I didn't like people who gave
out spare change to street people. None of my friends give out change
to someone to support their habit. I was totally against it. Ever since
I lived on the corner of 16th and Mission, and saw a guy get his head
beaten in for no reason I have adopted this attitude. Giving out money
doesn't solve the problem. It doesn't solve anything.
Night came and I woke up from a horrible hangover. My friend Dave came
over to get together and go to some bars. Dave and I went together down
to the liquor store at 17th and Mission. We bought a 24-pack case of Budweiser.
On the way home, we passed out a few beers, to whoever was around. I have
figured my luck of not ever getting robbed and beaten up on this street
was that these people liked me. We sang "We Are The World."
We told a few guys that we're having a party at the end of the month.
I don't expect them to show up. I walked into the porno video shop and
handed the young guy there, who handed out the quarters, a beer. He said
thanks. I met him before at some parties. On the way home, I gave out
about ten, twelve beers, and felt good about myself. None of this spare
change shit. Cut out the middle man. We got home to the penthouse and
drank what's left. Nothing happening tonight. Soon, we finished the beers.
Now I regretted being Santa Claus.
It was 1:30 so we made another trip to the liquor store at 16th and Valencia
where some old Australian guy was working. He knew me well, so he gave
me a deal. As we walked by Esta Noche, a disheveled woman walked out.
Dave talked with her. Somehow, he talked her into coming back with us.
We drank a few beers together. This woman looked Mexican, wore Levi's,
and was uncommonly masculine. Dave kept saying to her "Hey, dude."
And she told him "Hey, I'm not a dude!" I asked her what she
did. She told us that she was an architect. I knew that she was lying
but I shook my head up and down. So before we had done anything the architect
had the great idea of getting her friend and buying some crack. Dave agreed
before I could say anything.
Esta Noche was where the drag queens hung out, so it was odd to see this
woman hanging out there. After a few minutes, the architect found her
friend. She asked me "Doesn't she look like Paula Abdul?" I
shook my head and smiled. This woman looked nothing like Paula Abdul.
She wore cowboy boots, Levi's, a baseball jacket, and a cap. Paula had
this nervous drug twitch, and was constantly wiping her nose. We found
a crack dealer in an alley. Dave and the dealer went together. Dave gave
him thirty-five dollars.
Love bad. Addiction good.
We entered my apartment and sat down in the living room. We walked back
to the rooftop, the architect broke out a pipe, and we smoked the stuff.
I took a little hit from the glass pipe. Things started to get hectic.
I felt like cleaning up the apartment. Dave and the architect went outside
together, which left me with Paula Abdul, who was simultaneously wiping
her nose and rubbing her neck. We had a conversation, but nothing was
said. So this was feminism, I thought. I started to get paranoid. I talked
to Dave outside, alone.
"What's going on?"
"They'll have sex with us, but they want more crack" Dave explained.
"I'm not going back out. Someone will probably hit us over the head
with a two by four."
We had a big argument about whether we should go out. I didn't feel like
doing it with Paula. She wasn't my type. The drugs had an effect on me
and I didn't want to touch anybody. Otherwise I would have given her a
go. So Dave ended up giving the architect twenty dollars, and they left
to get more, or who knows?
"I don't think that they are coming back" Dave said.
"Yeah, you have a flair for the obvious. I thought we had a deal."
And they didn't come back. I could imagine being set up, being lead into
an alley, and getting jumped. That was how it worked. People convinced
you that you're having a good time, and they get you when you're least
expecting it. I knew where the architect was taking me. I knew all about
I knew that I was an expert with women. I knew more about them than most
people. I could tell you many things you never knew. But I digress.
So Dave and I finished the beers we had, and we must have passed out at
about five in the morning. The next afternoon when I woke up, I was really
sick. That speed sickness you get. Every time I got up, I would feel like
throwing up. I stayed in bed, tried to watch football, but the players
became multiplied and I didn't know what game I was watching. I had double
vision. After some rest, I went to the bathroom and threw up. Then, later,
I went to the liquor store and bought a Hawaiian Punch and a Calistoga.
I drank the Hawaiian Punch, got sick again, ran outside on the roof.
Hours later I tried to drink the Calistoga, and immediately the water
came out like a fire hydrant. Dave asked if I was all right. The best
plan was to stay horizontal, and not to walk at all. Just close my eyes
and stay still. I would never use any drugs again. I wondered if Dave
had any more of that Valium.
I figured if I put my head between my knees, and my hands over my head
I would be fine. Horrible love. Close my eyes and shut off the world.
If I was flexible enough so that I could stick my head up my asshole that
would be better.
A few months later, I saw the architect in front of the welfare office,
walking towards me on the sidewalk. She was wearing black vinyl pants,
a tank-top. She was very tough looking. I stood aside and made sure I
didn't get in her way. I felt threatened for a second, then I passed by
and never saw her again. Only in my dreams. Drugs bad.
I remembered when I was ten years old. I used to take off my clothes and
tie myself up and thrash around in an empty bathtub. I used to be very
innocent. Now, I needed new taboos.