tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19628037826695384332024-02-07T17:57:39.736-08:00DrugSceneryCash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-89724654196945985882019-02-15T14:50:00.007-08:002022-11-12T13:43:09.798-08:00ALL-NITE<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">
</span>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Car
is kerb-crawling, pacing you. Feels shark-like, a white shark near.
Cops. Fuck. Nah, an apparition. <i>G</i><i>otcha!
</i>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.</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Was
it you? Running payphone to payphone, seeking one <span style="font-style: normal;">anonymous</span>
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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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. </span></span></span></span></span>
</div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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?...??</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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. </span></span></span></span></span>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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 <i>that.</i> Black-clad Pan-faced Orc-type
thing. Pure evil. Or was it a reflection? Well, maybe heavy drugs aid
<i>true</i> perception. An idea that's heard around.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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........</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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 and parked right outside the
freaking shop. What is their <i>problem?</i> A coke-head feels real picked
on, man.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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?
<i>Hmmm.</i></span></span></span></span></span>
</div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Those
guys? <i>Respect.</i> 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?</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Fuck
a duck you're mad spun. Slamming righteous. Mixing this shit? People
sometimes can'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. Nor please, shitsake. Just hand a note. Get change
walk out.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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. </span></span></span></span></span>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Strange
to think. Kind of shame, drugs. Guess so. Get so high yet no escape.
But it's a sort of <i>thing.</i> 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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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. </span></span></span></span></span>
</div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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?</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Why?
Fuck alone knows. Fuck alone isn't telling. For now, anyway. Fuck it.
One thing is... Be good to have a bit more. <i>N</i><i>ina blanca</i>.
Cogs start turning as you exit.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span>
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</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Oh
yeah... Cops. Now you really don't give a fuck. What? Frisk you?
<i>Whatever.</i> 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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">
</span>
<br />
</span></span></span></span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-89442895761167279962016-08-29T20:35:00.002-07:002022-11-19T14:53:41.818-08:00Danky fae Ponzi<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Someone gives word:
it's on. <span style="font-style: normal;">Wee Danky</span><span style="font-style: normal;">'</span><span style="font-style: normal;">s
servin</span><span style="font-style: normal;">g</span><span style="font-style: normal;">,
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">fuckin' shift.</span> The
crowd shuffles from the back-court into the rear tenement entrance.
Single-file down the hallway, dough in hand. Danky's in his doorway,
gated grille. Punters greet him, order tersely.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Awright Danky.
Gies a gairden.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Three, Danky
mate. Sound.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Just the wan, ma
man. Cheers mucker.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Gies a deuce,
Danky. Aye, two.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After Teuchter Mack
buys his eighth – or 'garden-gate' in bingo-lingo drug-slang – he
introduces me. I nod respect, expecting queries. But Danky's in his
work flow, know? He barely gives a shit, just briskly asks how many.
After all, Strathclyde Police aren't lacking intel on the wee man.
Gathering 50 junkies in Ponzipark to distribute a quarter-klick isn't
exactly clandestine. <span style="font-style: normal;">Aye well fuck
it, know?</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Uh right, two?
Here.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My three ton is stuffed in his North Face padded jacket uncounted. He also rocks a
plaid fleece and trapper-hat, ear-flaps down. It's mid-winter, after
all. Fuckin' Baltic, so it is.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everyone's
dispersing, smack in paws, spring in step. Teuchter Mack cadges us a
lift, some cat he knows. The driver's girl looks spooked, strange
guys jumping in the back. Maybe I look sketch, know? Eyes dilated,
grin elated.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
God it's good to be
off and sorted. Away from the notorious Ponzipark. Just off
Salamander Street, near the Cross. Very dodgy post-code. The drugs
trade, the violence it attracts, police surveillance. Hairiness and shudderation.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pretty much
everyone's heard of here. Most of Wee Danky's punters are citywide,
even regional. After all, that's a fair heft of kit if you think
about it. Maybe around a nine-bar, a rough 250 grams. Say he paid five grand for that. Sold at £150 per 3.5g, that's £10,700 gross. So
double-bubble, in short order. On down, double again, 30 tenner-bags
per unit.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As well as the
wholesale, Danky has a boy doing £20 bags in batches locally. Two
for £35, good gear too. But if you got the paper, weight's the way
to go. Especially if it's all for greedy you. Sheer gluttony, yumski.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So back to mine.
Nice one for the lift, pal. Cheers, happy new year to you too.
Hogmany, this city goes a little mental. But we're safe behind my
triple-locks. Got the tea and tinfoil, what else do addicts need?
TV on low, gas fire on high. Let's get a burn...oh fuck aye!</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Few of us there,
chill as anything. Big nods and gentle bonhomie. Me and Mack
giggle about the Italian. Little fellow approached us in Ponzi
recently.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>I looking for la
heroina?</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Well you're in
the right place, pal. We looking for la heroina too!</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Good, yes. I
asking, asking, la heroina? In Edinburgh, they say go Glasgow. In
Glasgow, they say go Ponzipark. In Ponzipark, they say Salamander,
then Cross.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Haha, right.
