| dewy decimal |
2004-06-15 - 4:27 a.m.
I slipped into the half-lit alley that dipped in between two unremarkable buildings. Common weeds peeked out of the cracks in the cement where the ground and wall met. My feet were sore. A lifeless flourescent light was striking the left side of my face with a mild weight. After a full 8 hour shift on my feet, it's strange how your body can be achey and feel relieved at the same time.
I had to meet my friend, Regal, at the Aston Waikiki where he had rented a suite. I was to freshen up, relax, and smoke a cigarrette there before we headed to the clubs.
When I got to the lobby, I took a very tiny elevator with a mirror-panelled interior to the 12th floor. On the way up, I made faces at myself in the mirror, and tucked renegade hairs that had escaped the collective coiffure in the scoop of the luke warm, midnight wind. Then I made more stupid faces in the mirror and laughed to myself before I realized what a shithead moron I can be sometimes.
Affter knocking on the door, a tall, handsome blonde boy opened the door with little expression on his face. I had seen him before but couldn't quite place where or when it had been. I extended my hand and introduced myself with some trepidation. He said his name was Posey and told me that Regal was on the balcony.
I followed Posey in and noticed that while he did seem at first to have an excellent physique with strong arms and lengthy legs, well, I noticed that the mothafucka had no ass and no chest. It was as if those two pieces were suppose to be there and he had merely forgotten to put them on.
Hey man, get off the fucking couch, you might be sitting on my chest or ass!
I entered the main room which was of modest size. There were three boys squatting on the floor. One was an unattractive, hulking caucasian bastard in wifebeater and baggy jeans. The other two were probably of a Hawaiian, caucasian, asian mix, good looking kids. One was of average weight and had dyed blonde hair, the other had a very slight build. His cheeks and eye sockets were hollowed out and severe. They were smoking ice (crystal) out of a red glass pipe when they noticed me.
Well that's just fucking great, I thought to myself. As I passed them, I gave a tiny nod, that wasn't quite rude enough to be construed as unfriendly or offensive. The hulking guy in the wifebeater blew out a dense cloud of smoke and the sight made me feel sick to my stomach and gave me the shit cramps.
Ever since I was 18, I'd seen what this drug had done to my best friends. How it destroyed everything that had meant anything to them. How their lives and mine are changed because of those decisions. And no matter how many times I've seen this scene it still grosses me the fuck out. I know Regal is pretty heavy into it but it I guess I never really believed it until now.
Regal was on the phone. His handsome face carried two wide, red eyes. His speech was mumbled and slurred like a mouth full of spaghetti o's. Probably negotiating another trick.
__________________
At 4:45am, after I left the clubs and was driving home up the enoromus hill with it's magnificent, yellow shower trees, I see a byciclist treading through the gravity, riding against the giant slant. He's a pro. You can tell from his nylon-lycra suit with gripper tape and seamless padding. The implications of this man's discipline are clear when you see his minimalist, areo dynamic helmet fashioned with air vents. The man is fucking high as a mothafucka. The sweat that passes through his body, the scrunch in his nose, the suggestion of light that hasn't even made its way over the islands yet has fucked him up and now he's flying high.
As I pass him, I start to wonder what kind of changes I would undergo should I become that kind of man. The kind of man that is almost the opposite of who I am. To operate a body that is so efficient, and well maintained, that riding up a sinister mountain at 5 in the morning will make you higher than smoking, and is fiercer than ice.