|
|
2004-03-08 19:49:10 ET
Everybody started taking their money out and Gogit put the
heroin on the table and scooped up the money. Lets go git
it on. Everyone left the office and started roaming around
the dimlit refigeration room, reaching down cracks,
crevices, under floorplates, behind machinery, between
loose bricks, for their works. No matter how many other
sets they might have stashed around town, everyone always
had a set stashed in the Bronx County Morgue. They went
back to the office, got paper cups filled with water and
each one staked out a small portion of the floor for
themselves. The radio was still playing but the
concentration was so intense that no one heard the music or
was aware of anything but their own cooker as they
carefully dumped the heroin in it, then added the water and
heated it until the dope dissolved, then drew the liquid up
through the cotton in the cooker into the dropper, then
tied up. Each knew they were not alone in the room, but
paid absolutely no attention to what was going on around
them. When their favorite vein was ready they tapped the
needle into it and watched the first bubble of blood pulse
through the fluid and streak to the surface, their eyes
glued to it, their senses aware only of the fact that they
got a good hit and that their stomachs were churning with
anticipation and then they squeezed the bulb and shot the
shit into their vein and waited for the first rush and then
let the dropper fill with blood again and squeezed that in
and then booted again and went with the flow as they
flushed and felt the sweat ooze from their skin then filled
their droppers with water and let their works set in the
cup of water while they leaned back agains the wall and lit
a cigarette, their movements slow, their eyes half closed,
everything inside them quiet and mellow; the air smooth,
their lives free from all concerns; their speech slower,
quieter.
|
|