Stick with us we'll sort you out.</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Says it all. Truth
to tell, Mack was for bumping him. No way. Dirty Teuchter cunt. Mind
though, his connections are golden. He gets about, maniac talks to
everyone. No shy!</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nice time-pass, that
New-Year. Two or three days, just smoking. No intrusions. Whenever it
was...who cares. My little-sister said she buzzed my place going by,
for a hug and hello. Thank fuck I didn't answer. Know?</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
__________________________________________________</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
*Note: proper names have been changed slightly. In the case of locations, to avoid stigmatising law-abiding residents. Anyone familiar with the city drug-scene will identify the setting.</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJD3DeXxt13n75tA3r1MZANu31h-4Iu5W_AlucNN0dtBhmoPUaL4anmf-nGO7OduxAWBGEW7pXWqvj7cptOjve7nU3zTFAlS0mfKzKNlb1WKUlR1skx6HE2Xmo-glrMA5U_ndHFGQVKI0qzeltWhsiTUlken5ePRvUepteytf2xUiHh6aHvDr9MoDj3w/s474/th-1580645178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJD3DeXxt13n75tA3r1MZANu31h-4Iu5W_AlucNN0dtBhmoPUaL4anmf-nGO7OduxAWBGEW7pXWqvj7cptOjve7nU3zTFAlS0mfKzKNlb1WKUlR1skx6HE2Xmo-glrMA5U_ndHFGQVKI0qzeltWhsiTUlken5ePRvUepteytf2xUiHh6aHvDr9MoDj3w/s16000/th-1580645178.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<br /><br /></div>
Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-76667643423819189772016-03-27T17:05:00.000-07:002019-05-14T14:31:17.206-07:00Bad Lieutenant - injection scene discourse<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IiYBrgqJ5w6K7QSrSnQdfrbKtpk000Tw9g1_Xgr2BxOMEmaHxXRovUjfsUP47KSctFYBsAtIEgr8Z8J-xj1S_d8kaXbUp8e2-JdZ7ImgR7H5pWS48LRJqyqhiVh7TzYuz2U_McBCPP6G/s1600/vlcsnap-2016-03-25-23h38m59s133.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IiYBrgqJ5w6K7QSrSnQdfrbKtpk000Tw9g1_Xgr2BxOMEmaHxXRovUjfsUP47KSctFYBsAtIEgr8Z8J-xj1S_d8kaXbUp8e2-JdZ7ImgR7H5pWS48LRJqyqhiVh7TzYuz2U_McBCPP6G/s640/vlcsnap-2016-03-25-23h38m59s133.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bad Lt. Productions 1992</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This is from a movie
infamous even in the context of it's time, the Heroin Chic era
(early-mid 90s).</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In a grimy,
pre-gentrified New York, Harvey Keitel is most convincing as a
homicide detective careening through a spiritual crisis. Fuelled by
hard drugs and alcohol, he's propelled towards annihilation by
doubling-up losing bets with mob bookies.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Baseball pools,
voyeurism, cocaine dealing and vodka blackouts absorb most of his
time, but the rape of a nun in church gets his attention. A notion of
redemption by revenge, plus a reward for solving the case lead him to
give a shit for a minute.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As relief from
torment, he visits a sympathetic space-cadet to do heroin. Initially
they smoke off foil, chasing the dragon. But as the Lieut unravels
from crack-paranoia and stress, he yields to the needle.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Zoe Lund is the
smack-buddy. A real-life aficionado of opiates, she died subsequently
from drug use. In the heroin-shooting sequence, the make-up covering
her tracks is just visible. The official story is that they injected
water for that scene, but come on. Draw your own conclusions...</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The director Abel
Ferrara is an artist who walked it as well as he talked it. Perhaps
that's why he didn't do much interesting work after the awesome
3 or 4 movies of 1990 – 95. In my opinion anyway...and I can't say
I got much done after then either. For much the same reasons,
probably...</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The man's genius is
clear in the above still-pic. Firstly, the lighting is reminiscent of
medieval painting, particularly Caravaggio. Gloom with salient
highlights. For instance, the white triangle of Keitel's vest centres
the shot. Complemented by the tourniquet and swabs. Lund's lustrous
black-banded copper hair contrasts with his rich, satiny dark shirt.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The shirt is drapey and rumpled; by now this guy is almost done, unbuttoned,
slope-shouldered and slumped. His hair says it all. When smoking with
Zoe previously, he combed his hair back often, a kind of coke-tic.
Now it hangs tousled, as he sits in abject surrender waiting for
oblivion. Face contorted with anguish and anticipation, maybe also
some horror and wonder.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Viewed again, it
almost looks like he's about to climax. On this theme, she kneels
near his lap as though doing fellatio. A few frames later, once the
dope hits he wilts with face slack and sated, while she glances up to
confirm his satisfied pleasure.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The background wallpaper has a vertical pattern, like bars. The Lieutenant is
backed into the corner of a cage. Note the 'medical' theme on the
right. A stainless steel table, the clear glass of water for the
patient, the cotton and sterile swabs. Zoe is the noir-nurse,
administering the dose gently but surely. Manicured nails glinting on
the blood-filled syringe.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the earlier
smoking scene, she's a ditzy drug-bunny. Now the cop is truly damned, she's revealed as the knowing handmaiden of
destruction. A priestess administering the rights and rituals of the
Netherworld, talking of vampires feeding on themselves.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Here's the thing:
Harvey Keitel, then a red-hot A-list actor, let a junkie shoot him
up. Even if it was just water. He believed in the project and went all in.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="line-height: 100%;">Is there a more
poignant, evocative and realistic shooting-up scene anywhere in major
cinema? Fuck Pulp Fiction, Trainspotting and Requiem For A Dream.
Pop-video consumer-fetish aesthetics. Don't get me wrong, the latter
two were excellent books. But Mr Ferrara was the narrator-stylist whose heart
was truly in the dark-side glamour of drugs, crime and the long walk
up Calvary Hill. </span>Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-31644429397682093372014-09-07T21:34:00.002-07:002014-10-10T20:04:20.046-07:00Busted (be cool and pray)<style type="text/css">
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
taxi reached Fulcrum Point at the end of City Bridge. It's called
fulcrum point because that's where everything tipped over. Here, a
man in sunglasses was directing traffic. He directed the taxi into a
special lane, where big white jeeps manoeuvred to box us in.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A
commotion of moustachioed men with the better grade of polyester
shirt swarmed the car. The back doors flew open and three men seized
Tractor Mike. They were screaming about a "Mr Ali."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr
Ali? What the everloving fuck? Is there no end to random bullshit in this
country?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A man
was poised to snatch my door open, too. I didn't flinch, a mammal
playing dead. But his official moustache, hyper smile and knowing
eyes intimated this wasn't random bullshit.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We
had been chosen. Marked and ambushed. They knew the car, the
route...I wondered if they knew about the ounce of number 4 in my
secret pocket?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If
they did, that could mean Mandatory Life. Before they got to
throwing my carcass into the Kafka-squared goat-fuck of penal
justice, we could have a conversation. I hoped.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not
bothering to introduce themselves as Narcotics Control Bureau, the
guys directed us in convoy to headquarters. In the back seat, they
worked on Tractor Mike. Proposed he confess, since they knew
about Mr Ali and the drugs. Tractor fronted perplexity, but I
figured the truth would out in due course.
Matter of time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
focused on preparing for the next stage, the conversation. Already
dreading the stage after: withdrawal, plus whatever. A big portion
of Hell, with Hell on top, no glazed cherry.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bundled
through an office of sneering, lounging cops, I assured myself that
whatever happened, I would <span style="font-family: inherit;">retain</span> enough money to score a razor. I could make a shiv, if I wasn't too sick. If I got too sick, I
could try becoming a little green bird in my own head and fly away.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
finalised that plan while watching them strip search Tractor...
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This
was bad and getting worse. I wasn't surprised too long; bad things
happen. Took a while to believe that. Maybe sank in when I was
walking with three other junkies. We were going to score - they
cheated me, of course.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>A car ran over my foot, didn't stop.
As I
hopped along moaning, one junkie smiled like a clown.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Hah.
Nobody gives a fuck, man."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">True.
