drug induced haze

Well they seemed chuffed.  Riding through a forest fire, and reconvening with friends at a fast food restaurant, it was totally and blatently apparent that they were all diseased and on drugs.  I charged them for it, in the back of my mind (the part that holds scriptures of memory) wondering if it was some sort of melody that I couldn't see that beheld them to their ADD drugs (five dollars gets you in, they seem to say, woefully numb).

I could see the end of combat.

There, in their filthy stares and K-Smart hotness, wearing bright colors that wouldn't match, talking a swath about feigning new animal designations for the kids who were bright and learned their same lessons, the matches of boy-girl, the ideas of sand running out of their mouths.

Could have told them that they were dirty.  Instead I watched the cops drive down the road, staring at license plates with mountain crud drying on them (this being after all, the land of living 4 Runner commercials, not to mention the dazed ski tropes with kids crying from the back of a bursting Suburu).

I wondered if it was the end of the self-medicating.  All too desperate to talk without being that desperate for anything but the self-sealed and circumspect mentality that drugs were a salve for some mis-begotten foreign piece of emptiness (that was probably caused by drugs).

Here I whine.  People don't eat pieces of plastic, at least knowingly.  They would maybe if plastic was called drugs, like here, snort some paint, its lyingly called cocaine.  The highs, you know, would be invoked from a death of brain cells being that the brain has no recourse for feeling pain but through highs and lows and the extremities where nerves are connected.  Have a high.  It's also called "the massive death of brain spans."

I used to, a decade ago.  Then the last for me was probably some ex girlfriend throwing up heroin and me being such a dumbass at the time that all I could probably do was rub her rotting backside.

These people can make you sick.  Not just literally.

My least favorite is hearing somebody complaining about a bad smell.  Well, it is you or one of your friends.  I don't do drugs, have diseases, and I am clean from lack of auto-immune deficiency caused by too many drugs.  I don't smell.  It's probably something up your nose that you keep snorting like a mannequin.

If I hated these people I could be cruel.  Oh, is it that hour?  I would look at my wrist only my watch wouldn't be there.  How much, for instance, painkillers does it take to conceal a wound at work?  What kind, what variety, how many every two hours, what do you mean I'm a rat?  I don't call the cops on your drug usage, I just think that you'd rather live longer not doing them.  You might end up being happy.

The recourse is complete derangement.  You pop pills, they fuck your mind, you put something in a needle until I can see your fucking blood vessels standing out on your forearms like cords and then you have the audacity to try to be funny or rude or loving or brain dead.  Stop it.  Play fucking Scrabble until your face is red and I bet it would have a similar effect.  Bet your vocab would improve some.