zygote
05-09-2013, 08:55 PM
Today was Thursday, his payday, Christmas day was just three days away,
After he finished work the first thing he did was buy a jar of mayonnaise.
He thought about buying that new Fischer price toy for the baby,
Or maybe the silver necklace his wife had admired in the jewellery store lately.
He only thought about it for a moment, it was his bonus to spend on his own,
He wants to buy the things he wants, and then he wants to get some time alone.
He makes a left on Clinton and sees a parking space is free and open,
He thinks the Parking-gods are with him, and this must be a good omen.
There seems to be a calmness in the neighborhood tonight,
The hard edges feel softer in this place where wariness is a way of life.
At the end of the street he spots people gathered near the familiar park,
No one speaks to one another, the waiting is the hardest part.
The cold December air goes through his coat, his lucky coat,
He waits outside the back of the building and then the bouncer spoke.
“Have your money ready, no singles.” A man comes out of the building complex,
One by one the people in line buy heroin, then the man says “Next.”
He hands over his money and tells the man “Best holiday wishes,”
The man gives him a strange look and says “Yeah you too, Merry Christmas.”
He drives to his next dealers apartment block to buy cocaine,
He anticipates the future feelings, feeling thumps in his brain.
Taking the stairs two at time, he makes his way to the third floor,
He catches his breath and knocks out the code on the door.
He’s let inside, “What can I do for you?” this man always gets straight to business,
The man weighs the cocaine out on a small scale in the kitchen.
The man quickly wraps the cocaine and hands him the foil package,
“Can I use the bathroom?” he asks as he puts the package into his jacket.
“Sure.” He turns down the hall and passes a bedroom, its door is open,
He sees a young woman stretched across a bed, he stops for the moment.
He sees she is lying on her stomach and sipping from a can of soda,
As she moves her robe opens just enough for him to see she wears no bra.
She smiles a sad dreamy smile at him and brushes the hair out her eyes,
He smiles back and turns away, as he begins to walk he hears that she sighs.
He walks down the narrow hallway towards the bathroom stall,
He enters the room and sees the dark grey bulb half screwed into the wall.
He looks into the clouded mirror that rests above the sink,
He screws in the bulb to light the room, the bulb flickers and blinks.
Then he closes and latches the door, locking it behind him,
He works his arms out of his coat, takes out his syringe and places it beside him.
He takes out the mayonnaise that he bought and removes the lid from the jar,
It seems warm in the room, he can feel the wetness under his arms.
He empties the heroin into the lid and then picks up the syringe,
He turns on the faucet to draw water into the lid, but the pipes shudder and flinch.
He bends down to check under the sink and then tries it once more,
Nothing. No water. The water must have been turned off just before.
He tries the other faucet, no hot or cold water, not even a drip,
He stomach rises up. He curses to himself. Now what he thinks.
He can’t ask in the kitchen for water, he was warned about this last time,
He knows he will get away with it if he is careful not to leave anything behind.
The toilet. He lifts the heavy enamel top from the toilets water tank,
And places it slowly down because the room is still dark and dank.
The hell with it. He draws a syringe full of water from the water tank tray,
He holds up the syringe to the light and inspects the water. It looks okay.
He pushes the plunger on the syringe, he can feel the pressure give,
Water touches powder then he waves his lighter under the metal lid.
The liquid bubbles and the heroin quickly dissolves with very little heat required,
That’s good. Sometimes the dope is so good it hardly needs a fire.
Next he shakes a couple of small cocaine rocks as their foil wrapper loosens,
And is impressed that they vanish immediately into the solution.
He swirls the liquid around, rips open the filter from a cigarette and uses it as a strainer,
He uses the white fibres to draw the liquid cocaine into his syringe container.
He carefully places the loaded syringe between his teeth,
He rolls up his sleeve, removes his belt with one hand and takes a seat.
