Tag: smoking

Christmas is coming…

This morning – today is the 23rd of December – I sleep till eleven. I don’t have to be at work till 3:00 this afternoon. The best part of my day is when I get high – about 2 minutes after I wake up – given that the rest of the day will be downhill from there, I sleep as late as possible. When I finally do make the decision to get up I sit squarely in front of the assortment of paraphernalia that I pre-arranged on my nightstand last night. It’s cold here in my basement level, windowless bedroom, but I’m so focused on the task at hand that I hardly notice. I take a razor blade and slit the piece of tape holding together the heroin glassine and unfold it to reveal the silhouette of the powder inside, a pinky finger high and an inch across. It’s my last bag of dope. Continue reading “Christmas is coming…”

San Francisco Sojourn

I’m beginning to reconsider my original assessment of how hot Sara actually is. Maybe I was a bit hasty in my initial appraisal. I do that sometimes; judge women a little too harshly. She bends over the coffee table and sets down a bowl of tortilla chips. I catch a sidelong look down her shirt and decide that there just might be more life in those boobs than meets the eye. Boobs can be tricky that way.
Continue reading “San Francisco Sojourn”

The End of the Beginning (he hopes)

I wake up earlier than I’d like to because I have to pee. The bright sunlight streaming in from the skylight above the bed doesn’t help either. Jiva, the dumb bitch forgot to roll down the shade before we passed out last night. I roll onto my back and collect my wits, but I have a hard time because it’s immediately apparent that I’m dirty. I wish I could erase the entire summer from my memory and start fresh. I smell like Jiva and it makes me want to be sick. Continue reading “The End of the Beginning (he hopes)”

Everything Means a Lot…

It’s the fall of 1984. I’m 13 years old and in adolescent purgatory. All I can do is wait to get older. I’m stuck in the suburbs when I know for a fact I’m meant to be living in the city. Boston is the city I know best and where we (my mother, brother and I) moved from 5 years ago. I wish we could move back. New York would be even better. In NY I could learn all the real hoodlum tricks. But it’s not to be, at least not for now. I’m stuck living in the sticks. Continue reading “Everything Means a Lot…”