Nobody gives a fuck, until it's their turn to suffer. Then it's too
late, so why give a fuck.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tractor
stood pale and naked, blinking from sweat. My turn next. First
level of a deep mineshaft of indignity. I braced myself: whatever
happens, deal with it.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Humiliation, confrontation. Prison, gang-rape. That's right. A helpless hate-puppet, a voodoo doll for other
losers to stick.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I
won't bow. Got it? If they overpower my body, whatever, but that
isn't <i>me.</i> They can cut and burn the meat, but they won't reach the
emerald green bird, soaring above.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One
problem, there: <i>heroin.</i> Pumping three grams of number 4 every
day...the green bird is already caged. How tough would I be after 48
hours withdrawal?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
didn't want to think about it. Like I hadn't wanted to think about
why two guys in shades had been standing near the taxi. One even
looked at the number plate, then at my face. He nodded.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Driving
away, we saw them up an alley...talking into a radio-phone.
Tractor
looked to me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What
shall we do?"
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Nothing
we <i>can</i> do."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
denied this was happening, wished things were still routine. My
routine consisted of taking lots of smack.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now
we were having the conversation, the chief and I. They basically had
us, but their intel was garbled. The chief claimed he witnessed the
deal...I knew he hadn't. And this fucking Mr. Ali person? Er, no.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Also, Tractor's strip search had turned up nothing. I was surprised
at that myself. But Tractor was a veteran, had already done five
years </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">somewhere else </span>for crack-inspired armed robbery.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
didn't have reserves of convict cunning, but I <span style="font-family: inherit;">had</span> a good line
of credit. In many ways, I was on top of this stupid game. At the
hospital, they said I was "resourceful." Partly
encouragement, mostly an excuse to deny medication. Like, since I
was <span style="font-family: inherit;">'</span>resourceful<span style="font-family: inherit;">'</span> I could go out and get my own supplies.
So I fucking well did. Now I wanted to deploy my resources to
escape, and go back to sleep.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They <span style="font-family: inherit;">took</span> Tractor out for a more thorough search. Apparently, they made
him put his foot on a stool, a lame attempt to dislodge anything
stashed in his crack. They forbore to manually search his rectum.
Can't blame them! But if they<span style="font-family: inherit;">'</span>d been more professional, they<span style="font-family: inherit;">'</span>d
have discovered where he reflexively stashed his grams.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Does
any job pay enough to peer up a man's anus? Yes, Narcotics Bureau
can, no doubt. Higher the rank, bigger the slice,
but cake for all. That was the subject I wanted to broach with
Chief. How much?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">First
I had to be guilty. And by sleight of hand and the grace of Goddess,
they didn't find my ounce. At one point, when the disappointed cops
left me alone, I almost threw it behind a monitor. But then they
pushed our taxi driver in. Staunch fellow, played dumb. Loyal.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So
they had to let us go, with no charge and no hard feelings.
Grudgingly. We'd stayed cool, got lucky. Hugely.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dM2ICVjqBppcWRHcsv7ehWl9zfMaMQPRbOwPt74-XyLdwNt3a6gm-y2wLg6iMzYG3t_RJ4CBJFe6MDcksVduH-U6Z5nXOuadVF0RM4gzwv3nbSca_dW_QtLsF8V2jKMAuU8bBGZSc0FT/s1600/images.ER0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dM2ICVjqBppcWRHcsv7ehWl9zfMaMQPRbOwPt74-XyLdwNt3a6gm-y2wLg6iMzYG3t_RJ4CBJFe6MDcksVduH-U6Z5nXOuadVF0RM4gzwv3nbSca_dW_QtLsF8V2jKMAuU8bBGZSc0FT/s1600/images.ER0004.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eugene Richards pic</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Bad Guys were given 90 percent of the script but still fucked up
their role in the movie. Cops knew who, where and when...but we
skated.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How
did they miss an ounce of heroin, 60<span style="font-family: inherit;">%</span> pure Moon Rocks, stashed
on my person?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A
magician shouldn't reveal techniques...but it's basically down to
another bust<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>a year earlier.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Preparing
for a long train journey, I had 22 small folds of good brown in a snuff-type box, as well as five foils interleaved in
a book called: "Four Basic Principles To Make Fortune Come Your
Way." I never got to read it, but found out one of those
principles is not to act like drugs are legal.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">An
hour into a 36 hour journey, I was wrenched out of nod by the lapels.
Piggy eyes staring into my contracted pupils. One of a pair of
cops began a thorough frisk<span style="font-family: inherit;">. J</span>ust before he got to the cargo
pocket with my kit, I thought "fuck it" and grabbed the box
of wraps. Before I could swallow them, the other cop punched my head
and grabbed my wrist. The stuff flew in the air and onto other
passengers, one lady shielding her baby from the evil shower.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One
cop tore my luggage to pieces, finding nothing. While the other took me
to the toilet, for intimacy.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"This
will cost you a thousand dollars, or it's jail. Where's the rest of
your money? Only $30 here."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"There's
no 'rest'. I'm a junkie, man, broke."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He
even checked under my balls, in case I had a wad of notes there.
Sadly not. Had to be content with whatever stuff they picked up
in the carriage, and my pocket dough. He kindly returned $5 for
snacks, which I straight away offered back for just one bag of scag. Leaving with my drugs and money, he refused indignantly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"No.
We are the police!"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
rest of the journey was misery numbed by downers. Amidst <span style="font-family: inherit;">a</span>
nitrazepam fog, I decided to improve concealment tech.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This
I did by stitching a credit-card-sized pocket inside my jockey
shorts. Positioned a thumb length from the button and a finger-width
down. The <span style="font-family: inherit;">shorts</span> can be manoeuvred so that the package is covered
by a belt, if worn. It should be safe from a pocket search, and from
a ball-grope when cops 'check for an extra nut.'
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Saved my life literally, during a very thorough palm-frisk at Colombo
Airport. The penalty for heroin trafficking in Sri Lanka is death;
my fat personal supply would have qualified. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It
also saved me at this Bridge Bust.
As my partner in crime was
stripped and searched, I was deploying a little charisma. My
turn came and I wasn't stripped fully, but of course they wanted to look
in my underwear. I undid my belt and jeans and hooked my thumbs in
the shorts waistline, palming my stash. Lowering the ensemble, I
stretched it out so a cop could look at my groin and down the legs.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"See?
Nothing much there, sad to say, ha-ha."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As
with any trick, it's partly about props but mainly in presentation.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of
course, the best tricksters seldom need props. They perfect mind-control. But it's hard to control other minds when
your own is lost to drugs...</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Fuck
The Police.</b></span></div>
Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-46954535080481312922014-08-30T19:30:00.003-07:002019-05-08T12:17:12.325-07:00Merry<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No
fucking milk</span> in the fridge again. Or anything in the fridge.
