The crawl......

You have done so much cocaine that you have to pause between words as you are talking someone into cocaine hostage territory… anyone that will listen at this point for the simple fact that there is just so……....much......... Information.......... In............................ Your........... Head, you can’t make it come out fast enough.... You get stuck. Your pupils are as black as the tires on the cop car that just drove past really slow and freaked you out because you were standing in the curb.

The pack of cigarettes you bought two hours ago is just about gone. You cant wait to tell the super hip douche wad that is dressed like a pirate to take off his white belt so you can throw it in the trash and say "if you go in the garbage and get that... I will break your fucking nose" (true story, really happened). Constantly reminding yourself to take the xanex out of the cellophane of your almost now empty pack of cigarettes, before you finish the last smoke and toss the empty pack like you had done so many times before. If this happens you will surely be up all night hating life... But you keep forgetting, now you have 2 cigarettes left.... You are old, cranky, and more interested in getting fucked up rather than charm the pants off a cute girl, and no one really hits on you because you always look skinny, pale, and tired. Its not like your dick would get hard if you got lucky anyway…

You have snorted so much shitty cocaine mixed with speed that you drank the bar out of baileys from doing so many carbombs... Bon Jovi is still fun to sing along too... You have one cigarette left....... Now that you are feeling so brave and honest it is absolutely necessary to go up to just about everyone you have been judging all night and tell them exactly what you think.... I mean who really cares its not like you will remember it anyway........ You suddenly realize that your last cigarette is broken because the pack was in your back pocket.... You try to fix it while you get her voice mail... And the empty pack falls on the floor.... You pick up the empty box as you hang up the phone not leaving a message, upset that your number was on the caller ID... Crumple it in your hand and toss it in the blue can on the corner.....

You walk into the bar across the street hoping for better atmosphere, something to take your mind off the dark mood your favorite bar has just put you in, but the happy hipsters dancing to a song that has been annoying the fuck out of you for two months makes you want to choke someone with a torn limb. The DJ waves to you as you creep to the waitress station to get a free shot from the manager because you used to work there a long time ago, but got fired because you just stopped showing up for work…...... You do the “what’s up man” dance for a few minutes, do the shot, look for another pirate faggot wearing a white belt and bail...... Back across the street for last call...

You know you are one of the special scumbags that wont get kicked out until the last employee is out the door.... The lights are up, and everyone is chewing invisible gum.... Except you... You are chain smoking and thoroughly annoyed..... As usual.... Finally you stumble home to your empty little studio, fumble the keys in the iron gate.... Empty out your pockets knowing that at least you have a few beers in the fridge and a half a baggie full of shitty speed cocaine……. and the xanex to knock you out... The xanex... Fuck.... It’s in the blue can on the corner.... And you forgot to buy a new pack of cigarettes.... Birds are a very pretty sound when you are hiking or sitting in a back yard.... Not when you are sitting on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands because it rained and all the ashtrays on your porch are filled with water.......

It’s a pathetic stroll down Cahuenga to dig through the garbage can on the corner. As a homeless guy that just shit down his leg, and a car full of Persians that you can smell from the red light they “buddy dude” at make you want to vomit into the can of ripped apart Popeye’s chicken bones you are digging through looking for this shitty little pieced of plastic with a skinny white bar in it. Your mission is successful and you take the pill, tipping your head back to wash it down with the purple metallic raindrops that are falling from the sky, turning into bus fumed clouds of cancer as they explode onto your tongue.

This ritual is the most comfortable and familiar feeling you have to offer yourself… You are too mellow to cry yourself to sleep. As the dream of being an old man sitting on a porch in a rocking chair smoking a corncob pipe full of weed becomes as distant a reality as you being a success in life. And the nightmare of one more rehab becomes your reality with each minute the sun rises….. A fish caught in the mud on the side of the riverbank, all you can do is stare at the sky until you run out of breath and hope there is something better than what you have created for yourself on the other side… What if there is no other side… your name dies in bed with you because you are to polluted to breech the womb. The seeds of your loins have turned from raging sperm into maggots at the bottom of the blue garbage can on the corner…. You never see the sun set again.