A
AnonymousAnonymous
Guest
If somebody could move this to words, that would be lovely.
The Carousel
You pick up the phone.
He answers right away. Joy.
"Is it cool if I drop by in 20 minutes or so?"
"Sure bro no problem" means "yes I'm holding."
"Sorry I'm busy." means "I'm dry."
But he says neither, just "OK." And he hangs up. Good enough, it's all you wanted to hear. Maybe he's not your friend anymore.
He never was, but maybe you're not pretending anymore. Who cares. Joy.
The walk over. Joy.
Up the steps of the sketchiest building you've ever been in. Should you be worried you'll be mugged? Not really. The
scariest guy in the building is about to take all the money you have on you anyway. Skinny white guy who looks
like he knows where he's going? Everybody knows why you're here. The money you earned in the legitimate economy
is about to enter their ugly economy, and all they have to do for it is answer the phone whenever you call. Buyers are always safe.
Buyers always come back, why mess with easy money? You're not sure if you're right about any of that, but it's a lot of stairs
and a lot of time to think. In any event mostly you're just giddy. Mostly it's just joy.
Knock knock and in you go.
There is another guy already there. Fuck.
Here comes the talk. Fuck.
You bought some stereo equipment? Cool. (Don't care.) You booked some studio time? You're rapping again? That's awesome man, I hope it
works out. (Fuck do I ever not care.)
He talks about the government. Fuck.
He talks about his landlord. Fuck.
The stranger in the room keeps him talking. Asks questions. Gets involved. Fuck man, you're clearly here to cop too, what are you doing? Are
you trying to be his best friend? Fuck.
It's never the right time to get to business. Do you pull out your cash in front of this fucking stranger? Whatever, there's no way to bring this up without
it coming out of nowhere.
A few seconds of silence...
So man... (quantity.)
More than last time. Did he raise an eyebrow? Maybe it's in your head. What does it matter to him anyway?
He's off to the cupboard. Scale comes out. The room is silent. Tin foil hits your hand, cash hits his hand. It's over in an instant and talk resumes like nothing ever happened.
Scoring is such an awkward thing. For an instant he was a dealer and you were an addict, and neither of you like those roles. The stranger in the room didn't like it either,
he feels like he just saw you jerking off, or taking a shit. He feels as though he saw you in an awkward position, something he was never meant to see.
More talk.
You need to leave. You aren't even listening anymore. You could get high in his bathroom, you've done it before. But that'd just be one more awkward ugly moment, one more
silence. Plus, this isn't where you want to be high you want to be high at home.
You find your opening.
"So I gotta bounce..."
You go for a handshake, he goes for a fist bump. Awkward, you're always awkward. You could cop every day for ten years, and still never feel at home here.
You fly down the stairs. Joy.
You fly home. Joy.
Foil is opened. Scrutinized. Seems light, but what can you do? He answers the phone. Your other numbers amount to a disconnected phone and a guy who had some
that one time. Finding a new connect is a problem for another day, and in any event it's enough for now. Enough for a while.
So away you go.
And there it is. There you are. The moment seems to last forever and yet be over in an instant. Perfect. Worth it. Obviously worth it, how could you have ever had any doubt?
There it is.
...
...
And there it goes.
There it is again.
...
And there it goes.
And...
You pick up the phone.
Welcome to hell.
You set out to ride a train and found yourself on a carousel.
The Carousel
You pick up the phone.
He answers right away. Joy.
"Is it cool if I drop by in 20 minutes or so?"
"Sure bro no problem" means "yes I'm holding."
"Sorry I'm busy." means "I'm dry."
But he says neither, just "OK." And he hangs up. Good enough, it's all you wanted to hear. Maybe he's not your friend anymore.
He never was, but maybe you're not pretending anymore. Who cares. Joy.
The walk over. Joy.
Up the steps of the sketchiest building you've ever been in. Should you be worried you'll be mugged? Not really. The
scariest guy in the building is about to take all the money you have on you anyway. Skinny white guy who looks
like he knows where he's going? Everybody knows why you're here. The money you earned in the legitimate economy
is about to enter their ugly economy, and all they have to do for it is answer the phone whenever you call. Buyers are always safe.
Buyers always come back, why mess with easy money? You're not sure if you're right about any of that, but it's a lot of stairs
and a lot of time to think. In any event mostly you're just giddy. Mostly it's just joy.
Knock knock and in you go.
There is another guy already there. Fuck.
Here comes the talk. Fuck.
You bought some stereo equipment? Cool. (Don't care.) You booked some studio time? You're rapping again? That's awesome man, I hope it
works out. (Fuck do I ever not care.)
He talks about the government. Fuck.
He talks about his landlord. Fuck.
The stranger in the room keeps him talking. Asks questions. Gets involved. Fuck man, you're clearly here to cop too, what are you doing? Are
you trying to be his best friend? Fuck.
It's never the right time to get to business. Do you pull out your cash in front of this fucking stranger? Whatever, there's no way to bring this up without
it coming out of nowhere.
A few seconds of silence...
So man... (quantity.)
More than last time. Did he raise an eyebrow? Maybe it's in your head. What does it matter to him anyway?
He's off to the cupboard. Scale comes out. The room is silent. Tin foil hits your hand, cash hits his hand. It's over in an instant and talk resumes like nothing ever happened.
Scoring is such an awkward thing. For an instant he was a dealer and you were an addict, and neither of you like those roles. The stranger in the room didn't like it either,
he feels like he just saw you jerking off, or taking a shit. He feels as though he saw you in an awkward position, something he was never meant to see.
More talk.
You need to leave. You aren't even listening anymore. You could get high in his bathroom, you've done it before. But that'd just be one more awkward ugly moment, one more
silence. Plus, this isn't where you want to be high you want to be high at home.
You find your opening.
"So I gotta bounce..."
You go for a handshake, he goes for a fist bump. Awkward, you're always awkward. You could cop every day for ten years, and still never feel at home here.
You fly down the stairs. Joy.
You fly home. Joy.
Foil is opened. Scrutinized. Seems light, but what can you do? He answers the phone. Your other numbers amount to a disconnected phone and a guy who had some
that one time. Finding a new connect is a problem for another day, and in any event it's enough for now. Enough for a while.
So away you go.
And there it is. There you are. The moment seems to last forever and yet be over in an instant. Perfect. Worth it. Obviously worth it, how could you have ever had any doubt?
There it is.
...
...
And there it goes.
There it is again.
...
And there it goes.
And...
You pick up the phone.
Welcome to hell.
You set out to ride a train and found yourself on a carousel.
