Straws

I'm against the splintered wood (and the floor may as well be the
wall) feeling like the airlifted Christ in La Dolce Vita when he starts
up again. He starts up about his brother all over again. I can hear him
cooking up - I can hear him cooking up in infinitesimal detail (the
lighter, the heated spoon, the bubbles, the cotton wool, the syringe) -
and he gives no thought to me, prone on his floor, the airlifted
Christ. He gives no thought to me, and my high. No. He starts in with
his brother all over again.

His brother, you see, split up with his wife and was bitter, only that
was just the start of the story. I'd been hearing this in the walk up
from the caf. He started in the caf with it. The story of his brother.
On the walk up I paid attention because he had something I wanted. He
had something I wanted and was prepared to share it with me because I
was his friend.

I'm not his friend. I'll tell you that. I'm not his friend. The man is
a junkie fuck.

On the walk up I was prepared to listen but now, I just wanted him to
shut up. It was really taking the edge off my sting. The whine he had.
He whines like a bomb. I'm a wartime family huddled in my semi-detached
waiting to see if it hits me. I want the whine to stop.

He shuts up to pull the rubber tight around his arm and again, the
sound is more than clear, it comes to me like a thumb snapped match. I
can see him without opening my eyes, the stick insect thin prick that
he is, with his stick insect thin arm bare and the rubber pulling his
mouth down like a stroke victim. At least the rubber clenched between
his teeth shuts him up.

I cling to this silence the way a drowning man clings to a straw. I
cling to this time and attempt to shut out the whistling in my ears
(the whistling that indicates this high is ending, the whistling that
informs me of the most basic of facts: I need more to stay high for
shorter and shorter periods of time). It is like d?j? vu and nostalgia,
already. I am still high but I can anticipate not being high and
wanting to be high again.

I feel like an uncooked chicken breast left out in the sun.

He starts up again. I can tell that he is on the floor now like I am,
his voice reverberates differently. I feel him in my ears like a
physical sensation. The needle will still be in his arm. Now would be
the perfect time to try and hit again.

His brother had been informed by his solicitor: the house had to be
sold, all possessions had to be split down the middle, any monies had
to be divided evenly between the pair of them. His brother wasn't
having it. He had a plan.

I am the set down Christ and he is telling me about his brother's
marital difficulties.

The plan went like this. There was an old girl who lived down the road
who had been friendly with his mother. She had agreed to take any money
he could put her way and store it for him temporarily in her bank
account. The plan was to spirit as much money away as he could. When
the solicitors started rooting around, they would take everything he
had. Half of everything he had.

I am interested again because I have to be interested. I want the
needle from his arm. I want another shot at the title. The needle
(which hangs from his arm like a cum shot dick) is the culmination of
all my earthly desire. I say yeah with an inflection and it is the
first time I have spoken in this room.

This was months ago, he says. You'd think. The solicitors say we're
going to be evaluating your circumstances. You'd think that would
happen relatively quickly. Only months have gone by. My brother has
passed a fair bit of cash the old girl's way. She did what she said she
would. My brother had a copy of her statements and could see the money
clocking up. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself.

Yeah, I say again, leaning forward.

Yeah, he says. Then last week: the old girl dies. All of his money is
in her account but he has no way of proving it beyond a copy of her
statements and a conversation that nobody knew they had.

Stick insect starts to laugh and I am overwhelmed with the necessity of
laughing along with him. At the same time, I would like to bash his
head in with whatever came to hand. I'd use the daylight filtering in
through the window if that were possible.