Humanities graduates shouldn't live like this, thought Credence.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span> Or feel like
this.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Sickness knocking<span style="font-size: small;">, soon be clucking.</span> Could things be worse? </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">His
phone rang.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Dragging it from a charity-shop trench-coat dressing<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>gown, Crede prayed for a merciful angel. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Hi
darling<span style="font-size: small;">;</span> C<span style="font-size: small;">harmian</span>. Feeling yucky? God, I <i>know.</i> Might play
hooky from the office. <span style="font-size: small;">B</span>oss is in Milan and I have his Lexus to
play with, tee-hee. Well, I <i>am</i> his P.A... Pretty Arse and all
that." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"I
get the picture. What's up, C<span style="font-size: small;">harm</span>?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Just
wondering, how much would a teenth of each be?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Teenth
of each? Maybe...like a hundred-fifty. But C<span style="font-size: small;">harm</span>..." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"I'm
in. Look, I've done some chip-chop with petty cash, so there's a
hundred for the kitty.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>You bell one of your dodgy mates and get us
sorted." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Hum.
Might be possible, but..." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"We'll
hook up later and have a <i>fucking nice time."</i> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">When
it came to dodgy mates, Goley's name came to mind. Credence wasn't
sure what he thought of Goley. Apart from suspecting he might <i>be</i>
Goley in a matter of time. </span></span></span> </div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Hi
Goley. Only Crede.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>How you doing, mate?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Fuck.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Just woke up.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Er, shit, really." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Well,
me and C<span style="font-size: small;">harm</span> are hoping you could sort something out again. Square you
up, course. Like, teenth of each?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Yeah,
no doubt.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>We'll head to Merry.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Fucking tasty gear up there." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Merry?<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>What's that?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Merrywell
Gardens Housing Estate.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Hard Drugs R Us." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Okay,
I'll get the readies sorted and we'll take a wander there." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Take
a wander? Ha-ha, you can't be serious. Very bad idea. No, get some
wheels<span style="font-size: small;"> and</span> text<span style="font-size: small;"> back.</span> Merrywell Gardens isn't a place to be
strolling about, know what I mean?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Credence
knew. He dialled C<span style="font-size: small;">harmian</span> to ask about the insurance policy on her
boss's Lexus... </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Shorty
after, C<span style="font-size: small;">harmian</span> handed Credence car-keys and cash with a shaky,
skinny arm.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Look,
I don't have a fucking clue about insurance, but if you prang that
car, I'll lose my job. And my <span style="font-size: small;">home</span>, too. I'm already behind on the
mortgage. You <span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">will
</span></span>be careful, darling?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">B</span>ig shrug<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">from Credence.</span></span></span> She didn't ask for the keys back. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Goley
was barred from the cafe<span style="font-size: small;">;</span> he sat outside by a bin until pick-up.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Nice
motor."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Settling
in, he rummaged the owner manual from the glove box to build a joint
on, irritating Crede.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Don't
know if we can smoke in this car."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Don't
know if I give a fuck. By the way, we'll need to be on red alert.
Merry can be like, <i>mental.</i> Bit random, full-on. Shit
happens, and it happens there.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Let's be on our toes."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Goley
assured a nervous Credence that it should be cool, if they were cool.
He made calls from Crede's phone, then knuckle-bumped his shoulder.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Yesss.
Game on, son, game on."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">By
the time they were sitting in a high-rise flat, Credence had
completely lost orientation.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span> Many twists and turns, driving and
walking, then stairs, all concrete.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">A
woman of around thirty had let them in, then slumped in a sofa chair.
She had matted birds-nest hair and wore a short dressing gown.
Patterned tights sheathed her legs, ending in four-inch heels.
Patent black with a glittery ankle band, like a posh cat's collar.
Following a ladder back up her calf, Credence saw she had clocked his
gaze, her mouth twisting with moody calculation. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">A
man abruptly strode in, ducking the door lintel.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Raleigh. Alright, Goley?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Goley
hastened to introduce Credence as a good mate, long known and well
solid. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Raleigh
gave a thumbs-up. He wore Magnum Hi-Tech boots, black FUBU
sweatpants and a gunmetal bomber jacket, XXL. <span style="font-size: small;">B</span>ump<span style="font-size: small;">ing</span> fists with
his guests, <span style="font-size: small;">he</span> landed in a battered PVC recliner, nodding toward the
woman.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"This
is Polly.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>The one and only Polly Jean Harvey." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Crede turned to greet Polly, who kissed her teeth and sneered at the
men.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Don't
be a fucking knob."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Ral
laughed and turned his attention to a large TV which sat on it's own
box. There were many such boxes around. Apart from the sofa set and
recliner, there was no other furniture or décor.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Devices were
connected to the television, satellites and things. Even the
rubbish-strewn coffee table was a packing box, Zanussi. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">The
TV was showing tennis. They watched the ball thwack around while
blue-grey smoke poured off cigarettes. A doorbell ding-donged,
ignored in the hall. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Inclining
his head to the television, Ral glanced at Credence.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Bag
of sand on Federer, me." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Credence
gathered Ral was claiming to have bet £1000 on Federer to win.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Right,
cool." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Not
really, cunt's losing.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span> So, what can I do for you, mate?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Relieved <span style="font-size: small;">to</span> get down to biz, Crede explained he wanted a sixteenth of
brown, same of rock. Raleigh laid it out. Yeah, it would be £150 -
change goes in the charity box, ha-ha - and it wasn't far away, with
an associate who would be available in half an hour. But the bloke
doesn't drive, so Ral would take Crede's car and money, then return
to supply the guys, right? <span style="font-style: normal;">Sweet
as...</span> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Crede's
heart sank but no surprise.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>This was typical.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>The bullshit hadn't
stopped since starting hard drugs. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">How
did he start hard drugs, again? Must have been, what, y<span style="font-style: normal;">ears</span>
ago.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Second year at uni, bunch of them went for parachute jumps. Lot<span style="font-size: small;"> of</span> fun, but the euphoria wore off and the pub vibe later was
depressing.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Credence noticed a curly-haired dude looking pretty
washed-out, too.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>This person was so excited earlier, before the
jump. Like a kid at Christmas, almost delirious. Credence started
chatting.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Quite
a buzz, eh?"</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"What?
Oh, the jump."</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">The
guy smiled with wry nostalgia, as though the jump happened in a
misspent youth, not that morning.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Yeah,
I was <span style="font-size: small;">well</span> tuned up. Coke. Hey, still got some left. Fancy a charge
in the bogs?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Why
not? Crede imagined a line of Charlie on porcelain. In the cubicle
though, Curly levelled a citreous glass pipe at his new friend's jaw.
