Junky by William S. Burroughs Page A

tracks.
    â€œLet’s cut,” I said. We started down the platform. The man got up and ran after us. He threw his arms around Roy, holding on stubbornly. Roy couldn’t break loose. He was pretty well winded.
    â€œGet this mooch off me!” Roy yelled.
    I hit the man twice in the face. His grip loosened and he fell to his knees.
    â€œKick his head off,” said Roy.
    I kicked the man in the side and felt a rib snap. The man put his hand to his side. “Help!” he shouted. He did not try to get up.
    â€œLet’s cut,” I said. At the far end of the platform, I heard a police whistle. The man was still lying there on the platform holding his side and yelling “Help!” at regular intervals.
    There was a slight drizzle of rain falling. When I hit the street, I slipped and skidded on the wet sidewalk. We were standing by a closed filling station, looking back at the elevated.
    â€œLet’s go,” I said.
    â€œThey’ll see us.”
    â€œWe can’t stay here.”
    We started to walk. I noticed that my mouth was bone dry. Roy took two goof balls from his shirt pocket.
    â€œMouth’s too dry,” he said. “I can’t swallow them.”
    We went on walking.
    â€œThere’s sure to be an alarm out for us,” Roy said. “Keep a lookout for cars. We’ll duck in the bushes if any come along. They’ll be figuring us to get back on the subway, so the best thing we can do is keep walking.”
    The drizzle continued. Dogs barked at us as we walked.
    â€œRemember our story if we get nailed,” Roy said. “We fell asleep and woke up at the end of the line. This guy accused us of taking his money. We were scared, so we knocked him down and ran. They’ll beat the shit out of us. You have to expect that.”
    â€œHere comes a car,” I said. “Yellow lights, too.”
    We crawled into the bushes at the side of the road and crouched down behind a signboard. The car drove slowly by. We started walking again. I was getting sick and wondered if I would get home to the M.S. I had stashed in my apartment.
    â€œWhen we get closer in we better split up,” Roy said. “Out here we might be able to do each other some good. If we run into a cop on the beat we’ll tell him we’ve been with some girls and were looking for the subway. This rain is a break. The cops will all be in some all-night joint drinking coffee. For Chris’ sake!” he rasped irritably. “Don’t round like that!”
    I had turned around and looked over my shoulder. “It’s natural to turn around,” I said.
    â€œNatural for thieves!”
    We finally ran into the BMT line and rode back to Manhattan.
    Roy said, “I don’t think I’m just speaking for myself when I say I was scared. Oh. Here’s your cut.”
    He handed me three dollars.
    Next day I told him I was through as a lush-worker.
    â€œI don’t blame you,” he said. “But you got a wrong impression. You’re bound to get some good breaks if you stick around long enough.”
    â€¢
    My case came to trial in Special Sessions. I drew a four-month suspended sentence. After I gave up lush-working I decided to push junk. There isn’t much money in it. About all a using street-peddler can expect to do is keep up his habit. But at least when you are pushing, you have a good supply of junk on hand and that gives a feeling of security. Of course, some people do make money pushing. I knew an Irish pusher who started out capping a 1 / 16 -ounce envelope of H and two years later, when he took a fall and went away for three years, he had thirty thousand dollars and an apartment building in Brooklyn.
    If you want to push, the first step is to find a wholesale connection. I did not have a connection, so I formed a partnership with Bill Gains, who had a pretty fair Italian connection on the Lower East Side. We bought the stuff for ninety