up the function

she tells me i have a drinking problem, and i tell her she has a problem with my ability to drink. i promise her i wont drink tonight. and i dont. i go to kitch & chinch’s place (that place has become my second home) and smoke myself into oblivion. trashbag politics. this wasn’t yeah let’s have a couple joints, get mellow and hang out. no. no fucking way. this was pack that cone till it overflows! gimmie gimmie gimmie! inhale until it burns. and even if you think you’re going to green out, you can still have more! pure selfishness. im only doing this cos you dont want me to.

no money means no cigarettes. i never have money. i never have cigarettes. but somehow, i’m always out. i’m always trashed. there’s always a cask of goon. always enough pot to do me over. always plenty of lines to go around. the economics of a trashbag. nobody really pays much attention to whats coming in or going out. its all a delerious, limp, blurry mess. boys and girls pass me by. the room takes them all in. the boys take speed in. the bigger boys take coke in. the strobe light flickers as the sink in front of me takes it all in and the girl in the cubicle behind me moans as she takes the boy in.