A few days clean. More than a few, really. Closer to a week. Legs was on the fritz: completely cut off from all psycho-stimulants. The bud, the rocks, even cigarettes. All he was letting himself have was caffeine. That didn't stop him from trying to find a buzz though.
His day started with 4 cups of coffee and some vitamin B-12 that he stole from the pharmacy at K-Roger's. A spike in energy to say the least, but it didn't compare to what he was used to. He felt a small head rush, a minor high of some sorts. Normally, he would start his day with some rocks or a line of coke (if he was feeling fancy), however, times were a little tougher than usual and Legs thought it best to to attempt to go clean. That didn't keep him from itching though. The itch hadn't left him in years.
Showers. One shower. A really hot one. The first one in a week. "I'm a dirty, dirty boy", Legs jokingly thought as water cascaded down his grimy skin. The shower in his apartment had some plumbing issues, thus leaving the water without any substantial pressure. This left his already mangled hair wet but not thoroughly cleaned. It was good enough for him though.
He stepped out of the shower and dressed himself with the cleanest clothes he could find. The clock read 2:58 PM. "I should really get outside today", he thought, "the weather isn't too bad". As he was slipping on his shoes, a thin haze began to creep inside his room. A very distinct aroma wafted through the air: one he was very familiar with. "Jesus Christ", he muttered out loud, "I can't let this trigger me".
He immediately left the apartment in search of something to do. By the time he was out the door, however, the floor that he lived on was completely full of smoke. "This shit bouta' reek", he thought to himself as he descended down the stairs. Once outside, he began a leisurely stroll around town. Blue, Shellac, and everywhere in between, he was enjoying the subtle sights and sounds of the place he called home. He hadn't been out for a while at that point.
After a few hours, Legs came across a sign outside the Sunnyside-Up advertising a speed-dating service beginning at 6 PM. He checked his watch. It read 5:55 PM. "Huzzah!", he exclaimed. Upon entering the diner, he immediately went and sat at the first available seat that he could find. He situated himself next to a man at the bar. "Screw it", thought Legs, "I might as well try to make a new friend". He began to talk to the man, and much to his surprise, found that the man didn't simply brush him off like most other people.
He and the man, who identified himself as "Charlie", exchanged a few words. Legs explained his precarious hotbox dilemma to the man, as well as some general facts about his life at the Dreamwood Terrace apartment. Again to his surprise, the man also lived at Dreamwood Terrace. A new neighborly friend. Or so he thought.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
A Waterfall
Smoke drifted about around him, filling the crevices and corners of his apartment. Legs, sprawled out across his small couch, was enjoying his day thus far. Not much had happened, however, he took solace in a day where his thoughts weren't so muddled. Looking outside his open window, he admired the sheer heat of the day. Unusually hot, however, Legs enjoyed the warmth. He set down his new favorite utensil (a homemade bong constructed out of an old Jameson bottle and a cheap diffuser he made out of a pen and a metal piece) and admired it briefly. "Ha..." he mumbled, "I truly am some sort of craftsman... and damn, this pack is loud". By then the pipe had grown filthy: with murky water and the streaks and taints of carcinogens, it didn't stand out in an equally dirty environment. Legs, however, had been getting cleaner.
He reminisced over his past and what had led him to where he was. At age 16 is when he first smoked the rock. A novice drug user at the time, it was a huge jump from the mid-quality cannabis and mushrooms he had experimented with beforehand. It was both the best, and the worst day of his life. Why he even tried it in the first place, he still contemplated. It had led him down a bumpy road: one full of of struggles, relapses, and what ultimately led to his family abandoning him completely at age 19. He was 25 as of then.
The memories brought back a sting that he had been trying to tuck away. That, and the thoughts of his first times using the rock instilled an urge to get back into it. He resisted the urge, thinking of what was best for him, and with that, thought it fit to acquire dinner.
His apartment's food supply consistently remained sparse to non-existent. Due to such, he had developed an affinity for K-Roger's fried chicken: a nice, wholesome meal that was both warm and satisfying. Legs got up to step outside and venture forth. He stubbed his toe on his table as he got up, however, knocking down and shattering his homemade bong. "Dammit!", he shouted. Flustered, he thought it best to leave and clean up later. Upon leaving his apartment, however, he was startled by the presence of his friend Lane and a girl he did not recognize.
"Legs, my man! I thought I smelled Snoop Dogg around here", said Lane.