He wraps the belt around his arm and hopes he can get a clean hit on one of the veins,
There, I’ll go there. The needle point feels sharp going in, which means it’s unused and safe.
When he pulls back on the plunger a little stream of blood slithers up,
Discolouring the slightly yellow liquid and giving it a reddish touch.
He loosens the belt, careful not to dislodge the needle and to move calm,
Takes a breath, and slowly pushes the liquid into his arm.
He holds it in there concentrating with his restless mind,
Then he pulls the needle out and dabs at the drop of blood left behind.
As he does this, he feels the freeze in his arm from the cocaine,
His arm feels numb and his heart races as the first wave is meeting his brain.
His stomach heaves, his scalp tingles and he gets a little scared at first,
The wave of sensation is stronger than how it usually works.
He fights the urge to vomit, the heroin kicks in and the nausea retreats,
The heart-thumping freeze of cocaine replaced by the warm heroin heat.
His heart starts to slow down, or so it seems,
A quiet hollow siren rages in his head, release of dopamine.
Flowing beads of perspiration crowd each other across his brow,
One drops onto his arm when he begins cleaning everything up off the ground,
He puts away his things threads his belt into his pants, and sits back down,
Good stuff, very good, he thinks as he sits there with an open mouth.
Later now and back outside, he decides to have a cup of espresso in a little place he knows,
Sitting back with a view of the street he savors the coffee, lights a cigarette and smokes.
Nothing hurts. The lousy job that he needs to hold onto, the flak he catches from his wife,
The fact he is turning 40 and doesn’t have anything to show for his life.
None of it fazes him, but he still thinks about it as he puts the coffee down,
A spotty work history, no college, and rent that is three weeks late don’t matter right now.
He feels warm, relaxed, and good. Was the waitress’s smile a flirt?
Or was she smiling because she caught him nodding? Or did he smile first?
Doesn’t matter. He thinks about buying his wife a fake necklace instead of the real one,
Maybe something cheap, like a gold-plated stainless-steel one.
It will look just like the one she pointed out for him to give,
And later on that day that was exactly what he did.
After he finished work the first thing he did was buy a jar of mayonnaise.
He thought about buying that new Fischer price toy for the baby,
Or maybe the silver necklace his wife had admired in the jewellery store lately.
He only thought about it for a moment, it was his bonus to spend on his own,
He wants to buy the things he wants, and then he wants to get some time alone.
He makes a left on Clinton and sees a parking space is free and open,
He thinks the Parking-gods are with him, and this must be a good omen.
There seems to be a calmness in the neighborhood tonight,
The hard edges feel softer in this place where wariness is a way of life.
At the end of the street he spots people gathered near the familiar park,
No one speaks to one another, the waiting is the hardest part.
The cold December air goes through his coat, his lucky coat,
He waits outside the back of the building and then the bouncer spoke.
“Have your money ready, no singles.” A man comes out of the building complex,
One by one the people in line buy heroin, then the man says “Next.”
He hands over his money and tells the man “Best holiday wishes,”
The man gives him a strange look and says “Yeah you too, Merry Christmas.”
He drives to his next dealers apartment block to buy cocaine,
He anticipates the future feelings, feeling thumps in his brain.
Taking the stairs two at time, he makes his way to the third floor,
He catches his breath and knocks out the code on the door.
He’s let inside, “What can I do for you?” this man always gets straight to business,
The man weighs the cocaine out on a small scale in the kitchen.
The man quickly wraps the cocaine and hands him the foil package,
“Can I use the bathroom?” he asks as he puts the package into his jacket.
“Sure.” He turns down the hall and passes a bedroom, its door is open,
He sees a young woman stretched across a bed, he stops for the moment.
He sees she is lying on her stomach and sipping from a can of soda,
As she moves her robe opens just enough for him to see she wears no bra.
She smiles a sad dreamy smile at him and brushes the hair out her eyes,
He smiles back and turns away, as he begins to walk he hears that she sighs.
