Tuesday, May 08, 2007

It's Brown

Roxy was in a hurry. (S)he was trying to score. The John was taking his time, fucking his ass with great abandon. Finally he finished, coming deep in his ass. But when he pulled out his cock a little stream of liquid shit dripped across Roxie’s tummy. The John was frozen in time. He did not know what to make at this at first. Then a puzzled look crossed his face, and with a bit of irony he mouthed the words "Its Brown". Roxy commented back, "Things happen" and got up and cleaned himself up, got on his way, and jumped on the downtown bus to go see the dope man.

Another mission accomplished. Another cycle closed. Time to pick up. He got off the downtown bus and started looking for his man. He saw a little clutch of Mexicans standing idle at the corner of 6th and Pine. Something about 6th streets. You go find the 6th street in any major city in America and someone will be slinging sacks.

Roxy approached the little clutch of men milling about the corner. He inquired in his gutter spanish, "Blanca? Negro?" The men instantly knew what he was there for, they remember the regular customers. Roxy handed over a $20 to one of the Mexicans. The street vendor reached up to his mouth and spit out a little balloon. This was Roxie’s prize. His payment for all his hard work. He took the little balloon without making eye contact with the vendor. Never make eye contact with people on the street if you can help it. It is best to not be that familiar.

Now, the only decision was should he take his prize back to the den, where he may have to share with a fellow junky, or just shoot up somewhere downtown? Walking back to the bus stop the choice became obvious. There was a construction site with some old underground stairwells all closed up. One of the boards acting as a barrier was pried open. Roxy wedged himself through the gap and took refuge inside the closed space. It stunk of vomit and urine. But it was a safe place for a quick fix. He got his works out of his kit. Broke open the balloon, and found the two little expected packets of powders inside. One brown and looking like chocolate milk powder, that was the heroin, the other white, that was the cocaine. Negro and Blanca. It was time to shoot for the kingdom. Any decent junky wants to do a shot that gets them so off that they are just short of the brink of death. Why have hamburger when you can have steak?

Roxy dumped the brown powder into her cooker. Stroked her bic and cooked the brown goo into a syrupy liquid, "Its Brown" Roxy thought to herself. The sickly vinegary stench of cooking smack filled the space. Once the smack is ready it was time to add the coke. You do not cook coke, it breaks it down, instead you just stir it in your already cooked smack.

He then bit the tip off a cigarette filter, rolled it up into a little ball, and tossed it into the stew. This was his cotton, the filter that will keep any chunks from clogging his syringe. He put the tip of the syringe up to the top of the cotton and drew up the brown syrupy liquid. He was almost there. All his hard work was about to pay off. He stuck the needle into the back of his hand; this was the only place left where any decent veins could be found. Pulling back the plunger to register he was relieved to see a little squirt of blood enter the syringe. This was lucky, it had been getting hard to register lately; too much damage to the veins. Too many injection sites used to many times. Once registered he drove the plunger home. It would just be moments now. Almost immediately Roxy sensed that something was wrong. The usual coke ring in the ears was there, but this time combined with a darkening of his vision. Suddenly his vision tunneled into two dark points. Then he let out his last word... "Momma..." and hit the floor of the space, his face in the vomit and urine. Two days later they filled the little space with concrete, never seeing Roxie’s body inside. He finally reached the Kingdom.

Phillip Molman

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