April 8th 1998: Fight Night
Okay, I know, even though we both promised that “no, I’ll never touch heroin again” I was in a bind. Here I was again, no dope and a girl at my side who just won’t give me any room to breathe. So I had to bring it up, I just had to, but she was easy to comply, so who was I to complain?
The events of the evening were pointless, to say the least, Chris, Janice, Jill and I just hanging around in some bar. Don’t get me wrong, I like hanging around in bars, it’s a great source of procrastination but there’s really not a whole lot happening on a Wednesday night.
I’m not the world’s biggest drinker; right now I’m too busy with old Morpheus to bother with liquor. I traded the bar for the corner store because I wasn’t too thrilled about paying two hundred percent mark-up on a goddamn Coca-Cola. I ran into some tourist girl out in front of the store who was looking to score some weed. I had actually unloaded some a couple days ago and wasn’t bothered to find a connection right now. But I knew that this girl had money and I wanted it to be mine. So, I threw everything I could at her, speed, ecstasy, acid and finally we both found common ground with heroin. I offered to go cop her a bag (of course at a hundred percent markup) but she was leaving in the morning and didn’t want a whole lot, so I cut her about ten bucks worth from what I had on me and charged her fifty.
The rest of the night is something I really don’t want to remember. Janice was fucking ripped the whole night off of the smack that I gave her; she was acting like she was having PMS a thousand times over. Whenever she talked to me, all that would come out was rancor and pique. I’m crazy about the girl, I really am and anything she says to me, especially spite spewing from her dragon’s tongue, I take personally. So, I started crying, yes crying, and say what you will about how much of a fucking pansy I am but I was crying. So, we’re sitting there at McDonald’s at five AM and she comes up to me with “why the fuck are you crying?” I’m sorry but how fucking cold hearted is that shit?
We apologized and she finally went home at around six. I don’t understand how this is supposed to work; a guy has to say sorry in a situation with a girl, even if it’s the girl’s Goddamn fault? Where on earth is the fucking logic in that?
After sending her off on her way, Chris and I walked the streets for a while; we ducked into the Kimberly Hotel to kill some time, waiting for the video game arcade across the street to open up.
In an attempt to steal some cigarettes from the almost abandoned Gift Kiosk, we came across the keys to the cash register. After a good twenty-five minutes of fumbling, we got our hands into nearly two thousand dollars, which we so heroically liberated from its cash register confines. With our motives changed, we gave up our plans of video game stupor and both headed our separate ways, each with a thousand bucks in hand.
As for the whole Janice, fighting thing, that is the last thing on my mind right now, with the money in my hand I could omit her presence from my mind completely for almost a week, lost in a glassy eyed reverie.