Legs chuckled. "Yeah, about that... I hope the 3rd floor residents don't mind. I got a complaint last week, but I don't know by whom".
The girl shifted nervously as Lane and Legs greeted each other. Legs thought he had that effect on people, making them uncomfortable. He looked past it though, as the girl seemed to be an acquaintance of Lane. Lane was only one of a few of Legs' friends, however, Legs appreciated the fact that they shared a neighborly bond.
"Well, any-who, I'm off to get some chicken at K-Roger's", said Legs.
"Fried chicken, you say?", exclaimed Lane, "Why, we were about to indulge on some leftover chicken upstairs in my apartment. Care to join?"
It was 7:00 or thereabout, and Legs' near-empty stomach was rumbling at the thought of food.
"I'd be delighted", said Legs, graciously accepting the offer of free food.
The trio went upstairs and ate the chicken in Lane's apartment. Legs thought that Lane had a much more well-maintained living space, however, he fully knew that Lane was a drug user himself. He kept to his own business though, as he thought it futile to get involved in other peoples' affairs.
After the dinner had concluded, Legs returned to his apartment. He and Lane had simply joked around and caught up during the meal, with little attempts made at getting to know the girl. Apparently her name was Chelsea. That's all that Legs knew. Settling down in his apartment, he looked outside only to see lights raining from the heavens, in a spectacle most uncommon. "Funny, I'm not even smoking rocks", he thought as he gazed into the sky.
He reminisced over his past and what had led him to where he was. At age 16 is when he first smoked the rock. A novice drug user at the time, it was a huge jump from the mid-quality cannabis and mushrooms he had experimented with beforehand. It was both the best, and the worst day of his life. Why he even tried it in the first place, he still contemplated. It had led him down a bumpy road: one full of of struggles, relapses, and what ultimately led to his family abandoning him completely at age 19. He was 25 as of then.
The memories brought back a sting that he had been trying to tuck away. That, and the thoughts of his first times using the rock instilled an urge to get back into it. He resisted the urge, thinking of what was best for him, and with that, thought it fit to acquire dinner.
His apartment's food supply consistently remained sparse to non-existent. Due to such, he had developed an affinity for K-Roger's fried chicken: a nice, wholesome meal that was both warm and satisfying. Legs got up to step outside and venture forth. He stubbed his toe on his table as he got up, however, knocking down and shattering his homemade bong. "Dammit!", he shouted. Flustered, he thought it best to leave and clean up later. Upon leaving his apartment, however, he was startled by the presence of his friend Lane and a girl he did not recognize.
"Legs, my man! I thought I smelled Snoop Dogg around here", said Lane.
Legs chuckled. "Yeah, about that... I hope the 3rd floor residents don't mind. I got a complaint last week, but I don't know by whom".
The girl shifted nervously as Lane and Legs greeted each other. Legs thought he had that effect on people, making them uncomfortable. He looked past it though, as the girl seemed to be an acquaintance of Lane. Lane was only one of a few of Legs' friends, however, Legs appreciated the fact that they shared a neighborly bond.
"Well, any-who, I'm off to get some chicken at K-Roger's", said Legs.
"Fried chicken, you say?", exclaimed Lane, "Why, we were about to indulge on some leftover chicken upstairs in my apartment. Care to join?"
It was 7:00 or thereabout, and Legs' near-empty stomach was rumbling at the thought of food.
"I'd be delighted", said Legs, graciously accepting the offer of free food.
The trio went upstairs and ate the chicken in Lane's apartment. Legs thought that Lane had a much more well-maintained living space, however, he fully knew that Lane was a drug user himself. He kept to his own business though, as he thought it futile to get involved in other peoples' affairs.
After the dinner had concluded, Legs returned to his apartment. He and Lane had simply joked around and caught up during the meal, with little attempts made at getting to know the girl. Apparently her name was Chelsea. That's all that Legs knew. Settling down in his apartment, he looked outside only to see lights raining from the heavens, in a spectacle most uncommon. "Funny, I'm not even smoking rocks", he thought as he gazed into the sky.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Introduction:
Another sleepless day. It was 5:40 PM, or thereabout, according to the clock. Legs rose out of bed and looked around his small, dark room. "I need to get some rest," he thought, "it's been a few days since I last slept." He had grown quite tired at that point after three days of no sleep, with the room beginning to spin around him and his head beginning to feel swollen. He pushed off the bed covers and walked into his kitchen. Looking into his meager supply of food, he felt disheartened. "I've been lurking here for far too long," he muttered out loud, "I've already burned through the groceries." He looked outside his kitchen window on the third floor of Dreamwood Terrace. Blue Boulevard. The K-Roger's sign beamed with an unsightly vibrancy. "I might as well," he thought, "there's gotta be something I can afford."
