I fastened a thick comforter from the abandoned closet to the single window looking out of my apartment; nailing through the cheap.. what was it, plastic? wood? of the wall on either side of the dirty slab of glass. I spent a few days, three maybe, locked inside. Smoking what little i had left; half a pack of cigarettes and some weed-crumbs. It'd be an insult to call them more than that. I lost track of the sun and slept when i was tired. Ate the canned vegetables from the kitchen. It's been nearly a week since I scored any coke. I should pay a visit to my dear friend the pharmacist, but frankly money needs to be thought about. I counted it. Again. $100.00. How far could I really make it?
I lean back on the couch and put the cigarette out; pressing the short ember into the arm of the dirty couch; with plenty of holes so that another wouldn't much matter.
When I decide to venture into public, I list my priorities loosely in my mind. I try to. My thought process is slightly inhibited; intermittently between the ramblings of an unsober mind I think "coke... pharmacy; 2 blocks down the road." Not much help as far as prioritizing goes. Probably should follow it. I walk with what I hope is assurance, but realize is probably more of a stumble and a swaying.
Getting down to the ground level, I notice something strange. A policemen. I'd always thought police didn't care enough to come down this way. I try to sober up; not look suspicious, but realize that the rather large man [i assume] in blue is bent over a severed head that seemed to have come up out of the sewer drain! What! I leave for 2, 3 days, and what the hell happens? the streets are lined with stagnant puddles of rainwater; [it rained???] I keep walking, the rambling in my mind shifting from incoherence to "what the hell is a severed head doing in the street."
Assuming he deserved it [who cares if he did] I walk to the pharmacy. The streets are quiet; autumn has set in. The chill isn't quite noticeable yet. The air smells of ozone; more rain coming. A man from the building; Dimitri i believe, is walking from the direction of Mr. Foo's place. Where are his pants? Its a damned neighborhoo--- eh, whatever...
When I get to the shabby, patchwork little pharmacy, I see the window is busted in. Shattered glass littering the area; and noone is to be seen. I walk closer to investigate, walking over the broken glass to peer inside the dark, once fluorescent-lit, shop.
I hear a sharp, brief "WHEER" behind me, along with braking tires; the crunch of gravel. Quickly strobing blue and white LED flashes wash over the surrounding wreck of a building, and I turn to face a Cop, one foot out of his cruiser, coming to talk to me as I stand on broken glass of a store with no other being around save for the flocks of pigeons that had descended in my indoor retreat [and I don't believe they're much good for testifying.] My heart accelerates, as I check the pockets of my jeans, running my fingers over the outside; identifying each object. hundred dollars in cash; lighter; pipe; small zipped bag. I take a deep breath and a step towards the officer.
My inner monologue?
"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck."
