Life, Love And The Pursuit Of Un-Intoxication It was warming up in Pittsburgh, but it was fucking cold in Vermont. We pulled up around four am. In a u-haul. Starring at our place and it starring back. The road divided the house from Lake Bomoseen. "Break out the shit!" I demanded to Judge. I had the urge to fix from about, well, Pittsburgh. We were kicking here. Hiding in Vermont was going to get us clean and keep us clean. Our fuckin’ refuge from the lady. So we brought one issue each. We had to, of course. Four o’ clock in the morning sitting in a u-haul in some bum fuck town in, literally, the middle of Vermont fixing bags next to Lake Bomoseen. Change is strange. "This is it, man. No more of this bullshit. I’m sick of it. It keeps me sick. It’s got fuckin’ sick written all over it." I could talk the shit. But it always broke me like a toothpick in the end. Judge: "Ya. Fuck this shit" While emptying the white powder in to a spoon. Sick. We did our issue and backed the u-haul in to the short drivway in front of the house to start unloaded. The house was cold, freezing. We got all the blankets and some clothes out and crashed. The u-haul rested. It was an old wooden house. Front door opens in to a large living room with a huge pane window to the left for an awesome lake view. In the back was the bath, kitchen and a door leading out back to a wooden patio and a fuckin’ gazebo. Two bedrooms upstairs and another bath. Really beautiful property. We unpacked. Leather couches, dining table, color TV. All that shit. Could be properly appreciated by the right people. We’re the ones who intend on appreciating but end up destroying or misusing. I was fucking miserable. The world at my feet and I can’t live without old heroes. We sat in our house of heroin refuse and got sick. Not death sick, but none-the-less uncomfortable. "I’m going to walk Dakota." The Judge said nothing. He laid in his detox recliner and waited. The lake in front of the house was on frozen tundra status. I took Dakota on the lake. This dog was in paradise. Back in suburbia he was restrained. Out here he ran freely. We passed a pair ice fishing. "Do you really catch much fishing out of a hole?" "Sometimes. Sometimes not." "I see. How deep is the ice right here?" "Oh, about seventeen inches out here." Damn I’ve never been on lake this big and am able to stand this far out. I could look in all directions and just see a platau of frozen water. And people live like this, too. Right out here. Content. "Man I’m not feeling good at all, man. Let’s go in to Rutland and get drunk." We had hit one frightening bar and we’re walking to another when Danae walked by. She was a little cutie and I noticed the anarchy shirt and dyed hair and said something stupid to get her attention. "Nice shirt. You live around here?" Apparently she wasn’t one of the few who venture to cold, nothing towns in search of ‘refuge’. "Yep. Forever and always. "I’m sorry to here that." " Whats there to do around here to have fun?" I asked. I had to ask. I knew what she was going to say. I could see it. "Well getting high pretty much." She said confidently. "You know if there’s any heroin around?" She looked us up and down and replied correctly. I knew what we were doing and so did Judge. I remember jumping up and down like a little kid on the sidewalk in downtown (metaphorically speaking) The Judge’s head kind of hung down. He had the look of ‘can’t we try harder to stay away from this shit’ Our personal quest, refuge, was crumbling. The Judge and I. Set them up and we’ll knock them down. I frequently bragged to Rose about being able to find heroin anywhere I went. And the fact is it really isn’t too hard if you’re looking for it. It’s all in the eyes. Rutland suburbia surrounds downtown and is set up like most suburban developments. Square blocks, houses with yards. Where the comfortable, well off people live. We walked with Danae a few blocks to one of these comfortable neighborhoods. "You’re going to have to wait here." "What! Fuck that. Where do you have to go?" "It’s like three houses down." It’s cool. Here. She handed me her purse. There was a sheet of acid in it among other valuables that wouldn’t be worth losing taking our thirty-five dollars. I gave her the money and she disappeared in to a house down the street. Judge and I posted up on someone’s porch making sure to have the best view of where she went. And you always have the same conversations in these situations. ‘She better come back, man. I’ll fuckin’ go down there and pound on every door and find that cunt. Man, I swear she better not burn us.’ And so on. Five long minutes later she came back strolling as if she couldn’t hear my heart pounding from down the street. "Score?" "Of course. I told you I would." And, of course, if something hadn’t worked out there would have been a good reason for that because people like to prove to others they were right and knew it all along. Danae and I went to a Wendy’s bathroom to get high and divide the shit in to three and Judge waited at a table. "This is all you got for thirty-five? Damn, this ain’t shit." "It’s always this for thirty-five." Vermont. I figured we were lucky to of found any at all. The bags we got were in pink wax paper. The Same style of packaging as Philly or New York. But pink. And more than four times the price for half the quantity. Shitty deal. I did my issue and didn’t feel much. After her bitching I broke her off a hit and went to give what was left to the Judge. I kind of knew he wouldn’t be happy. He came out of the bathroom and asked what the fuck I gave him. Heroin. "Were going to get some more. Fuck this bullshit. There was hardly anything in there. Fuck that!" We went and got more. Got Danae’s number and rolled the u-haul home. The next days brought with them the symptoms. We tried not to get on each other’s nerves while our own nervous systems were getting on ours. Hours watching endless TV, trying to get comfortable and sadly trying to make some sort of use of this convenient gazebo. Going outside and sitting on it for a minute then coming back in because it’s too cold or because it’s wood. Believing there is the perfect place to sit for hours and kick. There never is. The mediocre junk withdrawls seem to require nervous movement. You look lost. After three days or so we got some money. Bought a five hundred doller Pontiac Grand AM talked to a few of Danae’s friends and met Wayne. A kid who said he had a connect in Massachusetts so we went of Massachusetts to cop a fifty bags. Wayne, Judge and I drove the risky Pontiac. Wayne believed he was going to be a junkie for the rest of his life. Probably wanted an easy way out of the hell that is reality. He was young. Eight-teen, hopefully. He was also one of those bastards who always swear they know where to score right now. When we stopped in a city in Mass just to pick up a few bags to get well Wayne said he had been there many times and knew where we could cop. We drove in circles fer twenty minutes before I stopped at a gas station. "Do you how to get to the ghetto from here." I asked as if I was simply getting directions for Mcdonalds. He didn’t really seem concerned while guiding me with hand signals. "And then there’s this long road. Just stay on that. It’ll kinda go downhill and, uh, right there. It’s always shitty around there." "Ya, thanks." Jubilant that we now have reliable direction from a local. After a slope in the road we noticed the old apartment complexes, empty lots. The Puerto Rican Projects. We circled around the neighborhood. A few white boys in a Pontiac with Vermont plate. We had a better chance if we were blatant. Like the classic attack of the dealers working the corner. We pulled down a streeet. Run down playground on the right. "Wus up, dog. You cool?" Well. I think I’ll take about ten, yes, ten bags of heroin today sir. And, hmm. An eight ball of that coke has my name all over it. If it were only that easy part of the fun would be gone. Drug dealing is still one of the only markets that deal with drive thru service. A lot of the times some of the unreliable bastards aren’t holding you got to search the stuff out. We picked up a middle age Puerto Rican look-a-alike gangster. This guy was ok. His whole life has been in this neighborhood. He said they called him doctor because he fixes everyone. I walked up in to one of the buildings with him and watched an elder Puerto Rican pull out the shoebox he used to keep his dope in. I stood in the doorway. Gave my money to my guy and he exchanged it for ten blue bags. I gave our middle guy twenty bucks for getting are bundle for one hundred. We walked up like five flights of stairs before coming to doctor’s place. There was a cradle in the corner and we gathered around the bed to fix. I hit immediately. Doctor was so adament about the fact that everyone calling him that he insisted on hitting Wayne, and Judge. We thanked doc and left to pick up the rest of our bags. AT least we were well because there was more bullshit in Springfield. Wayne forgot which apartment his man lived in at first and his guy didn’t even know we were coming. . We got lucky seeing him walking down the sidewalk by a pizza place on the corner. He told us to meet him at that pizza place in thirty minutes. We waited. He came half an hour later. Now, he needs the money to go get the shit and we are to wait another forty five minutes. Now shits getting messy. We came all the way down here and I really want to get it to sell in Rutland so I hand over then money. We sat on our parked car and waited. It was dark outside. About forty five minutes later some guy appeared from across the street. I really couldn’t recognize him. "Here. Be safe." And he walked away. I drove mad cool on the way home and Judge stuffed fifty bags of ‘knock out’ in his stash pocket.
Copyright © 2002 Rob Baked |