Arthur Fiedler Was a Firebug

Or a less salacious title: Chris from Rosi, Rest In Peace My Friend

Fuck man, it sucks leaving some dudes behind. Chris, I wish you could have stuck around. You were a good dude. I feel like we would have stayed friends…

Los Angeles, 2015

I used to have this friend. Like 20 years ago now. He wasn’t my best friend or anything, but he was a good dude. He was from Boston like I am, and he’d gone down to New York for college, also like I did. That’s where I met him, down there in New York. He’d gone to Columbia where he was a friend of my friend, Kyle – that was how I originally met him. I knew Kyle because he dated my good friend Adelle from high school. Adelle was my connection to that whole crew up at Columbia in the first place. While I was at NYU, I’d go uptown every now and again to hang with those people.

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Christmas Is Coming – part 6 – Copping “Bat Dope”

After 15 endless minutes – mostly spent trying to decide who in this crowd is going to rob me when I leave – I reach the Plexiglas wall at the front of the check-cashing place. I shove my paycheck, all two hundred and sixty five dollars of it, along with my Massachusetts driver’s license through the little scooped out divot carved into the counter. The stone faced, rail-thin and straight up tough-looking, black woman on the other side of the glass examines the check and then pushes my documents back to me, along with a ballpoint pen with an extra twelve inches of grey duct tape extending from the top of it. I sign my check, noticing the stream of heated air coming through the hole. It feels nice. The proprietor of this establishment must not feel compelled to provide heat to us – the animals – on the other side of the glass.

This is the 6th entry in a series. It stands alone or you can start from the beginning. Find part 1 here and part 5 (the previous entry) here.

Continue reading “Christmas Is Coming – part 6 – Copping “Bat Dope””

Christmas is Coming – Part 4

The walk to work is endless in the bitter cold. I must will myself forward, re-commiting to the journey with every step. I so badly want to call in sick and just lay around the apartment watching tube – high – but I have to make it to work. I have to get that paycheck, have to get it to the check-cashing store, have to get the drugs in order to get right. Choice has nothing to do with it.

This is the 4th entry in a series. Find part 1 here and part 3 (the previous entry) here. Be forewarned the following is a 4400 word entry (although it’s worth every second).

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Christmas Is Coming – part 2

You can read part one of this entry here.

I come to sitting on the living room couch. It’s time to leave for work. Despite the clouds outside the tall windows and high ceilings in the loft allow for plenty of ambient light. It’s almost too bright. The apartment is disgusting. You can clearly see a sheen of dirt on the hardwood floors. My rush is over. Not that it was all that much of a rush to begin with. I’m in maintenance mode. I shot just about a half a bag of dope a couple of hours ago. Which is really not very much, but it’s the state of the state these days. It beats withdrawal.

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Drugs Come Before Rock ‘n Roll

Sophomore year at school was when things really kicked into gear, drug wise. It was the year that my life credo was imparted to me by a t-shirt. It was 1993, two years after Punk broke and my new roommate Alex was working on a mockumentary about GG Allin.

Hated - GG Allin and the murder junkies
Hated – GG Allin and the murder junkies

Sophomore year at school was when things really kicked into gear, drug wise. It was the year that my life credo was imparted to me by a t-shirt. It was 1993, two years after Punk broke and my new roommate Alex was working on a mockumentary about GG Allin.

Continue reading “Drugs Come Before Rock ‘n Roll”

Family Money

Andy is being a serious cocksucker and holding onto my money. He won’t give me any. He says it’s for my own good and that I’ll just go and spend it on drugs. He’s right, but it’s irrelevant. It’s my money! He’s my brother, not my father. He’d be a better father than Pops is, but that’s a different story. Continue reading “Family Money”