Eyes big with<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>conspiracy and </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">mischief</span></span></span>, he poised a tiny blowtorch at
the bowl.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Suck
'till I pull away." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Credence
did, heart skittering with trepidation, then braced back against the
wall. His mind suddenly went to four, five, nearly six dimensions,
jaw locked so tight he couldn't <span style="font-size: small;">voice</span> <span style="font-size: small;">a</span> Holy Fuck, cheeks
aching from maniacal<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>grinning. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Curly
readied a pipe for himself. Glanced at Crede and chuckled.</span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Ha-ha,
your face! Cheshire Cat, man.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Classic. No worries<span style="font-size: small;">...</span>got some gear we can toot for the comedown." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">From
there to here. Credence stuttered a formal protest. Of course he
knew it would be sweet and didn't mean offence, but it wasn't his car
to lend, wasn't even all his money, and... </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Raleigh
endured this stoically, one eye on Federer as Credence rambled on. Pretty decent, really. He could have acted outraged,
complained that whoever Credence was, he<span style="font-size: small;">'</span>d come to Raleigh's crib
with the loser Goley, expecting Ral to do favours and run around, his slut and gadgets left at their mercy, and now <span style="font-style: normal;">this</span>
shit? </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Instead,
he waited for Crede to trickle out. Then reached over, palm up.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Keys
and dough." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Resigned,
Credence tried not to get tense, think negative. Before Raleigh
could depart on his mission, the doorbell began<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">ding-donging</span></span> like
crazy. Then a steady <i>thwack thwack</i> on the door. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Swearing,
Ral told Polly to see to it. She tutted and tottered into the hall.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"It's
Tane!" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Before
Raleigh finished shouting to not let that cunt in, a little man
entered the room to stare at Raleigh, who lumbered up frowning and
growly.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Yo,
Tane." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">No
response.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Credence didn't know what to make of Tane.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>This
un-remarkable runt wore old clothes, not middle-class charity<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>shop
discards but the cheapest mismatched sportswear. Typical
inconspicuous marginal type, Crede reckoned. But there was a strange
vibe to this one... </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Tane
noticed Credence too, advanced a measured step with gaze held steady.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>A twitch of a smile...and what's with those eyes? Not 'hard' like
Raleigh's, whose visage now wilted anyway. No, in droopy lids Tane's
black eyes seemed burnt. Or <i>burning.</i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>The goblin drawled a
challenge.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Yeah,
mate?<span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span><i>Yeah?"</i> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Credence
sat transfixed. He felt giddy, gooey with butterflies, almost
giggling. Mastering reaction, forcing his feet not to flee, Credence
found himself full of fear. He'd been on edge already, but this
creature was another level.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Raleigh
recovered some poise and stepped between them fast. Tane didn't
flinch, just spacey-stared through Ral's chest. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Fuck's
sake, Tane. Look, all that shit before...not my fault, man. I'll
see you right. Going to pick up in a bit. Drop by later for a burn.
It's cool." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Ten
seconds passed. Tane turned to leave with a chilly smirk.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Take
a fuck to yourself." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">The
front door slammed. Once Goley had been sent to ensure Tane wasn't
lurking, everyone breathed out. Raleigh shook his head and turned to
leave.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Fucking
psycho, that kid. Back in a bit." </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Kid?
Credence wouldn't have taken Tane for a youth. True, he looked
under-formed, skin pale and tight. Bad diet or something.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Everyone
settled in to wait and pass dead time. Federer lost. The door
chimed constantly, maddeningly. People began whistling and warbling
through the letter box. Sounded like sunrise in the bloody Amazon.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Occasionally, Polly poked her head in the hall, shouting return in
an hour. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Two
hours passed. Polly had an idea.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Something
to eat, boys?" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">They
shrugged, and she used Crede's phone to order pizzas. Her monologue
got ever more bizarre, one pump jiggling as she warmed to her role.
Eventually, everyone realised she was only pretending. Not that
anyone cared. They knew her drama was just anxiety. Raleigh
shouldn't have been away this long. Credence focused on not going
mad. Eventually, unlikely messengers arrived to cut his sinking
heart from it's mooring. End his misery with a mercy shot, the
<i>coup-de-grace.</i> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Two
teenage girls managed to gain entry, beside themselves with
excitement.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Polly nodded permission to speak and the news burst out.
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Wow.
Tane got Ral! Opened the car and stabbed his neck with a bottle.
Pulled him out, went through his pockets. Then drove away!" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">The
other girl nodded agreement, scrunchied ponytail swishing against
pink plastic puffa-jacket, squealing as she mimed a jugular
gusher.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">"Claret
everywhere!" </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;">Polly
and Goley didn't seem to believe it. Crede did. He<span style="font-size: small;">'</span>d known all
along something like this would happen. All along<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHPPckDb8PncvO1Gy5MhHQUgGWqq6F1HfmD6bv0NbloCm9THyiJyqGBknrhHgFiIX1Blu0Vb0jk2Ghp7iO4LV3VxvKG7TW0xBbNKM7iknuHvjqZpAbYC3QR2xLfKGAnz8B7WNYs1Km2s_B/s1600/52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHPPckDb8PncvO1Gy5MhHQUgGWqq6F1HfmD6bv0NbloCm9THyiJyqGBknrhHgFiIX1Blu0Vb0jk2Ghp7iO4LV3VxvKG7TW0xBbNKM7iknuHvjqZpAbYC3QR2xLfKGAnz8B7WNYs1Km2s_B/s1600/52.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Gillanders pic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "geneva";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></span></span>
</div>
Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-69430341300345444412014-08-28T23:24:00.000-07:002014-09-15T16:44:59.689-07:00Picnic Pick-up<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">C'mon
up he'd said, but the main door of the apartment building resisted my
push. I shoved harder and it grated open enough to squeeze through. A large bin was wheeled-up inside. The scraping sound signalled
someone entering and a whistle summoned me upstairs. <i>That cat Jagga
is more than just a pretty face,</i> I thought wryly while ascending
warily.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Jagga
and his lieutenant Nerble slouched on the second-floor steps,
surrounded by paraphernalia and trash. They were smoking heroin off
metal foil; I watched Nerble's pipe avidly chasing a brown blob
resembling a frantic cockroach. Looked like insect training for
Beetle Olympics. Fumes filled the air and I wondered idly if
residents wouldn't maybe fuss. Presume they'd be advised to fuck
themselves. Irrelevant conjecture. Down to biz.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">"Having
a picnic? Haha, nice day for it. Got three scores?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Jagga's
woman must've kicked him out. Nerble presented a Blackberry for my
perusal.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">"Sixty
quid, ya nutcase. Bargain."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">I
pulled 3 twenties from the sleeve of my bomber but handed them to
Jagga.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">"I'd
rather buy drugs...maybe I got a problem."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Jagga's
fingers were astoundingly filthy but I immediately gummed the little
knotted bags he served. Standard Operating Procedure. Jagga
regarded me slantwise through half-drooped glassy eyes. His flared
foil flute hung steep from split lips, casual expression of the man
and his minute. Arrogance, insouciance, power. The gear was preme
in town, probably from prison connects.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Enjoy
your brief reign stoopid, I thought skipping to the exit. The cops
kept busting Jagga but he wasn't fazed. Likely fatalistic,
career criminal living in the moment. Make hay while the sun shines.
