S. drag.You can'tsee it,
youdon'tknowwhereitcomes from.Take oneof those
cocktailloungesattheendofa subdivisionstreet --
everyblockofhouseshasitsownbaranddrugstore
and market and liquorstore. You walk in and it hits you.
But where does it come from?
Not the bartender, not thecustomers, northe cream-
coloredplastic roundingthe barstools, northe dim
neon. Not even the TV.
And our habits buildup withthe drag,like cocaine
will buildyou upstaying aheadof theC bring-down.
And the junk was running low.So therewe arein this
no-horsetownstrictly fromcough syrup.And vomited
upthesyrupand droveon andon, coldspring wind
whistlingthroughthat oldheap aroundour shivering
sick sweating bodies and the coldyou alwayscome down
with when the junk runsout ofyou.... Onthrough the
peeled landscape, dead armadillos inthe roadand vul-
turesover theswamp andcypress stumps.Motels with
beaverboard walls, gas heater, thin pink blankets.
Itinerantshortconand carnyhyp menhave burned
down the croakers of Texas....
And no onein hisright mindwould hita Louisiana
croaker. State Junk Law.
Came at lastto Houstonwhere Iknow adruggist. I
haven't been therein fiveyears buthe looksup and
makes me withone quicklook andjust nodsand says:
"Wait over at the counter...."
So I sit down and drink acup ofcoffee andafter a
while he comesand sitsbeside meand says,"What do
you want?"
"A quart of PG and a hundred nembies."
He nods, "Come back in half an hour."
SowhenIcomebackhehandsmeapackage and
says, "That's fifteen dollars.... Be careful."
ShootingPGisaterrible hassle,you haveto burn
out thealcohol first,then freezeout thecamphor and
drawthisbrownliquidoffwith adropper --have to
shoot it in the vein oryou getan abscess,and usually
endupwithan abscessno matterwhere youshoot it.
Best deal is to drink itwith goofballs.... Sowe pour
itinaPernod bottleand startfor NewOrleans past
iridescentlakes andorange gasflares, andswamps and
garbageheaps,alligatorscrawlingaroundinbroken
bottlesandtincans,neonarabesques ofmotels, ma-
roonedpimpsscreamobscenitiesatpassingcars from
islands of rubbish....
NewOrleansisadeadmuseum.Wewalkaround
ExchangePlacebreathingPGandfindTheManright
away. It's asmall placeand thefuzz alwaysknows who
is pushing so he figures what the hell does itmatter and
sellstoanybody.
We stockup onH andbacktrack for
Mexico.
BackthroughLakeCharlesand thedead slot-machine
country, south end of Texas, nigger-killingsheriffs look
usoverand checkthe carpapers. Somethingfalls off
youwhenyoucrosstheborderinto Mexico,and sud-
denlythe landscapehits youstraight withnothing be-
tweenyouandit,desertand mountainsand vultures;
little wheeling specks andothers soclose youcan hear
wingscuttheair(adryhuskingsound),andwhen
they spot something they pourout ofthe bluesky, that
shatteringbloodyblue skyof Mexico,down ina black
funnel....Droveallnight,cameatdawntoa warm
mistyplace,barkingdogsandthesoundofrunning
water.
"Thomas and Charlie," I said.
"What?"
"That'sthename ofthis town.Sea level.%We climb
straight up fromhere tenthousand feet."I tooka fix
andwenttosleepintheback seat.She wasa good
driver.Youcantellassoonas someonetouches the
wheel.
MexicoCitywhereLupitasitslikeanAztec Earth
Goddess doling out her little papers of lousy shit.
"Sellingismore ofa habitthan using,"Lupita says.
Nonusingpushershavea contacthabit, andthat's one
youcan'tkick.Agentsgetittoo. TakeBradley the
Buyer.Bestnarcoticsagentintheindustry.Anyone
wouldmakehimfor junk.(Note: Makein thesense of
dig or size up. ) I mean he canwalk upto apusher and
score direct. He isso anonymous,grey andspectral the
pusherdon'trememberhimafterwards.Sohetwists
one after the other....
WelltheBuyercomestolookmoreandmorelike
a junky. He can'tdrink. Hecan't getit up.His teeth
fall out. (Likepregnant womenlose theirteeth feeding
the stranger, junkies lose their yellow fangsfeeding the
monkey.)He isall thetime suckingon acandy bar.
Baby Ruths he digs special. "It really disgust youto see
theBuyer suckingon themcandy barsso nasty,"a cop
says.
TheBuyertakesonanominousgrey-greencolor.
Fact is hisbody ismaking itsown junkor equivalent.
TheBuyerhasasteadyconnection.A ManWithin you
might say, Or so he thinks. "I'll just set in my room," he
says. "Fuck 'em all. Squares on both sides. I amthe only
complete man in the industry."
Butayencomesonhimlikeagreatblackwind
throughthebones.