Running With Scissors

With the bus's engine a-purring and tires a-bumping a homecoming rhythm down shady old French Street I examined the contents of my ziplock serious drug collection under the warm yellow glow of a reading light. Though the bag had been severely depleted over the last few days there was still enough to share, half twenty milligram adderal from Run, four or more generic vicodin from uncle's cabinet, two tannish mystery painkillers, probably Percoset, and about a gram of T jammed crudely into a film canister. Rising from my seat and wiping the crust from my eyes, I made my way to the front of the bus amid sleeping passengers, put my hand on a warm portion of seat that recoiled to the touch. A dapper old gentleman with deadpan eyes shot me a withering look, drew his wife all the closer with gloved hand on her delicate shoulder, "Sorry", I whispered. The bus lurched to hydraulic brakes, and I jumped off into another world, past familiar withered ashen strangers out front of the Hub liquor store, down French to Louis, past darkened row homes and roaring McCormick's Bar on Somerset Street, following the beacon sound of pounding drums and screaming to my show.

Inside a too loud blur of nervous energy with cheap garage pumping from tweed speakers, anonymous voice all gravel over the clank of trebly guitars, attacking rhythm section, klinking bottles. Meanwhile bodies sway drunkenly pressed together in an entanglement of bare limbs, palm grope pinkish exposed abdomen, and tight wrapped busom bouncing dreadfully there in the hands of another in the shadows. Red red lips and blush on cheek, furry cheetah collars, short skirts, faded low waist jeans all the rage because they say you can't get away with stonewash anymore, but tapered jeans cut right show off Converse of every color, look sufficiently scuffed by the light of a naked bulb on the back porch, one spikey haired little beauty remarks to elder grizzled companion, on seeing similarly dressed girl coming upstairs, "Oh Gawd!...seen her before...Matt's ex...slut..!" The real scene down in the basement, down rickety old winding rot wood stairs, third step gives way, swings right when you put your weight on it, guy clomps down behind you in swank heeled Italian shoes with his fingers in your back, here all steamy and uncomfortable and moist, where an assemblage of vintage looking hipsters do the Twist and the Bop and the Shake through a haze of cigarette smoke, yet too many cracks in the walls and windows to keep the cold drafts out, "You made it!!...how was work?...Reni, I love your hair...best I could do...spilt it...split it...hey, you missed your own band, how do you like that...where can we go...are they out of beer? ...who's this...yea, they played without you!!...how do you like that...excuse me, I'm sorry...where's Len?..." Rand was there on the dancefloor with drink in hand, bopping his usual hippity hop to the beat. Then, sensing my presence, he made a casual exit and took me in tow upstairs through the comic swell, past all the eager beavers and wallflowers and local alkies passing out on their feet, "Diiiig these crazy cats, Piero, as always. Come on, we don't go on for a while, like after this next band? We got beers upstairs and T to smoke." In Holly's room a few of us had barricaded ourselves in and had set about smoking and irrigating ourselves in earnest. I went to fill up again, dug out my dirty glass work and grabbed a pinch from the film canister. It would be Rand's first taste of the dry brownish inferior stuff that I'd bought from DeJesus earlier in the week. He held one of the more substantial buds up to the light, remarking, "Daaamnnnn, been a while since I've seen T with seeds and stems..." "Shut up, it's my bread and butter!", I shot back, "Damn you. It's cheap. And it burns all the same." And he had himself an odd litttle laugh at this, mostly because he was high, and took his glasses off his face to rub at the tired indentations on the bridge of his nose. He let the cigarette smoke escape from his lips, "Am I French inhaling?"A knock at the door produced Antoni Leviscana whose arrival was met with great approval from all present. Being a model of effeminate dignity and poise, he sort of quickly and noiselessly dissolved into the room, then gently closed the door behind him as to shut the rest of the party out. He shed his pea coat, exposing his ever diminutive physique, then fixed himself next to me and extended a kindly furry hand in friendship. The works were passed to all who had interest, meanwhile I prepared three neat lines of adderall on Holly's desk for Rand, Antoni and I. "You wouldn't happen to have more of those Vikes, would you Piero?", Antoni asked, "I'm really like not into Adderall lately. Makes me too nervous, actually, I prefer to be down." I reached into the ziplock and laid two Vicodin in his palm. I was actually glad to get rid of them, the stuff gave me stomach aches. "I wouldn't take them tonite, at least not anytime soon, you seem drunk enough already". "Yea", he said, running a shaky hand through his jet black dyed hair, "Me, Jean, and Reni were at my house fixing gin and tonics. I can't believe I'm so drunk now. I didn't even think we mixed enough liquor in, I couldn't taste it over the lime". He licked his lips. "That's my drink", Holly said. "Caramel twist, neat", I remarked. "What's that?", she said, " Ugh. I'm really not into pills. I can't even watch you do them, it makes my stomach sick". She turned to Reni while I snorted the first line. "You wouldn't happen to have more adderall to trade, would you, Antoni?", I said, remembering that we'd had a similar conversation weeks earlier, that the blue Adderalls I had left were actually from Antoni (via Run) to begin with. Most of the local Adderall could actually be traced back to Run, who seemed to have a neverending supply of the vital stuff, and was well known to dispense them by the handful to his friends when in a good mood. Run was impossible to find these days though, he had retreated to his girlfriend's house in recent months and had scarcely been seen again. "Not now, I can get them, though, I think, from my brother's prescription at home. But I've taken so many already, maybe ten of the thirty that were in the bottle, you'd think someone would notice, I'm afraid that one day they will."