Cheerful thought. Soon I'd smoke the sun, ingest uncanny luminance,
chemical dance round brain-stem maypole.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Passing
by the bin and out the door, my arm was half-nelsoned and throat
choke-locked. In one smooth move I was tripped and flung down,
police jujitsu. Men were shouting in my ear to spit it out, spit it
out. From the ground I could see the dainty feet of a WPC who gazed
down smiling, fondling spray cannisters on her utility belt. Yeah...the little dog laughed to see such fun.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Gillanders pics</td></tr>
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Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-74942088155345737332014-08-27T19:12:00.000-07:002014-08-30T20:39:11.791-07:00Jack and Jill<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmXbU7FNGuZ3n-a_FD6nglOzx39X9Z_n13ctU62CDRwieE7f4jjAMGYGprTlGijapf_JOFweEg4sXhQowdxHY-NkungHrcyXcWsy1SZ3SHVWztEaaivjOlCyFBxEgnoU8HPPthw5aXReV/s1600/images0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmXbU7FNGuZ3n-a_FD6nglOzx39X9Z_n13ctU62CDRwieE7f4jjAMGYGprTlGijapf_JOFweEg4sXhQowdxHY-NkungHrcyXcWsy1SZ3SHVWztEaaivjOlCyFBxEgnoU8HPPthw5aXReV/s1600/images0008.jpg" height="132" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Gillanders pic</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Jack and Jill were a couple aged mid-late 20s. They had dual income and no kids but often spent too much on drugs. One day Jonny visited, arriving in a new black Audi. Jonny was a member of the Kalashnikov Mansions Posse, a drug gang. He proposed to Jack they set up a skunk growing op in the couple's flat. The KMP would capitalise it, maintenance was minimal, and later they would share the crop. The main risk would be if anyone outside the loop got to know. So Jonny put heavy emphasis on silence.<br /><br />"Don't tell anyone. Fucking ANYONE."<br /><br />Jack agreed. Jill went along.<br /><br />Two weeks before the skunk was due harvest, police entered the couple's little home, seized everything and placed Jack under arrest. Bailed him prior to appearing in court to answer serious charges. A bad day turned worse when Jonny and the KMP came to know. They went ballistic, almost literally.<br /><br />"WHO FUCKING GRASSED?"<br /><br />These dudes crashed into Jack and Jill's life and rendered it down to fragments, looking for the intel leak. The couple were dragged over coals and questioned in minute, repetitive detail. They both broke down, claimed to know nothing, but the gang were merciless.<br /><br />"Fuck it, we still want paid. And we want the squealer...<i>you fucking slags."</i><br /><br />The KMP were a </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">street </span>search-engine. Mined every corner of the scene, noted details of everything, cross-referenced statements of anyone remotely associated. They said no-one need fear, if innocent - but talk. Or suffer Spanish Inquisition by Russian Roulette. Wicked heavy pistol held at the face. Hammer drops dry but after a few spins, even big boys bubble.<br /><br />The Posse never 'officially' solved the mystery, but didn't stop persecuting Jack and Jill. Stress melted Jill's mind and her drug use soared. Paranoid delusions and a persecution complex led to hospital. Released to re-addiction and a family helpless. Admitted to long-term rehab, then rehoused in a council tower block. She began working as a street prostitute with other girls from there. Not for the paltry pay or insipid drugs. For the company, mostly. No-one else to be with, nowhere else to go.<br /><br />Jack got twelve moon, served six in prison. Released, he took up IV heroin, sharing needles in the homeless hostel. He ran up debts though still owed from inside. One day, paramedics used Narcan to revive Jack from overdose on the pavement outside the hostel. He cursed the paramedics, cursed Narcan, cursed the world. Later that night he was found dead behind some wheeled bins near the hostel.<br /><br />So who informed? Well, it could be speculated that a KMP member traded the skunk op in exchange for unofficial leniency on a class-A possession charge. Not a bad deal, but don't tell anyone. ANYONE.<br /><br />What about Jonny? He's around. Got another Audi, metallic blue.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boogie pic</td></tr>
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Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-88438526538193062072014-08-27T17:55:00.000-07:002014-08-27T17:55:52.771-07:00Sister Morphine<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Five am; nothing left on TV except ads for phone sex and fake gems. Another day passed with no drugs taken. Congratu-fucking-lations.<br /><br />Although, the family are going away for a few days tomorrow. I'll be left alone, susceptible to relapse. Reasoning of the little voice, devil on my shoulder.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Why postpone the inevitable? Right now is as good a time as later.</i><br /><br />I assemble the kit. Still got a ton of morphine tablets; no excuse to score so many. Definitely no excuse to inject them. Pure sick indulgence.<br /><br />Peel and crush three 20mg MST. Add a water ampoule, stir. Filtering the sludge always takes awhile; an alprazolam aperitif will help pass time and blunt incipient self-contempt.<br /><br />Finally get the cloudy solution sucked into a 2-ml barrel. Intermediate stage, but handling the 2-ml makes me salivate. Fifteen years ago, that syringe would be half-filled by a golden, viscous speedball mix.<br /><br />Oh man...but let us be thankful for what we have. Which, after a clarifying heat and filtration into a new 1-ml tool, is a thick but clear-ish shot of morphine. Few drops left in spoon; could contribute to the next shot, if there is one. Quite likely.<br /><br />Poke it...when it registers crimson, I take it very slow. Trickling the solution in 10-unit increments. Between pumps, I gaze at the muted Adult Babestation TV channel, where 'Sexy Amber' writhes coquettishly, tempting premium-rate calls. Amber is unusually pretty for free porn; her hot outfit charges the fetishistic intensity of the injection process. Thanks, darling.<br /><br />Settle back, sigh. That was stupid, all things considered. Well...relapse in haste, repent at leisure. Or something like that.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Gillanders pic</td></tr>
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<br />Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-46267452752423354692014-08-27T16:54:00.002-07:002014-08-27T19:24:42.559-07:00Black Stars<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The sky
is primer-grey grim. The streets and houses, moody darker grey.
Some social-housing project, shitty. Never been here but I'm roaming
these streets to connect. The vibe is bad but I'm sick to my soul.
Got to keep on, but no-one's around to ask for help.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Rubble
and trash everywhere. Finally I come across some men, dressed in
dark military uniform. One regards me with wry amusement. Maybe an
officer, though no badges.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>"Do
you know where you are?"</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He's
holding the shoulder of a guy wearing a beret tilted back. Grabs the
the guy's jacket collar and yanks it down broad shoulders, restricted
by cuffed wrists. The officer points to an arc of black stars
tattooed across the upper back.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>"That
means he's an assassin."</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I study
the killer's face, stoic and blank. But he's staring down a long
street...telling me the shit I need is that way.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I walk
and walk. Feel worse and worse. This whole place seems abandoned,
but I just know stuff's going on. I hear a sudden noise, something
landed in the weeds nearby. It moved too fast to see, but now I hear
a rattle. A metallic snicker...I turn and run<i>.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Back in
my room, head bursting. Wretched and hopeless, so cold now.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Some men
enter, carrying cloth sacks which must weigh 20 kilos each. Swarthy
and tawny, the men wear robes and hats in the style of the Golden
Crescent area. They put the sacks in my wardrobe. The eldest
approaches, smiling warmly. He has a white beard and twinkling eyes.
