Madness Untitled: Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Information Obsolete

I live in a town outside of a city that almost has the appearance of some place pleasant, at least in the dead of night anyway. Because at night time, through the shadows the old estate houses seem so regal- with their matching shutters and garage doors. Suburbia isn’t always the nightmare it’s imagined to be, but the walk to my house was. I didn’t own one of those cute civilized town homes, economized with two bedrooms and one and a half baths; as if somewhere else in the world that other half a bathroom is existing incomplete. No I didn’t own anything nearly as nice- although as it were, I was lucky to have acquired anything at all to live in at all; shelter was shelter.


“Dude it’s raining outside you’re getting mud on the floor…” Steven was a lot more than my roommate; yeah, I’d known the guy probably as long as I’d lived in that piece of shit town. The relocation process for children under the age of eighteen was mostly a gigantic waste of time. At sixteen years old if you could have asked me if I believed my father would come looking for me I would have laughed. ‘He hated my mother, not me.’ would most likely have been my bastard teenage response. Police don’t listen to anything under the height of five foot though I guess, because in the blink of a second new town, new family- Aunt Stacy, Jesus what a miserable cunt. And of course, Steven.

“I’m aware it’s raining. Theresa made me wait outside for God damn thirty minutes tonight.” I attempted to shake the chill from my body stepping into the comfort of a dry- solid area. Mostly I just prayed that the substance in my pocket had remained dry for the entire trek; the cellophane from a cigarette pack isn’t always ample protection. I didn’t care about the mud, I thought Steven would be smart enough to know that.

“Come on it’s all ground down into that rug, it’s gonna take me an hour to scrub that out man!!” Steven is a neat freak. A germ-a-phobic. A compulsive. Medical terminology? Obsessive compulsive disorder; to be more precise. He was always the only kid on the block who was too busy cleaning his toys with bleach to actually play with them.

I was too busy putting mine into the microwave so I had no room to judge- we hit it off fast.

I suppose a clean freak is an adjustment to live with- I mean the first few times you wake up in a bed that’s been straightened and made up with you still in it- it can be weird. It’s been so long though, I barely noticed him spraying my needles with Clorox clean-up anymore; and as far as him scrubbing tile grout with a toothbrush? Those floors had never looked so clean.

“The soup kitchen slut is like sixteen…” I changed the subject, peeling wet clothes from my body.

Good ol’ Angela Spinosa. Did I know she was underage? With a set of cans like that who could have guessed, but the better question- did I care? The girl had her hands down my pants before she’d managed to get her name out of her mouth, no I could have cared less how old she was. Besides that to claim child-like naivety wouldn’t work for this particular girl. For I’m fairly certain this particular girl had given me gonorrhea.

You should always buy your drugs from a female, though. This is not based on fact, merely my own humble opinion. Call me sexist if you’d like- sometimes labels help people feel better about things you know. You cant trust it if you cant categorize and micromanage it to death. Females are least likely to be aggressive- what one hundred and thirty pound girl wants trouble with someone twice their size? Again, sexist might be a word that comes to mind. Yes- my drug dealer of choice was a particularly stunning little morsel. Theresa Gerry was far too good a person to waste time being my friend. She went to I.T.T. Tech. where she graduated with honors. On Tuesdays and Fridays I bought heroin from her.
A lot of good that degree did for her.

“You gonna go down to the health department then? It’s free.” What a cute promise that was. -It’s free- the treatment of your sexually transmitted disease, much like the prize at the bottom of a box of cereal or those peel off coupons on the cups you get from McDonalds, completely free. And what a coincidence so was the gonorrhea.

Of course I was going to go down to the health department, I was just a reckless asshole, not stupid.

“I was just asking. I’ll go with you if you’d like.” I tried to picture Steven actually going on such a journey with me- wiping down the chairs with Lysol; that disgusting disinfected lemon scent stinging your nose. No, that just wouldn’t be very good.

I’d love to tell you there was some previous instance in my life which triggered my drug use, but I really cant use that as an excuse. Sure, I had a messed up childhood, but who didn’t? There was no push button trigger that got me going every time- nope. I was every chemical addiction recovery units worst nightmare, because there were no ‘breakthroughs’ to make. I was just bored. Just a stupid worthless fuck with nothing better to do.

Fact:: The ideal needle to inject yourself with is a ½ cc with a 25 gauge needle size, or smaller.

“Sorry, I’ll do it in the bathroom next time…” Steven makes a face. He always makes a face. One of those, ‘I can’t look, I can’t look, wait let me see’ looks, followed promptly by an ‘I can’t wait to scrub that table top’ stare.

Perhaps that’s another reason he and I were friends- we both seemed to have compulsive mannerisms. I’m not entirely sure you should feel sorry for either of us though. He’s not so bad really, and I’m just an asshole.

“It doesn’t bother me anymore, I barely notice it.” Steven was a God awful liar, probably the worst I’d ever met, maybe that was his appeal to me. While I could lie to the entire world, Steve was just too scared to. Or maybe he was just too good of a person. That was the question that seemed to perplex me- the variables to what made a ‘good person’. You know, grade A material.

“And the answer is no- I don’t think I’ll require a date to the health department, sweet offer though.” I shoot down his chivalrous notion not exactly okay with bringing a parade along with me to get a cotton swab reamed up the head of my dick. I’m sure you can see why. Again, I’d apologies, but why? You’re still reading.

Fact:: The male’s urethra at best is a diameter of five millimeters. the average cotton swab is a diameter of 6 millimeters.

Fact:: That extra millimeter makes a fucking huge difference.

“Some police woman came looking for you today, left a card taped on the front door.” I hadn’t noticed said card walking in, but then again who would want to?
There are few things in my life that can really cause an alarm in my head- a police officers calling card would be one of those things. Police are in my humble opinion the exact opposite of an American Express card- no where you’d like to be.

“She just wants to talk to you about your mother- said she’s got a few questions for you.”

I could have been cordial, I could have called her back, from a payphone of course so there would be no call back number. I could have done a lot of things, but for the record- I seldom do the things I could or should. I could have taken care of the whole matter, but instead I decided to go to a strip club, because I never claimed to be a decent human being.

Still think this story is worth reading? Because this day, of all days. Was the day that started the world of shit. Fuck my life.