gonna be the one to show her how to be a people.”
They’d slapped themselves a pair of low fives and nearly dropped dead laughin’. Pretty Polly was like winnin’ the lottery. Like a good luck lightning bolt. He’d been there before (so had Littlerock), and he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Most likely she’d straighten up and dump his ass into the street. Or she’d show up stoned for a family dinner and her family would lock her up in a drug rehab center. Or she’d steal from everyone she ever loved until she became the same broke and desperate junkie he was.
But right now this very goddamn minute she was waitin’ for her little Petey to bring the goodies home. He’d fixed her for the first time a week ago and it was like she was made for dope. Lying back in the bed, noddin’ out while the TV flickered the only light in the room. Pretty soon, he’d start charging her to get high. Pretty soon she’d be payin’ to get him high.
He was careful to look behind him when he turned into 13th Street. Sooner or later, the vampires would be drawn to pretty Polly. That was another way he could lose her which is why he wanted her away from other junkies for as long as possible. He’d turn her loose when she ran out of money. (After all, he wasn’t a fuckin’ pimp. Let somebody else turn her out.)
“Let’s screw first. I wanna be close to you.”
She said it before he could even close the goddamned door. “There’s time and time ,” he said, figurin’ to confuse the bitch. Couldn’t really be showin’ her how sick he was, could he? Or how sick he was gonna be if he didn’t get off real soon? “Appropriateness is what I’m sayin’. What’s chill later ain’t necessarily chill now. Like there ain’t nothin’ wrong with spontaneous, but life got a progress and you gotta tune yourself to it.”
She looked down at the rug and said, “You’re a junkie, aren’t you? You can’t stop yourself.”
So he didn’t have no choice except fuckin’ her into the ground. No choice whatsoever. Not that it was all bad. Bitches that wanted to make you better sometimes fell in love with you. If she fell in love, he’d own her ass for a long, long time. If she fell in love with him, she’d escape from the drug rehab center to get back to him. She’d steal from her parents, write bad checks, carry dope…anything to keep her Petey from gettin’ sick.
He didn’t come. She was completely open to him, but his mind was on PURE and how he was gonna feel when he had it runnin’ through his veins. She didn’t seem to mind, though. The bitch fucked hard when she wasn’t stoned, and he was pretty sure she’d gotten off a bunch of times. He took Polly’s spike out of the closet and put it next to his own. (“Never use nobody’s toys, Polly. Never . I seen one after another dead from AIDS.” As if he gave a shit. As if he wasn’t already infected.) One of the good things about PURE was that you didn’t have to cook it up. Just dump it in water and watch it vanish: no quinine, no mannitol, no cut whatsoever. But today he had a few bags of brown dope one of the dealers had laid on him. The dealers were desperate because nobody wanted their product.
“Try this brown shit, Petey. Smiley D is more worser than PURE, ’cause the man loadin’ up on the quality.”
He set his little tripod over the candle, dropped a bottle cap into the slot on top, added half the brown dope and a syringe full of water, lit the candle. Smooth and practiced. He was about to add the PURE, enough for his needs and not for hers, when she started bustin’ his chops again.
“Do me first, Petey.”
Holdin’ out her arm like she was cuter than the fuckin’ pig on the Muppets. It was another test, but this little test wouldn’t last long. Petey had the touch. Always had it. From the first time he fondled a set of works. He could get the bitch off inside a goddamned closet. Get her off in her eye in the dark if he had to. He dropped a
They’d slapped themselves a pair of low fives and nearly dropped dead laughin’. Pretty Polly was like winnin’ the lottery. Like a good luck lightning bolt. He’d been there before (so had Littlerock), and he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Most likely she’d straighten up and dump his ass into the street. Or she’d show up stoned for a family dinner and her family would lock her up in a drug rehab center. Or she’d steal from everyone she ever loved until she became the same broke and desperate junkie he was.
But right now this very goddamn minute she was waitin’ for her little Petey to bring the goodies home. He’d fixed her for the first time a week ago and it was like she was made for dope. Lying back in the bed, noddin’ out while the TV flickered the only light in the room. Pretty soon, he’d start charging her to get high. Pretty soon she’d be payin’ to get him high.
He was careful to look behind him when he turned into 13th Street. Sooner or later, the vampires would be drawn to pretty Polly. That was another way he could lose her which is why he wanted her away from other junkies for as long as possible. He’d turn her loose when she ran out of money. (After all, he wasn’t a fuckin’ pimp. Let somebody else turn her out.)
“Let’s screw first. I wanna be close to you.”
She said it before he could even close the goddamned door. “There’s time and time ,” he said, figurin’ to confuse the bitch. Couldn’t really be showin’ her how sick he was, could he? Or how sick he was gonna be if he didn’t get off real soon? “Appropriateness is what I’m sayin’. What’s chill later ain’t necessarily chill now. Like there ain’t nothin’ wrong with spontaneous, but life got a progress and you gotta tune yourself to it.”
She looked down at the rug and said, “You’re a junkie, aren’t you? You can’t stop yourself.”
So he didn’t have no choice except fuckin’ her into the ground. No choice whatsoever. Not that it was all bad. Bitches that wanted to make you better sometimes fell in love with you. If she fell in love, he’d own her ass for a long, long time. If she fell in love with him, she’d escape from the drug rehab center to get back to him. She’d steal from her parents, write bad checks, carry dope…anything to keep her Petey from gettin’ sick.
He didn’t come. She was completely open to him, but his mind was on PURE and how he was gonna feel when he had it runnin’ through his veins. She didn’t seem to mind, though. The bitch fucked hard when she wasn’t stoned, and he was pretty sure she’d gotten off a bunch of times. He took Polly’s spike out of the closet and put it next to his own. (“Never use nobody’s toys, Polly. Never . I seen one after another dead from AIDS.” As if he gave a shit. As if he wasn’t already infected.) One of the good things about PURE was that you didn’t have to cook it up. Just dump it in water and watch it vanish: no quinine, no mannitol, no cut whatsoever. But today he had a few bags of brown dope one of the dealers had laid on him. The dealers were desperate because nobody wanted their product.
“Try this brown shit, Petey. Smiley D is more worser than PURE, ’cause the man loadin’ up on the quality.”
He set his little tripod over the candle, dropped a bottle cap into the slot on top, added half the brown dope and a syringe full of water, lit the candle. Smooth and practiced. He was about to add the PURE, enough for his needs and not for hers, when she started bustin’ his chops again.
“Do me first, Petey.”
Holdin’ out her arm like she was cuter than the fuckin’ pig on the Muppets. It was another test, but this little test wouldn’t last long. Petey had the touch. Always had it. From the first time he fondled a set of works. He could get the bitch off inside a goddamned closet. Get her off in her eye in the dark if he had to. He dropped a
Similar Books
