8. What is "Choice?"

I need some good food. I'm fuckin' tired of ramen noodles. Tomorrow is my court date, So i figure I need to clean up soon. But NOT TODAY. I go up to the roof where some kid thinks its incognito to grow marijuana, and a good handful of buds off of his plant.

The pain seeps away from my leg, and a smile creeps its way onto my face. I'm laughing at the clouds, and pretending they're animals... I feel a rumble in my stomach, *Grrgaowllllll*

Strip clubs have the /best/ hot wings. I order a double shot from this waitress girl. Cute, but a little on the heavy side. Guess that's why shes not dancing... She looks a little down, so I get her a shot as well... I'm eating my platter of wings, and imagining the life of this chicken. Bred to be on this plate. Was i bred for something? I start wondering...

Maybe i was bred to fuck up, and get abandoned by my family... Or is it all my fault? I'd like to imagine its not but in all reality it's probably my fault.... Do I have a choice? The chicken didnt, that's for damned sure... And Im so glad it didnt. Damn I love these wings....

I'm better off than these girls dryhumping a stage, at least... Well, I'd like to think... But really, its their choice, i suppose...

Do i have a choice... That's the 16,000 dollar question right there... I could handle stopping. I think. Provided nothing overwhelming happens and I'm not higher than 30 feet off the
ground...

Back to the wings.. All this "thinking" is getting to me.... I wipe a tear from my cheek.

7: Hydrocodiene

I woke up to dingy walls... I can't tell the color yet... and a dim light. My senses ease back into focus and I realize i'm in a... Hospital? I run through the events in my mind, and struggle. I remember, an explosion... and Charlie Sheen. No, that can't be right... I don't get it. I have massive headache. I must have Overdosed.... I'll just.... I'm fading again..

..............................................


A nurse wakes me up. She says the explosion put shrapnel through my leg. its broken. And they pumped my system. In her eloquence, "Enough Coke to kill a mule." I'm honestly a little impressed with myself. My leg throbs with pain with each beat my heart makes. The IV's running into my arm aren't delivering enough to satisfy the pain... I'm passing out again..........................


Okay, I'm alright now. The doctors have me hopping around on crutches, doped up on Hydrocodeine. I'd love a line or two, but Last weekend's Overdose has me a little scared. I don't know what to do. I'm realizing slowly that this life of mine could kill me.

My court date is in a few days. I'm in pain. So tired of being in the house... I decide to go for as much a walk as my shattered shin can take. I see a pickup driving down the way with an ATM loaded in the back.

"Just my luck." I think. "I go /near/ a crime and get arrested. These people just driiive off like no big deal..." Fucking unfair life. Putting me in the line of fire.... There's another girl watching.. Kitty something. I doubt she'll call the police. Shit, I wouldn't either. Thats not the "watershed" way...

I don't get too far past the first block before i'm in too much pain to go on. I turn back, grimacing with each hobble, and make my way back home... Hydrocodeine...... 9 please.

6: It's a dream... In a flash

Dazing off into the sky. Charlie's blabbering away about his life story, and I cant help but not care at all. He's a great guy and all, I just cant see straight. I can't tell whether I'm sitting or laying down. The shed behind us is buzzing with activity, apparently.

I'm vaguely aware that there's smoke and fire coming out of it, if only for the people running around like there was a fire or something. Charlie tries to pick me up, but I'm intensely concentrated on the pebbles of the gravel road the food cart is set up on.

There's a massive, booming sound. I see people running. I'm trying to peice together the events, and have a strange mix of extasy and being ashamed that I'm not coherent enough to understand. Is this real? I see... a giant baby. is that a giant baby? I can hear nothing. This must be real. A wave of panic sets in, but i still cant convince my body to move.

I fade..............

I'm a child. riding my bike. my parents are proud that I can finally do it... I'm at my 12th birthday. My first experience with liquor... My parents spend all night cleaning up my vomit.... I'm 16, my first time getting arrested. My parents are "at their last straw." I'm 19, getting kicked out of my house. My vision closes on my last memory... Laying on gravel, surrounded by smoke and flames, coked out of my mind and not caring at all that i'm......

5: I'm WINNING!

A few weeks go by, I'm trying to grasp the concept of sobriety. I could run to canada.

no money.

fuck it.

I've never been able to carry through with an idea. Outside my window, there is a carnival. Theres no money in the house, no drugs either. I cant stand the pressure of the thick, stagnant air around me. Tainted by the smell of last weeks trash, which i woke up too late to take out last thursday. and hastily covered by the stale bitterness of cheap cigarettes. I walk downstairs, trying to escape my mind in the carnival, so skewed from reality. What a fucking place to have a carnival. the worlds most uncheery place... Maybe the carnies would fit in... along with everyone else who doubts they can.

