Rosie issued me a company credit card when I started here for client entertainment and equipment purchases. Today is the first time I have ever used it. I fill out the forms for the $1,500.00 certified check and let them cross reference my ID. Then I took the certified check to the Santa Clara County Jail to bail out Rosie.
Cops found Rosie in her car, passed out in the parking lot of Whole Foods. Normally they let rich, professional drunks go when they sober up but Rosie mouthed off, got searched and had four empty bags of coke and a half burnt joint.
"They impounded my car!", she grumbles indignantly as I lead her out into the harsh, Californian sunlight. She pauses, pulls sunglasses on and looks at me.
"How did you get here?"
"Bus."
"Fahking unreal!" she groans in disappointment.
This is an expression Rosie learned from me but it sounds better in her South American accent.
I was explaining how the bus schedule works when she waves her hand like I was a bug, yanks out her cellphone and calls a cab.
"Do you have any coke?" she asks after bumming one of my cigarettes.
"No."
"Alright my place. I need a line. No! Two lines. And half a joint. And coffee! Police coffee tastes like sour, German ass."
I don't ask.
We walk to the curb to wait for the cab and pass a newspaper stand. A picture of Rosie smiles from Metro Weekly. I take one and read the article.
"Rising Tech Stars-" But she cuts me off.
"Garbage! Only useful for my CV. They didn't put in the four plugs I needed. Fucking bitch reporter. Bryan is so pissed! This makes me look narcissistic. But good photo eh? But the other three interviews are potato men."
As Rosie showers, I watch CSPAN's coverage of NASA Mission Control. My dream job. I see an empty chair as engineers mill around. That could be my chair if the story had a happy ending. Calculating assist burn for Space Shuttle Columbia's ascent. Not waiting in this crazy coked up dyke's apartment after bailing her out of jail.
I roll a thick joint of her weed and wonder if this counts as a work day? Just the thought of going in the office fills me with sighs. To get a good work mask on I must be high. Not enough to push away dopesick pain, but HIGH. And that...is a waste of drugs.
"You know you really need to start going to work" says Rosie from her bedroom. I smile and exhale the smooth, hydroponic green bud. Seems the Universe sews me into places where I am wanted. She smells the joint and looks in.
"Why are you smiling? Are you high on drugs?" demands Rosie as she takes the joint and hits it.
"Just a little. You know how it is" I respond semi truthfully.
Luckily my sleeves are rolled down. Luckily Rosie called me after my morning half shot. Luckily I was lucid enough to follow the instructions for bail. The Universe led me to this moment. Rosie is right. I need my job because I enjoy electricity, running water and opiates. I'm no farmer living off my land. I have no real world skills like fixing cars or cutting hair. Sadly, my best contribution to society is as an office cog.
"Linda is ambitious" warns Rosie as she smooths out the final touches in her bizarre, asexual power suit.
Her transformation from a night in jail attire to this vicious, sleek corporate predator is startling. I can learn things from Rosie. She would share this con for she actually likes me. But I'm too high to think about silly shit like that. One day at a time. That's what my therapist said in county rehab.
Ah Linda. I hired her myself. Trained her to do the things I hate and she slowly took over. At first I bossed her around. She was a meek thing and enjoyed instruction. But I am gone more than half the week. She learned to fend for herself. When people come by to ask about projects they acknowledge me but ask Linda all the serious stuff.
She has stolen my glow and lo and behold- Linda shines brightly. I see it. They see it. I'm just too tired to care.
"Ok I'll go" I say looking at my watch. It is 10:50am. Pop in, show my face and go to lunch. Read some news, get high and go home. I can do this. For one thing I have 3 roxys in my coat pocket. Just enough to bleed out the day.
Walking in with Rosie is a trip. A corporate power trip. Her meticulous look and South American accent make her an exotic, magnetic, powerful thing. People worship her. They sense her star is on the rise. And trailing in her stardust is the only reason people put up with me.
So many clamor for her favor or a bit of her time. They see Rosie on TV and worship her media status in this temple of greed. Why does Rosie like me? She is an ambitious woman and I am lazy man. Yet we are twins. Venom twins. Many times I have caught her and carried her home. She has returned the favor. We shield each other from truths and allow the fantasy world to continue uninterrupted. I don't want to fuck her and she does not want to fuck me. Just removing that layer makes us closer. Less bullshit.
We pull up to the compound while Rosie barks instructions to her assistant Mitch. Get my car out of impound! Sic lawyers on the cops! Get a copy of the arrest report! 12:30 lunch reservations as Shiono's and so on and so forth as I pay the the cabbie. We walk inside and sense things are off instantly. People are milling around like zombies. Brainless and lost.
"Internet is out" explains the lobby receptionist. I pop my first roxy.
Without screens to focus on human interaction is happening. I am very uncomfortable. When Rosie storms off I am lost. I feel the first blue hitting me and go the restroom to rail the second one. 60 mg should help. This one caresses the back of my brain and I go to my desk. Linda appears instantly for a meeting.
"Linda I just got here. I need to check my email-"
"The internet is down. You owe me a status meeting. So let's start with red tier projects" drones Linda all puffed up with self importance.
She looms over me with her list and it feels like a police interrogation. I stare at her balefully as she recites the events that transpired while my brain was off planet. She opens up a binder and starts to read off agendas, reports and communications that she has meticulously culled into her demonic tome.
"Did you see Robinson's email about the commerce section?"
"No."
"Have you had a chance to look at the Kennedy/Flaig partnership?"
"No."
"Have you-"
"Look Linda, I gotta go poo."