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>"Cash,
we know you are cool. We trust you to store this. Just take what
you need for yourself, that is fine. There is plenty."</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My heart
explodes with gratitude and I trickle tears of pride, a kind of love.
Of course I won't betray the old man's faith in me. Soon I'll have
relief. Can almost taste it, smell it cooking.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When I
awake, I'm actually opening the wardrobe door. There are no sacks.
I thought there were sacks and I thought I'd get cured. Of course
not...there's only a rack of flight jackets and winter parkas. They
can't keep me warm, now.</span></div>
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Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-69579778337497692312014-08-25T12:55:00.000-07:002014-09-01T02:47:38.940-07:00Homage To A Dealer<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">Big-Man's pony-tail tickles my
nose as I lean forward in the saddle, stuffing wadded money in his
pocket. He shifts a bit, mumbling to a tiny phone, dainty in
his chunky paw. I wriggle too, re-buckling my belt to safely
stash an ounce of moon-rock heroin.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Sunlight
glitters on Big-Man's thick gold bracelet as he twists the throttle.
The Honda surges to a sprint, crazy easy. Two wheels, two kliks
a minute, too hot for helmets. The jungle is a thrilling green
blur; I grasp Big-Man's solid shoulder and gaze at the horizon haze.
The machine gobbles road so all being well, I'll make it back by
sundown, cream for every cat.</span><br /><br />First slurp for Top-Cat,
tasty bowlful: Big-Man's gear is always boom. He doesn't use
himself, a dues-paid pro. He does have vices; slowing
down so he can live to place another silly bet. But he's all
you could want in a dealer, a total man. So <i>framed;</i> more
real than his shiny bike, his 22-ct gold, the paper pumped in
pockets, the birds and beasts inked blue on tawny skin. The
only thing more substantial is his product: heroin <i>rules,</i>
eternal.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">No homo - I don't fancy him or
anything. But his knowing laugh is a drug in itself, or maybe
foreplay to a dose. Usually when I call, he growls in deep
affirmative, lighting-up my brain like Xmas. Seldom he
announces empty, a soul-sinking sound. I know the whole clan,
they're all sweet. His wife is soft for me and his nieces act
mad flirty. I guess these chicks admire me, but I dig respect
from dudes: gangster love. I'd probably enjoy prison,
haha.<br /><br />Might find out soon, I reflect as we merge with city
traffic. Bus station's a place where police may pounce.
Paranoia shielded by Ray-Bans, I hop off the motorcycle.<br /><br />"Cool,
Big-Man. Same time, same channel?"<br />"Ha. Just
call! You know me."<br /><br />Eyes twinkling, he cocks a mitt for
the trade-mark hand-shake. Slap! It's like a racquet serve.<br /><br />I
wander un-suspiciously to the bus stands. Some guy chilling by the
taxis wants words.<br /><br />"That man who dropped you here? He's
a really great guy, a very good person."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">I want to praise that pukka
poison, but I doubt this dweeb knows those angles. So I just
agree.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;">"We love him...right?"</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eugene Richards pic</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span>Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-50851953629027640212014-08-24T15:52:00.001-07:002022-11-19T12:56:17.415-08:00Demon City Destiny<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">
</span>
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">Connaught Circle in New Delhi,
India. I was staying in a charming run-down shithole nearby, infamous
and verminous, hippie rainbow murals long covered by flaky layers of
Asylum Blue. A wise-guy room-boy presciently recommended a
left-behind book titled "Trainspotting". He assured me I'd
like it, smiling at my clueless scepticism.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">November
1994: the Hindu Divali 'lights' festival going full tilt. I waded in
thick, wandering the thronged streets, stunned and dazzled by
constant firework detonations. No idea I would soon meet my guide to
the Underworld.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">A
conversation started with some street guys; a couple named Raj spoke
good English. One of the Rajs opened, cursing the bourgeoisie and
their conspicuous waste of money on fireworks. I</span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif"> wholeheartedly</span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif"> agreed, craven hypocrisy. As the prosperous wound down, blew
off final firecrackers and left in their jeeps, the truth emerged.
Raj, Raj and the ragamuffin gang were engaged in small time dealing,
cannabis to tourists. I was done with cannabis, although back-slipped
to cigarettes. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">Gradually,
Raj baited the hook. Mentioned the guys had lined up some heroin.
Should arrive shortly...? I pondered trying some, just to chalk it off the bucket list.
Raj recited the statutory health warning. Claimed this stuff is the
ultimate bitch; I would become a junkie. Inconceivable. Raj smiled
knowingly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">"I'll
turn you on. Why not?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">I
always did like getting lit up. From dentist gas to speed; psilocybin
to MDMA, via lots of wine and smoke. Thought I was all drugged out by
23 and quit the lot, even cigarettes. Began hiking, hill-climbing and
went back to college. Planned to get a life. Destiny planned
something else.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">Later
that Divali night, I was offered a line of white powder to snort. The
guys noted my good luck in trying top-quality number 4. No charge:
friendship. I sat back with a ciggy to wait for another sound and
light show. Instead, everything just...<i>glowed.</i> Subtle but
rich; imbued lustre. The hubcaps on an old parked car shone like
polished heirloom silver. Raj checked me out.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">"Feeling
it? Oh yeah...good line. Hey, we're going for some food in a while.
Coming?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">I
wasn't hungry, but felt so lovely and mellow, up for hanging out.
Certainly...actually, the shadows and spookiness of the City Of
Djinn* had receded somehow. The fact that everything around was
grimed and broken and the utter destitution of the fellows was really
not an issue now. Everyone was cool and sweet. Loaded.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">After I
vomited up my food we all lay on blankets spread on the pavement,
like at the beach. Basking in the winter night, cosy from the inside
out. Under the arches of Connaught walkway, outside boutiques and
banks, no-one gives a rat's arse. No criticism, man; folk just wander
by. Like, if you want to lie in dust and garbage stoned on heroin,
getting a midnight tan with the marginals, go for it. It's on you,
your Fate or whatever.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">That's
what I was vaguely thinking, while getting a leg massage from a chap
called Pandit. Western males don't usually share such tactile
intimacy, but it felt amazing. When in Rome and all that...hang-ups
dropped. We arose and wandered through wondrous smogs and
cracker-smoke. They introduced me to the night-people who gathered
and played on the patchy grass in the Circle center park. All kinds
of cats, bizarre bazaar. Hustlers, gamblers, schizos. Shoe-glue,
spirits, sleepers. Exotic in dusty silk blouson and grey-green
pin-prick viper-eyes, I was welcomed to the freak-scene. I felt like
the honoured guest at the after-party. Actually, I felt like the
character Max in the children's book "Where The Wild Things
Are." I had traveled far, boldly faced the Wild Things, danced
their dance and befriended the monsters, who turned out to be sweet.