I find my way into the carnival, and can't stand the loudness. all around me is a wall of sound. children, (where the fuck did children come from? i've always hated children) carnies, (small hands, smell like cabbage) creaking machines, and heavy laughter. not the lighthearted, "i'm-a-kid-and-don't-have-bills-to-pay,-oh-look-a-shiny-object!"kind of laughing, the kind of laughing that you force out to hold back tears of despair and the crushing weight of life.

HOLY Shit my day just took a massive turn. Hopefulness creeps up the backs of my legs as i pass THE charlie sheen. I put on my best fangirl smile and run up to him, hoping he's coked out to the point of sharing with a kind young lady...

He's so nice in person. He invites me to come hang out at the food vendors, apparently there's bootleg booze and coke behind it. Sounds like a rape-and-kill situation, but hey, how many chances do you get!

When we get there, i'm shocked. Pastor Dan, couple lines of coke.. wha-wha-whaaat???

4: Nothing is Forever

23 hours in this hell hole… I get out of the police station, and fall flat on my ass. damned ice. I've always hated the weather.

"I told you you'd end up in some shit. I'd have to save your ass and now your putting the entire family through all this crazyness-"

"Mom…" I begin, but am cut off quickly.

"Don't fucking 'mom' me. get your ass off the ground. The usual way. and literally."

My mother bailed me out of jail. That'd be nice but she wants to be paid back with interest. and knowing her there's at least three other alterior motives. Shit. Running out of money at home. I can't handle this stress. I bid my "mother dearest" farewell and ride the train back to watershed heights.

I still have 50$ on me from when i got arrested. I walk to the pharmacy. I pass some yuppie, Jaques Cartes, and his eyes cut me like daggers. disapproving of me, his sense of entitlement raging. As I walk, I contemplate my position. I don't really care about jail, or fines, or lawyers, or anything... When I really think about it, I'm afraid of being on probation. Being trapped inside the law, with no escape. A raven tied to a brick labeled "reality." And clipped wings. I make my purchase. And steel myself against the truth. That this isn't forever.

3: Umm, It's not what it looks like?

The first few days went by nicely.

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."

2: Eh, Screw It

I sleep deeply.

Well, I assume I slept deeply. The late morning sun shines brightly through the window. I slowly glance at the clock, already knowing it was far past my time to catch the train to work, and not even attempting to hurry. 10:30 AM.

Work starts at 8. The train takes about an hour, on a good day, and getting ready takes just a few minutes. Usually, I have to be awake by 7:45. It's not all that early, but I've never been a morning person... Not to mention I lost track of the night around 4 AM. In the distance, i hear a deep, brassy sound from out of my window. Ms. Pigg. She is so desperate for attention, searching for people to listen to her play her "Sousaphone." At least she cares about something... My head is still swirling from the night before, and the slightly out-of-tune attempts at music aren't helping me straighten myself up.

I walk out of the room, locking the door behind me, (ha! as if there's anything worth stealing) and head down to the train station. I don't even know why I'm bothering. I'm too late for it to matter.The sun stings my eyes; not ready to accept the daytime. The air is nice, having cooled off since the terrible summer heat. I wait for the red line to pull in to the station. A quarter hour passes, not long for around here, and I board the train.

The oh-so familiar dull graffiti'ed walls of the buildings around Joe's Diner tower over me. I open the door to a familiar "Cling" of the small bell over my head. My boss, Joe Goldstein, "The" Joe, is an unpredictable man, the only thing not overly familiar about this job, but not in a good way. He is enraged, face reddening. He wants to know why I've been late a few days.

"The train is so unreliable." I try meekly, with a shrug, "I'll try harder sir."

"Fuck the train!" He'd started off pretty straightforward..."Get the hell out of here, I can't be surrounded by unreliable swine."

The insult went into one ear, and sort of fell out of the other. I let out a sigh, and stared at him coldly, not one to lose my temper (or to care enough to have one) "Whatever."

I had been planning on some attempt to maintain my paycheck and coerce him into not being upset, but the same ugly walls in this same little place. My same head, with the same exhaustion, and this same boss, unpredictable, but never kind...

I turned on my heels, and pushed the glass door open a bit more forcefully than was probably necessary. As I walk back to the dirty downtown train station, I think to myself...

I've got a hundred dollars in my wallet; the rent just got paid, and I really could use a vacation. Even if it's in the same old place. Who cares about a job.

Might as well go back to sleep. I meander my way back to the apartment...