enough to sit still for it. Sometimes you have to. What else? Go home. Drink water, two glasses. Television, nod the fuck out. Burned out, man. Thrashed.
Jimbo is up! Tells you come whenever. This late he'll be well stoked. Who isn't? If they can. And you can...if this bastard credit card still goes. Last one, the spare. Emergencies. Extra heavy charges. Wait. For what, you knob? Stick it in the machine outside wall of All-Nite. Money. Read your diary, the PIN is there somewhere. Lean against the wall a minute. Take five. Fuck you're beat. Some session. Still a little no.3 brown. Plenty Valium. Only yellow 5's. They work. Like, you could sleep right here. Standing up. Only you are not standing, but sliding down the wall a bit. You come to, the machine is beeping. Do the PIN. Except the numbers are hard to read. Page is glowing, but numbers are blurry. And sort of moving. Fuck this.