Monday, November 28, 2011

Two Weeks of Insanity

He put the rock in his pipe and put the butane flame to the butt of the glass. It jutted out from his lip at a crazy angle and when the heat hit the small rock it smoked and fumed and drew the dirty yellow vapor into his lungs. There was a harsh, sweet smelling, chemical burn and his eyes were transfixed on the blue of the clear yellow lighter that was catalyzing his meth. The smoke was potent and he began to see the light blue waters of American Samoa float up and up and his eyes looked down to see the gummed up and dirty dry concrete beneath his feet. He felt the sun rays hit his orange New York City skin. He believed in white sand, bone white and the red and white empty potato chip bag that lay there by his untied sneaker, he was a friendly crab scuttling home to his crabby wife. A fine watery line of spittle fell slowly from his mouth onto the ground and landed with a little splat. As he continued to stare deep into space and the bristled edge of his sneaker toe he began to believe that his eyes were as blue and piercing as the shallow ocean around American Samoa, he believed that his eyes were becoming paler and more beautiful, enticing, alluring…he dreamed with his eyes open until his neck muscles relaxed and he hit his head on the top of the phone box.