He walks down the narrow hallway towards the bathroom stall,
He enters the room and sees the dark grey bulb half screwed into the wall.
He looks into the clouded mirror that rests above the sink,
He screws in the bulb to light the room, the bulb flickers and blinks.
Then he closes and latches the door, locking it behind him,
He works his arms out of his coat, takes out his syringe and places it beside him.
He takes out the mayonnaise that he bought and removes the lid from the jar,
It seems warm in the room, he can feel the wetness under his arms.
He empties the heroin into the lid and then picks up the syringe,
He turns on the faucet to draw water into the lid, but the pipes shudder and flinch.
He bends down to check under the sink and then tries it once more,
Nothing. No water. The water must have been turned off just before.
He tries the other faucet, no hot or cold water, not even a drip,
He stomach rises up. He curses to himself. Now what he thinks.
He can’t ask in the kitchen for water, he was warned about this last time,
He knows he will get away with it if he is careful not to leave anything behind.
The toilet. He lifts the heavy enamel top from the toilets water tank,
And places it slowly down because the room is still dark and dank.
The hell with it. He draws a syringe full of water from the water tank tray,
He holds up the syringe to the light and inspects the water. It looks okay.
He pushes the plunger on the syringe, he can feel the pressure give,
Water touches powder then he waves his lighter under the metal lid.
The liquid bubbles and the heroin quickly dissolves with very little heat required,
That’s good. Sometimes the dope is so good it hardly needs a fire.
Next he shakes a couple of small cocaine rocks as their foil wrapper loosens,
And is impressed that they vanish immediately into the solution.
He swirls the liquid around, rips open the filter from a cigarette and uses it as a strainer,
He uses the white fibres to draw the liquid cocaine into his syringe container.
He carefully places the loaded syringe between his teeth,
He rolls up his sleeve, removes his belt with one hand and takes a seat.
He wraps the belt around his arm and hopes he can get a clean hit on one of the veins,
There, I’ll go there. The needle point feels sharp going in, which means it’s unused and safe.
When he pulls back on the plunger a little stream of blood slithers up,
Discolouring the slightly yellow liquid and giving it a reddish touch.
He loosens the belt, careful not to dislodge the needle and to move calm,
Takes a breath, and slowly pushes the liquid into his arm.
He holds it in there concentrating with his restless mind,
Then he pulls the needle out and dabs at the drop of blood left behind.
As he does this, he feels the freeze in his arm from the cocaine,
His arm feels numb and his heart races as the first wave is meeting his brain.
His stomach heaves, his scalp tingles and he gets a little scared at first,
The wave of sensation is stronger than how it usually works.
He fights the urge to vomit, the heroin kicks in and the nausea retreats,
The heart-thumping freeze of cocaine replaced by the warm heroin heat.
His heart starts to slow down, or so it seems,
A quiet hollow siren rages in his head, release of dopamine.
Flowing beads of perspiration crowd each other across his brow,
One drops onto his arm when he begins cleaning everything up off the ground,
He puts away his things threads his belt into his pants, and sits back down,
Good stuff, very good, he thinks as he sits there with an open mouth.
Later now and back outside, he decides to have a cup of espresso in a little place he knows,
Sitting back with a view of the street he savors the coffee, lights a cigarette and smokes.
Nothing hurts. The lousy job that he needs to hold onto, the flak he catches from his wife,
The fact he is turning 40 and doesn’t have anything to show for his life.
None of it fazes him, but he still thinks about it as he puts the coffee down,
A spotty work history, no college, and rent that is three weeks late don’t matter right now.
He feels warm, relaxed, and good. Was the waitress’s smile a flirt?
Or was she smiling because she caught him nodding? Or did he smile first?
Doesn’t matter. He thinks about buying his wife a fake necklace instead of the real one,
Maybe something cheap, like a gold-plated stainless-steel one.
It will look just like the one she pointed out for him to give,
And later on that day that was exactly what he did.