Not sure why thinking about this but seeing that thread about bad copping experiences reminded me of something but it doesn't really fit the thread. It's not really a copping story but a long time ago I knew this guy named B. He always had weed and pills, and while he had a good connect through his brother he was always kind of a douche. He liked to act like he was the big man when in reality his bro's crew (who met once and were a bunch of creeps) were backing everything, plus his girlfriend had once been with one of my best friends so there was some weirdness seeing her with him. Also always hated going to his place, he had some burnout roommate straight out of that "American Movie" documentary who'd covered all of their walls in pictures from horror movie mags, so between B's bullshit, the metal heads passed out all over the place on weed and codeine, and all those pics of chopped up body parts it wasn't the greatest scene.
Anyway one time I dropped by but instead of being his usual douche B was all quiet. Plus he was hunched over and slamming beers, and he really wasn't a drinker. I asked what was up, he said he had a stomach ache, then he said he was out but knew some corner guys downtown. So we got in my car and he's still pounding beers and then he rolls down the window and starts puking. I'm like wtf man, then he lifts his t-shirt and shows this bloody bandage made out of paper towels. He tells me there was some kind of problem between him and someone in his bro's crew, and he'd been stabbed with a hacked-off antennae. I tried telling him go to the ER and after that maybe get out of town but he kept saying it was cool, everything would get straightened out. The whole time he's drinking Budweiser, soaked in sweat, pale as a ghost and puking. By the time we got to the corner the guys there looked at him like he was insane, one of them just shook his head.
Brought B back to his place, kept asking if didn't want a lift to the ER but he said it was cool, his bro would straighten everything out real soon. I told him to take care of himself and left, I knew it was shitty but I was young, didn't know to do, and honestly I just wanted to get as far away as possible from that apartment-- with the horror posters everywhere and him changing wads of bloody paper towels I felt like I was going insane too. That was the last time saw B and just a few days later the police brought him in, though afterwards no one was sure whether he was arrested or had turned himself in hoping for protection. Either way, when push came to shove and he was given the choice of talking or doing time, he hung himself in his cell.
Still not sure why remembering all this tonight. Maybe cause along with horror posters B's apartment had Christmas lights strung along the walls, can still see his girlfriend sitting beneath those lights, stoned out of her skull on pills and pot, telling me she was going to leave B cause she felt caged. He'd just bought her a bunch of cheesy helium balloons for her birthday, and they were floating above her, reflecting the lights, and poor pathetic B was so psyched about giving her those balloons but for her all they did was confirm it was time to split. She left him and took off to Florida just a couple weeks before B died, and looking back at all this it's so funny-- when it was happening all this drama seemed to play out forever but in reality it was only a few months, just one short, ugly, messed up summer. Like during a car crash, or grief, or great pain, clocks and calendars don't truly gauge time.
"Funny how falling feels like flying, for a little while."
"Time flies when you're falling down"
"e=mc2"
RIP B, you should gave been a used car salesman, you would have been perfect.
Anyway one time I dropped by but instead of being his usual douche B was all quiet. Plus he was hunched over and slamming beers, and he really wasn't a drinker. I asked what was up, he said he had a stomach ache, then he said he was out but knew some corner guys downtown. So we got in my car and he's still pounding beers and then he rolls down the window and starts puking. I'm like wtf man, then he lifts his t-shirt and shows this bloody bandage made out of paper towels. He tells me there was some kind of problem between him and someone in his bro's crew, and he'd been stabbed with a hacked-off antennae. I tried telling him go to the ER and after that maybe get out of town but he kept saying it was cool, everything would get straightened out. The whole time he's drinking Budweiser, soaked in sweat, pale as a ghost and puking. By the time we got to the corner the guys there looked at him like he was insane, one of them just shook his head.
Brought B back to his place, kept asking if didn't want a lift to the ER but he said it was cool, his bro would straighten everything out real soon. I told him to take care of himself and left, I knew it was shitty but I was young, didn't know to do, and honestly I just wanted to get as far away as possible from that apartment-- with the horror posters everywhere and him changing wads of bloody paper towels I felt like I was going insane too. That was the last time saw B and just a few days later the police brought him in, though afterwards no one was sure whether he was arrested or had turned himself in hoping for protection. Either way, when push came to shove and he was given the choice of talking or doing time, he hung himself in his cell.
Still not sure why remembering all this tonight. Maybe cause along with horror posters B's apartment had Christmas lights strung along the walls, can still see his girlfriend sitting beneath those lights, stoned out of her skull on pills and pot, telling me she was going to leave B cause she felt caged. He'd just bought her a bunch of cheesy helium balloons for her birthday, and they were floating above her, reflecting the lights, and poor pathetic B was so psyched about giving her those balloons but for her all they did was confirm it was time to split. She left him and took off to Florida just a couple weeks before B died, and looking back at all this it's so funny-- when it was happening all this drama seemed to play out forever but in reality it was only a few months, just one short, ugly, messed up summer. Like during a car crash, or grief, or great pain, clocks and calendars don't truly gauge time.
"Funny how falling feels like flying, for a little while."
"Time flies when you're falling down"
"e=mc2"
RIP B, you should gave been a used car salesman, you would have been perfect.