( • strong language warning • Material unsuited for those of delicate disposition who lead sheltered lives. )
It’s not as if I asked for the earth – just a little help from a friend – well friend of necessity anyway. That guy Dave, so straight – “Have you tried ginseng, Pete?” he asked me once. She-it! What’s he doing squatting, anyway? He’s got a job in the Post Office or something – silly sod. Just a bad day probably, but he finished it off; it’s not as if I was asking for the earth. No, more than just a bad day; as that rat bag flogging his religious tracts down the highroad used to say, “the end is nigh” – I feel it in my bones – they’re numb, just a dull ache – with cold – internal cold , everywhere.
All the days are bad now, none of them easy. First get the bread. Harder all the time. The punters can sus me from the other end of the street: the weight loss, the teeth, the sniff when hanging out. No energy to take care of myself. I look like shit. They don’t want to touch me and they don’t want me touching them. Probably just as well - I always hated it – and them, anyway.
And the scams don’t work anymore – the time we relieved a young tourist of an expensive camera by pretending to be plain clothes fuzz involved in an ongoing crime scene for which the film was now primary evidence. Even managed a quick contrived receipt.
Never tried the old break and enter – ‘bit claustrophobic - preferred outdoor work –more exits if things screw up. The greatest of times – I felt in control then. Now, I really have to drag up the energy to corner some straight elderly guy and terrify him a bit. Resorted to the old “need the fare, man, otherwise I’m going to get fined, man, got to get to the dole office” routine - among others! Hard work but steady pickings. Made up the shortfall in the end….. Got it together but late. Not that it mattered too much. Time was, regular supply was there. I knew the guy, knew when it was available, trusted him, (well trusted that the stuff was regular, of steady quality anyway). Now it might be any one of half a dozen names, all different, variable locations, with shit which could be good, bad, heavily cut, or occasionally --- almost pure. Word of mouth on the street says where it’s at today.
Time was, I was in control. If new, different supply – get home, try a little first, gauge its strength and go from there. Not anymore. It’s “Find the spot” time folks. Arms, legs long gone, ears, lips, my dick. All useless. All Kaput – that last in more ways than one.
I wasn’t asking for the earth and Dave, that prick, wouldn’t help.
Showed him a letter from Mum last week; said it was just like a letter from his mum, except his mum was on about him coming home settling down, getting a family, a mortgage – fare available. While mine was on about a new cure a pop star had taken – she’d read about it in her Sunday paper, and helping me out if I needed the money!
Cook up, fill the fit and if I can find a spot shoot the lot. Three or four visits by the ambulance in the last few months wasted all my efforts. Some sharing caring cunt has called them – should have left me.
And now: Had a bit of success recently with the second toe on the left foot, but oh gees, not much luck tonight. Shaking hands and blunt fit. Hunt around the house. They’re all out. So much for support. Kitchen’s empty except for that Dave. He could do it for me. Only got to stick it where I show him, and press slowly. I put it to him. He turns white, tells me to get fucked and heads for the rubbedy to get pissed.