I stand up and walk away smiling. I wanted to say 'shit' but my brain screamed 'No!'. For some reason 'poo' came out. What a marvelous word. I realize that was a huge transgression but when she reports me, everyone will smirk when she says 'poo'. Ah fuck me. Oh well. I can't complain about Linda. She is merely doing her job. And my job. Plus, I did hire her.
Man, the office is too bizarre without internet. I am not the only one weirded out now that we are cut off from the internet teat. When the reports come in that the city of Mountain View road crews damaged a huge section of communication repeaters, the engineers were the first to leave.
Ben is agitated and tells me, "This is fucked! The infrastructure is fucked. Internet should not come from a fucking wire like a goddamn telegraph service! It should come from the sky!"
"The sky?" smiles the receptionist Minnie who was hired on her merits. Today a blue crystal dangles hypnotically above her v-necked merits.
"Yes! The sky! Like Skynet. In fact Minnie, it should be ILLEGAL to be offline!"
And Ben storms off.
"Did I upset him?" asks Mary looking worried.
I don't think any of us have ever seen Ben angry. And no one has ever seen him leave early. A common myth is that Ben lives in the building. The sleeping bag, refrigerator and dresser in his cubicle do little to dissuade this.
"Naw. Don't worry about Ben."
I am trying to just sneak off but the roxy magic makes me social. I can sense Minnie is going to ask me something so I lean on the counter and wait.
"Do you think we, like the admins, have to stay if the internet is broken?"
She smiles and is sitting up straight. I am an old pro with busty females and do not fall into the cleavage trap. I will not look. But fuck, I am also high and I really don't care what she does.
"I'm not your boss Minnie. I'm leaving. Seems pointless to stay-"
"Thanks!"
And like that she scoops up her jacket, grabs her travel mug of coffee and skips out the door. Tra la la la la. I smile and follow her. Fuck this place.
I wake up to a 6:50 am. alarm. Why? Then I hear it. Snoring. Seriously loud snoring. Sera. She snores like a man. I look around as the clock SCREAMS. I am on the couch in the living room. Sunlight slices through the blinds and a knife beam hits Mycroft the fish illuminating his midnight blue armor. He stares at me expectantly.
I walk down the hall. In the bedroom I see Sera buck naked, face down and snoring on my bed. What an ass. I know she is shy about her weight but damn. You just want to sink your teeth into that fleshy paradise. And I probably did last night even though Sera is someone's girlfriend. We have a complicated relationship.
I sit next to her, turn off the alarm clock. Once I'm awake my mind goes into math mode. It was around 1:30 am when I took a half shot in the bathroom. I sneak these in because Sera has seen me OD and worries. But this batch is on the weak side. The Gargoyle gets the shit Mexican black tar, some ECP/Dragon and Roxicodone 30mg. I prefer the roxy over the Mexican but my tolerance is through the stratosphere these days. Pills are expensive. Three for $40 and I need all three to touch the god. So black tar in my blood is pure economics. I don't feel the pain but sense it is coming. Mornings are hard on me. My flesh is like stone and I just want to lay there and suffer. There is only one cure.
I get my kit which is hidden under my desk drawer and go into the bathroom. Yawning, I cook up a batch, tie myself off and inject a bit above the last one. I should be more careful. Don't want to crush a vein. I clean myself up, wipe away the blood and use antibiotic ointment and a bandaid. As my nod gallops across the sea towards my weary spirit, I spray aerosol air freshener and clean up.
When I was "sober", I was an alcoholic pothead. I ate a lot. I loved Indian food, Persian and Mexican. Chinese food and salads were constant. I would kill the bathroom every morning with a humongous, healthy bowel movement. And I would spray this aerosol air freshener. I haven't shit for 3 days or eaten much besides candy and soda. But now I spray it not for shit but for that unpleasant vinegar tang of Mexican black tar boiling on a spoon. I walk out to wake Sera.
"Hey! Get up!"
"What the fuck!" she yells popping up. Then she see's me and smiles. "Oh. Hey...hi."
I collapse next to her as the smack circulates within my body easing up the tensions of life. Sera lays next to me and strokes my face. I am high and this feels nice. I know this is where I send mixed signals but I am only flesh and bones. This room is stark white, the color all apartments come in. My curtains are Mars red and the sun burns beyond them one astronomical unit away. When transfused with sunlight, Sera's purple eyes glow violet. When she stares at me, I am transfixed.
"We were both sleeping on the couch after we uh you know..." smiles Sera pushing her face into my neck and cheek. Sera nuzzles politely. She never bites. She waits for you to take her.
But I remain still. Waiting for the god to take me.
The god is spreading my love across the cosmos. Bits of me are disintegrating to the stars. The sacrifice of another day lost. I left many untied bits yesterday when I said rude things and left. I see my phone blinking but I turned off it's voice. Silence is needed. Respect for the god.
"You were yelling last night. Again" sighs Sera.
"Sorry."
"You pushed me away" says Sera as she props herself up to look at my face.
I don't need to ask. My dream is always the same dream.
"You were talking to her" says Sera sadly as she strokes my face.
I look away. I DID feel her. Often I do not. Usually it is just the dark corridor where my pain echoes and touches nothing. Nothing at all. But last night for a moment I know she was watching. I was focused on my lighter during the cook and those clear blue eyes peered back. I almost dropped the spoon. Almost.
But now it is morning. Sera is taking her wake and bake bong hit and I am staring at the ceiling. Rational. There is a lot of blue in a butane flame. More oxygen in the mix makes it fully combustible...right? I take the lighter as Sera hacks up a huge roiling cloud of marijuana smoke. I flick it and stare through the smoke. Not much blue, but a little.
Submitted July 06, 2015 at 10:51PM by morbo2000 http://ift.tt/1CWq2Wa Drugs
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