Before stepping out the door, Legs grabbed his pipe from under the silverware tray. Admiring the stains and murky streaks, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt pass through him as he loaded it. "Just a pick-me-up", he thought. A "jolt", to say the least, but he was used to it and it no longer bothered him. He rolled a small joint and smoked it as well before he stepped outside of his apartment, his lungs immediately pierced by the non-congested air of outside his apartment. "Minty fresh", he chuckled softly. Walking outside of the Dreamwood Terrace Apartments, he was startled at how foggy it was. Winter had been pretty mild for the residents of the city thus far in the year, and the occasional fog was not out of the ordinary. However, something felt off that evening. At least, he felt that way. Legs was a nervous guy, to say the least. He didn't have many friends, or people that he associated with. Just general acquaintances: people that he recognized or had spoken to in the past. He felt like people were out to get him. Not the people at K-Roger's, however. They made him feel safe.
Upon entering the store, Legs immediately felt better. Fresh baked goods, an extensive produce section, and discounted deals: he was in grocery heaven. The manager Jim even greeted him upon his entry. In a time when he felt like he was constantly pent-up inside, it was refreshing for him to step into a different environment. After leaving, however, he began to feel like he was going to pass out. He felt weak and his knees grew wobbly. "I need to sleep" he muttered. He quickly noted his food, and with such, looked past his sickly feelings. "A few good eats," he thought, "it'll last me a little while. Long enough, maybe." He needed to get home.
Dreamwood Terrace was as dead as usual. Very little noise, very few people moving about, a real ghost town of an apartment complex. Legs entered his apartment settled back into his routine: locking the doors, checking the blinds, clearing his belongings off of the table. Except this time, he didn't grab his pipe. Collapsing onto his couch, he realized how exhausted he was. "I really, really should get some sleep" he thought. "Sleep", "sleep", it was always on his mind. He never felt like he had enough. He set that aside, however, and decided to watch some TV. As he began to turn on the TV, all of the electricity suddenly cut out in his apartment, leaving him enshrouded in darkness. "Fuck it, might as well", he murmured as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Before stepping out the door, Legs grabbed his pipe from under the silverware tray. Admiring the stains and murky streaks, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt pass through him as he loaded it. "Just a pick-me-up", he thought. A "jolt", to say the least, but he was used to it and it no longer bothered him. He rolled a small joint and smoked it as well before he stepped outside of his apartment, his lungs immediately pierced by the non-congested air of outside his apartment. "Minty fresh", he chuckled softly. Walking outside of the Dreamwood Terrace Apartments, he was startled at how foggy it was. Winter had been pretty mild for the residents of the city thus far in the year, and the occasional fog was not out of the ordinary. However, something felt off that evening. At least, he felt that way. Legs was a nervous guy, to say the least. He didn't have many friends, or people that he associated with. Just general acquaintances: people that he recognized or had spoken to in the past. He felt like people were out to get him. Not the people at K-Roger's, however. They made him feel safe.
Upon entering the store, Legs immediately felt better. Fresh baked goods, an extensive produce section, and discounted deals: he was in grocery heaven. The manager Jim even greeted him upon his entry. In a time when he felt like he was constantly pent-up inside, it was refreshing for him to step into a different environment. After leaving, however, he began to feel like he was going to pass out. He felt weak and his knees grew wobbly. "I need to sleep" he muttered. He quickly noted his food, and with such, looked past his sickly feelings. "A few good eats," he thought, "it'll last me a little while. Long enough, maybe." He needed to get home.
Dreamwood Terrace was as dead as usual. Very little noise, very few people moving about, a real ghost town of an apartment complex. Legs entered his apartment settled back into his routine: locking the doors, checking the blinds, clearing his belongings off of the table. Except this time, he didn't grab his pipe. Collapsing onto his couch, he realized how exhausted he was. "I really, really should get some sleep" he thought. "Sleep", "sleep", it was always on his mind. He never felt like he had enough. He set that aside, however, and decided to watch some TV. As he began to turn on the TV, all of the electricity suddenly cut out in his apartment, leaving him enshrouded in darkness. "Fuck it, might as well", he murmured as he slipped into unconsciousness.
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