Midnight Wanderings with an Unclear Mind 17:47 Apr 06 2007
Times Read: 585
We were somewhere around South Dallas, when the night took a turn for the weird. My companion, Jack Hatter as he likes to be called, had pulled off from our current chaotic path and pulled into a lonely gas station. My mind was still distracted from the chemical cocktail we had both consumed earlier that night, but the effects were mostly gone. And right now, at 1:00 in the morning, I wanted to get up and moving out of this rotten place as soon as possible.
We walked up to the window of the station. The man inside seemed tired and not eager to talk. Unfortunately for him, Jack was feeling very talkative, and bombarded him with friendly questions, such as, “How do you like this job? How much longer do you work? What’s your favorite cigarette brand?….” and on it went. The man looked on helplessly and asked if Jack could please just pick a brand. I saw that if left to his own devices, Jack would drive this man to frustration. Whether that would mean a call to the police of a loaded firearm, I didn’t know.
“Give him a pack of parliaments,” I said quickly. The man nodded gratefully, and moved to get the cigarettes. At this point, a group of locals arrived. Jack instantly began chatting them up while I finished the purchase of the cigarettes. When I returned to the car, I found Jack inviting one of these people, a fellow by the name Randy, to go with us on our road trip. I protested as strongly as I could without seeming rude. I didn’t want to take the chance that Randy had a gun on him somewhere. Jack was dismayed at my “lack of kindness”. I was personally dismayed by his apparent “lack of sense”. We finally agreed to take Randy to wherever he wanted to be dropped off. During this ride, we talked to Randy about many things (by we, I mean Jack). Randy asked us what we did for fun and we informed him of a few of our favored activities. He then inquired if we would be interested in purchasing some cocaine. I was contemptuous of the cocaine market, finding it shady and not worth the effort. I told Randy that unless I was in Aspen, I wouldn’t even consider putting down cash for that stuff. Jack was feeling curious however, and gave Randy twenty dollars to get him a sample. We eventually pulled in front of a house that screamed “DRUG DEALER” and Randy ran inside. He soon returned with a small plastic bag. Knowing that Jack had no idea what to look for, I snatched the bag from Randy and gave its contents a cursory inspection. “You fool!” I shouted, “this isn’t cocaine! What kind of game are you trying to pull you shifty bastard?!”
Randy jumped back and held up his hands. “Its cocaine….” he said slowly, “crack-cocaine”. I clenched my teeth and prayed for any higher power to get me out of this rotten predicament, and to please restore a little integrity to the black market.
“Fine,” I snapped, “enjoy your crack.” “Mmmmm…. Taste that baking soda,” I added sarcastically. We then proceeded to the house of one of Randy’s friends, a paranoid fellow by the name of Reggie. Reggie seemed to think that Jack and I must be narcotics agents, or perhaps snitches…. or something. Anything made more sense than the truth. That we were just two young white college students, hanging out in the ghetto because we were curious (I must once again point out that “we” refers mainly to Jack in this instance). I introduced myself carefully, always keeping one hand on the trusty can of mace I always kept in my pocket on road trips. I also met Reggie’s girlfriend and a quiet old man who simply went as “DeBarge”. I spoke with DeBarge and found him to be the most interesting of the odd group. He told me about his life and his views on the world. I would love to expand upon these, but unfortunately, I lack the time at this point. After this conversation, I excused myself to the restroom. When I returned, Jack and Randy were nowhere to be seen. I asked Reggie where they had gone. He told me that they had only stepped out for a minute and that they said they would be right back. I silently cursed Jack to all nine levels of Hell and settled down on the couch. There was virtually nothing left in my head to soften this harsh reality, so I pulled out my glass pipe and loaded what little leaf matter I had left into the bowl. Because of the smoking society I was raised in, I offered the assembled people a hit off the pipe. Only DeBarge took me up on it. The rest of them were sucking those awful white rocks through blackened tubes of broken glass. “Oh God…” I thought… “its only a matter of time before their unnatural paranoia consumes them and they tear me to shreds…”
Four hours later and Jack still wasn’t back. All of my remaining buds and leaves were long gone, and I was forced to smoke the resin caked at the bottom of the pipe. Reggie was becoming edgy, asking me if I knew when my friend was going to be back. I shook my head and drew in another lungful. My left hand had been stroking the mace can like the thigh of beautiful woman for the past hour. I finally fell asleep, but remained tense, ready to mace any fucker who so much as coughed at me. It was 7:00 in the morning when Jack finally returned. I eagerly leapt from the apartment and out to the car. Inside, I found that Jack had Randywith him and some girl with a short haircut and a worn out face. Apparently, Jack had paid her forty dollars to come and talk to me. Randy had undergone a total metamorphism through out the night. He was now a babbling fiend, stuttering constantly as he asked if he could have five bucks, or perhaps a ride somewhere else. The girl was droning on a sob story about how she needed money to wash up at a hotel room. At this point, any semblance of patience and compassion were gone from my heart. I pulled the mace from my pocket and waived it wildly at them, shouting, “OUT! GET OUT OF HE FUCKING CAR YOU FIENDS!!! I WILL MACE YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE IF YOU DO NOT GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS VEHICLE!!!” This seemed to catch their attention and they fled quickly from the car. The girl made a move to grab a candle of mine on the way out, but I maced her hand to discourage her.
After we had gotten back on the road, Jack told me about his night, and the people he had met. He seemed overly proud of the fact that he got a crack-head to think he was Jesus, but I snorted dismissively and informed him that getting a crack head to Deify you isn’t that much of an accomplishment. Then I found out that he had spent about $100 that night, giving money to these people just to talk with him. He had no idea how close he was to getting a face full of mace right there.
COMMENTS
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Starr2010
06:31 Jun 26 2012
Cool story, I like stories that make since...Hope you have more.