Saterday Night

Saturday night:

The night is young. It is only 9 and I'm just arriving at my homies house. I'm greeted with the stench of weed and tequila when I walk into the door. A few friends get up, and give me some love. Nothing new, same old same old, just like every other Saturday. I sit down on the couch, and watch the ending of Scarface, saddened by the reality of all my homies that have gotten killed in the violence of drugs. My homie Juan comes over and sits next to me, sparking up a blunt. Suddently I’m happy again. He hands it to me and I take my first hit of the night. It is a beautiful thing. I watch the smoke come out of my mouth, and I start to feel the smoke engulf me. Another few puffs, and I start to relax, and lean back into the couch. I pass the blunt back. Looking around the smoke filled room, I see all the familiar faces. My homie over in one corner playin bones, another group sittin in the kitchen, drinkin away they sorrows. When me and Juan finish up the blunt, I go over to the kitchen. Picking up the tequila bottle, I look inside at the yellow liquid, sudently fascinated by the worm.




Taking a big drink straight from the bottle, I walk to another room of the house. Inside I find three other people, sitting on a bed. They look up and great me, but I don't think I've ever met these people. The hand me a tray with three lines on it. At first I hesitate, but then I take a line.



Suddently I have to sit down. Laying down on the floor, I look up at the ceiling. My head is spinning, and I love it. My body is tingling, and I know that I've hit the jack pot for the night. I feel wonderful, and I never want this feeling to pass. I stare up at the ceiling watching the patterns in the ceiling, wondering if they will move for me.Suddently, ten minutes have passed, and my high is starting to decline. Juan busts in the room, wondering what the hell I'm doing. I just smile up at him, and he looks at me. He pulls me up and takes me back to the front room.

A larger crowd has gathered, and theres beer and weed all over the place. The TV has been turned off, and the stereo is now blasting out new hip hop songs that I haven't heard yet. Girls are everywhere, dancing around. The party has just begun. I travel from crowd to crowd, still a little high from everything. Smiling at people and being friendly. I gank hits from friends, and take shots in the kitchen. By the end of the night I am on top of the world. I feel like nothing can bring me down. The crowd has broken up, and a few people are passed out around the house.




Its 2:30 in the morning, and I promised Juan I would help him clean up. We work silently, except for the radio, which is now only a whisper in the room. I pick up beer bottles and cans laying around the house. Stumbling around, I also dump out all the ash trays. Taking out my forgotten pack of newports from my pocket I open it up.




Putting one of the death sticks up to my mouth I light it up. Breathing in the smoke, it boosts what little high thats left in me. I continue throwing away cups and bottles, until the house looks decent. Going around waking up the passed out coke heads, and the drunks, I start telling them that they have to leave. After kicking everyone out, me and Juan sit down on the couch, right back where we started. The party is over and its just me and him. Looking around the room, it now feeling ridiculously empty. I look over at Juan, who breaks out another blunt. "Last one for the night mija." I take it from him and me and him smoke it down. I feel good, once again.

Slowly we get up, and I tell him that I have to get home. I walk out of the door into the chill of the night. The wind is cold on my face. I look up to the city lit sky, and sigh as I walk down the cold street. I walk down the few blocks to my dark house.




I unlock the door, and walk inside. Its lonely, even though there are two people crashed on my couch, how they got in, ill never know. I slowly slink into my room, slipping into my pajamas, and laying down in my bed. I light up another cigarette, and smoke it, before falling into a deep high slumber.



The Next Morning (Sunday):

I wake up the next morning, and take my morning shower. Quickly I get dressed, once again, running late. I rush out to my car, and speed down town to church. I silently slip into the back of the church.




I sit there and listen to the preacher, sort of. I dose in and out of sleep, not paying much attention by the middle of the sermon. Church doesn't really intrest me any more, like it did when I was little. When the plate gets passed around, I only put in the little change that I have in my pocket. Maybe showing up every week will salvage my soul. I haven't confessed in at least a year, but its not like god doesn't know what I've been doing.

The service comes to an end, and I slip silently out the back door, back into the streets of the sinful city. I look up to the sky, before getting into my car, and driving back to my house. More people are there, I only know a few of them. I sit down on my couch, lighting up another death stick. I slip into another stooper, just waiting for what life brings me next.