21

I was in a Howard Johnson’s hotel (I had rented a room for a week) with the DJ, the girlfriend, and half an ounce of coke (4 white boulders). Our noses were wide open (deteriorating nasal passages), there was a straw cut in thirds, a small mirror, a sleeve of razor blades (tools of the trade) on a small coffee table. All the synapses in my brain were firing, thoughts were exploding, my jaw swung right, left, right, left, teeth grinding, the air conditioner turned on high and yet all of us are still sweating… How did this happen? (I’ll tell you.)

22

I had told my parents that I was headed to Mexico. They gave me money for the plane fare, plus a little extra, ‘To have fun with’. I knew at the time that I’d eventually have pay for all these things (stealing jewelry, ripping people off, cheating on my girlfriend, conning my parents); Karma, The Cosmic Balance, The Scales of Justice (this stuff just doesn’t rest)…Big Forces will always make sure that the tab gets settled.

One way or another;

I would grow old and

marry a one-breasted woman.

I would write greeting cards for a living.

I would be plagued by hemorrhoids,

goiters,

boils,

genital warts- nothing is free- there is always a bill to pay, books have to be balanced, debts get settled by the Infinite Collection Agency (the muscle-men of the Cosmos!) and forget Cash; paper money and metal coins mean nothing to the ultimate accountant…we all value something different…I may not of known what form my payment would be in; I just knew that it was deferred for the time being. It wasn’t here and now.

23

‘Here and now is all that matters and everything else out the window…’

So spoke John the Enlightened

24

The half-ounce of coke wasn’t hard to come by. I collected money from the DJ and the girlfriend. I also had a few bucks saved up from the painting gig. I took the ride into Queens, met the man with the golden tooth, and drove home with Paranoia sitting shotgun.

25

The reservations at the hotel were under the name Paul Farci. I did this as a ‘just in case’ measure. I had a pretty good driver’s license with that name and my face on it. It said that I was 22 years old and a resident of the Garden State of New Jersey. I used this license to get into peepshows, clubs, and bars. It was never a problem.

26

I walked into the hotel lobby carrying a camouflaged duffel bag. Inside the duffel bag I had some clothes along with those 4 white boulders. Inside those 4 white boulders was a
microscopic devil

who ruled all

in the Land of Need.

“Mr. Farci?”

“Yup.”

“I just need a form of ID.”

“Not a problem.”

“And how will you be paying for the room?”

            The lady at the front desk; she looked about 40 years old. She had dark hair. There was a mole on her cheek, but it could’ve been a deer tick. Her tits sagged under the thin white sweater she was wearing. She had the under bite of a bulldog.

I’m scared of ticks. If it wasn’t for that mole I would’ve answered differently, I would’ve said something witty, I would’ve gotten her to smile, I would’ve invited her up to the hotel room when her shift ended, sure, I would’ve gotten her drunk, I would’ve filled her brains with coke and her belly with cock, I would’ve spit on my pinky and played at proctologist, I would’ve whitened her teeth …but that mole, my fear…

“I’ll pay in cash.”

And I checked in.

27

There was a safe in the hotel room. After 2 big bumps I put the coke in there. Then I made a phone call. Then I walked out of the hotel room. I checked the lock on the door about 5 times, got back in the car, and took another ride. This time I was picking up anchors instead of balloons.

28

I met up with the Iranian body builder- my pharmaceutical connection- and bought 40,000 milligrams of (soft, pink, hydrocodone based anchors, downers to bring you back to ground level) vicodin, to counteract all that coke sitting in the hotel room.

They were thousand milligram pills. They were pink, with a flowing, cursive V on one side, and the number 3600 on the other. They were big and set me to gagging as I crushed one up with my back teeth, and all that pharmaceutical taste rolling around in my mouth, stuck to my gums, all that pharmaceutical magic working along the

spinal

column…ah.

29

After the pill meeting I made the local beer distributor and filled the back seat of the car with cases of domestic beer. Then I hit the pharmacy next door. I bought a few boxes of cigarettes, a bottle of Nyquil, plastic drinking straws, a sleeve of razor blades and a 3-pack of banana-flavored condoms.

The girlfriend wasn’t on birth control. I was a fan of pulling it out and spraying down her belly, the inside of her thighs, or filling the hollow of her back, right above her ass- the condoms were a novelty item. On the box there was a woman with a cartoon banana in her mouth. The banana sort of looked like a stiff dick, it was smiling and there was a pair of sunglasses drawn onto its face.

30

14 grams. You say a half-ounce of coke and it sounds like a lot more.

40 vicodin. You say 40,000 milligrams and that also sounds like a lot more.

It’s not really what it sounds like.

How long do you think all this lasted? (I’d say not very long Johnny boy.) And take into account the fact that I lost the painting gig after behaving in an, um, unsuitable kind of manner. (I’d say not very long at all.) Also factor in the three of us- the girlfriend, the DJ, myself- pulled off topnotch impressions of vacuum cleaners picking up carpet freshener. (No,

like I said,

it couldn’t have lasted all that long.) (And I’d

have to say…