Even became their king for a night! And it was all a dream.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">Except.
In the book, Max wakes up. I didn't. Going back later to the guys, I
hung out. This time, they accepted my money. Now, heroin wasn't white
but brown. Not snorted; melted on foil, inhaled by pipe. Bitter
treacle...hold the smoke in, brother. Raj said I was a quick study.
One day, the powder was red. Red? </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">"Yes,
we call it <i>Lal Kila.</i> 'Red Fort'. From the Red Fort area of Old
Delhi. Low grade...what to do."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">I got
ill. Whether it was Red Fort, mosquitoes, pollution or what, I was
brought down, hard. So sick; fever, vomiting. Aches, scary-feeble
coughs. Bad sign. I crawled to a free clinic. Didn't think to spend
money on healthcare. That would be bourgeois, or some scam. The
clinic diagnosed septicemia and pneumonitis, the cloudy chest X-ray
told it true. I could die. Still, I didn't check in for treatment.
Just learned to pray, ride it through. A word from the wise: leave
Delhi. Go somewhere clean, a nice beach. Slowly I recovered; luckily
I was young and fit. Felt stronger for having suffered. Things had
got real for a minute. But I made it home...that time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">What
lessons were learned? Heroin was delicious, as advertised. Harmful,
so stay lucky. I went back to Delhi, many times. Turned out heroin
was here at home, too. Cheap and good back then. Friends and family
were spooked and worried. Protests were white noise to me. New
friends were made, and some old friends were into trying smack too.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">How
does this end? It doesn't, really. Just goes on. I spent a lot of
dough. Became an IV poly-drug user, liar and criminal. Desperate
schemer, veins collapsed, lungs scarred. Busted in my city, then
busted abroad. Looking at mandatory life. I skated away but lost my
reason briefly. Paranoia and despair; a gallows drop on infinite
rope. A Djinni had got me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKHpk8ENunzp3xxWsrieBmhwtM-4LiG4RXFKm015hSl2r39yh2Y_bm2pZ8YQy2jAwK2InC4j43VTznbQ7q3Roa0Lga0oKhBHh8uiI_QPc2O2dJvHOliDOGlbhwMk9ES1PFYPYOKA795JCW/s1600/Karachibusstop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKHpk8ENunzp3xxWsrieBmhwtM-4LiG4RXFKm015hSl2r39yh2Y_bm2pZ8YQy2jAwK2InC4j43VTznbQ7q3Roa0Lga0oKhBHh8uiI_QPc2O2dJvHOliDOGlbhwMk9ES1PFYPYOKA795JCW/s1600/Karachibusstop.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">_________________________</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span face="Tahoma, sans-serif">*Djinn
(or Jinn AKA <i>Genies</i> in the West) are a race of sidereal
entities usually invisible to humans but may assume shape-shifting
forms (especially animals). They can be good or evil and it is
believed they can affect humans, benignly protect or malignly
possess. Djinn can be roughly regarded as a type of demon or imp
although their children are seen more as fairies, gnomes etc. Delhi
has been termed "City of Djinn."</span></div>
Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1962803782669538433.post-72317341272623700352014-08-24T13:17:00.000-07:002014-11-09T18:53:11.874-08:00Jumped<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
curry wasn't too hot and the view was great. My hostess pointed over
rooftops at a quartet of tower blocks. Is that the notorious housing
estate? No, it's the other one. I was attacked there, late 90s.
Those were the days! Ripping another piece of coriander naan, I
recalled a day from dark times.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Seventh
floor, returning with a couple cats from copping eighths off their
hook. A figure came out a stairwell door and head-butted me. Hey,
if you're gonna cop heroin in North Glasgow, you gotta get Kissed*.
Goes with the territory, man.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My nose
bridge crunched some, then dude grappled me. He gripped a small
blade-thing so I grasped that wrist to restrain a stab. My free
hand, fisted round an eighth, braced his collarbone. I saw my
scoring connects enter their flat looking sad. The guy was their
estranged cousin. Me and he twirled a mad reel round the landing
before I thrust him away.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Entering
the flat, I weaved through floppy nodders to the window, picturing
escape. The view was a desolate plaza, where Twix wrappers fluttered
in eddies like senescent butterflies. The mad cousin was banished
from the trap but I should've known he would pursue me. He didn't
give a fuck and nobody made him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There
was a stout plank used to brace the door against raids, a New York Latch. Wielding this, the nutter advanced with a face from grotesque
Japanese theatre. He made as if to smash me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"Hear you're saying I ripped you off?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I
shrugged but didn't flinch.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"Well,
I fucking did."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He had
taken £300 and left me in a tenement hallway. Usually he returned
with a quarter. A couple days ago, he hadn't.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What to
do but suck it up and carry on? The burn-artist's cousins were okay
guys but weak. They berated me for switching biz from them to him.
They all worked for a family mob; I couldn't know the rankings and
dynamics. This fuckhead took over my account and no-one pulled my
coat. I should've twigged; don't traffic with a hater. A despised
pariah, cast out to juggle trade in stairwells and halls, pissing
where he stood and cursing the residents right back.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Whatever.
Long as there was daily bread, stop the monkey howling. But all
things random come in time, sooner or later. After the loss, a slow
walk home, looking up wishing you were even a seagull.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
crazy clown quit the act and spat himself an eighth, crouching to the
task of taxing a new fool's weight. Our audience murmured, I
shouldn't leave without my drugs. But no, I had them still. This
wasn't about drugs, just twisted ego shit.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Precarious
got normal plus a sort of happy ending. Or silver lining. A female
hanger-out listened to the crew discuss the attack. She quoted them
saying I handled myself not bad. Some flattery which heard well
sound. Worth it all, the cash and chaos.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Naturally.
Like I don't have shit to prove?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">* <i>Glasgow Kiss</i> = head-butt </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwfYlC2anE4mwmOT1e4owRKlViHVPWGZTPDP8TimuQocFDy7ze0XAmMOgSI0golm8bHiMxHyTJ-lTALqT2h_dmkp05wdgu2QDLoIh3PhCtNCW5Nbirka35y6hVgq6g5SCjhE7-IWF4osd/s1600/31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwfYlC2anE4mwmOT1e4owRKlViHVPWGZTPDP8TimuQocFDy7ze0XAmMOgSI0golm8bHiMxHyTJ-lTALqT2h_dmkp05wdgu2QDLoIh3PhCtNCW5Nbirka35y6hVgq6g5SCjhE7-IWF4osd/s1600/31.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Gillanders pic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Cash.Nexushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06162824439977926356noreply@blogger.com0