card on
Ronnie made his way to the top of the staircase from his hotel room on the other side of the building. I watched him through a cracked room 22 door. He paused at the staircase, looked at room 22 and sighed before he limped down the staircase.
3:44pm: I walked over to the sink, urinated and began brushing my teeth. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked at the circles underneath my eyes. I spit and pulled my telephone out of my pocket. It's Friday. I hate Friday on Broadway. I hate the tourists. I hate the tourist bus, the beer truck, the screaming hookers, the barkers in front of the strip clubs, my floor vibrating from the noise below me, the smell of pizza places, the smell of Italian food, all of the bridge and tunnel weekend warriors-looking for a fight but mostly I hate myself.
3:49: I sat on the bed, opened the window, opened a bottle of Miller High Life, threw the cap at the garbage can and missed. I took my shirt off and watched the people below walk back and forth. When it gets dark, I urinate on them from up here above and they think it is thick fog. I thought about Ronnie sighing at the top of the stairs. I thought about calling Bernardo. I really wanted to go through the night without it. I know Ronnie wanted to ask me if I was going to the French Bakery with him. I know exactly what was on Ronnie's mind. My bones started to ache. The Miller High Life wasn't working, no matter how fast I drank it. I popped one of the benzos Ronnie gave me yesterday and began rocking back and forth.
4:12pm
"Hola"
Bernardo?
"B.."
I need two.
"Ronnie at French Bakery, why you not go, eh?"
Have the driver bring two. Have him bring two, Bernardo.
"Two"
TWO BERNARDO. HOW LONG?
"10 minutes."
4:13pm I put my shirt back on, drank the rest of the 40oz, threw it on the floor and it rolled to the other side of the room. I turned the water on and pissed in the sink again. I didn't look at my reflection in the mirror this time. Justified it all with the fact that I have to try and sleep on a Friday night. I have to try to sleep on a Friday night on Broadway.
4:14pm I locked room 22 and ran quickly down the staircase. I cut across traffic and made my way down Columbus to the French bakery in front of Washington Square Park. I walked in the bike lane to avoid tourists. My stomach began to turn and my bones vibrated. I leaned over the front-left quarter panel of a BMW and puked up Miller High Life in front of a pack of bright-visor wearing Eurotrash. I saw Ronnie in the distance. His flip phone was sitting on the small table and he had a cup of coffee in a to-go cup. He looked so comfortable in his parka. He looked so gentle, just relaxing..Waiting on his fix. Ronnie is a lucky man, he can chip whenever he wants. I have a monkey on my back and no methadone prescription as a parachute.
4:18
"Hey, B. I thought you were going to take a day off?"
Me too. Did you hear from him?
"Relax B. We do this every day. You always panic and it always works out." Ronnie put his hand on my shoulder as I picked up and called the dispatcher over and over.
"B, they're going to stop working with you if you keep doing this. Bernardo said you called 46 times within 20 minutes yesterday. B you need to relax." I always ignore Ronnie when he tells me to relax. I pretend that he isn't saying anything.
4:22 Bernardo's shitty Honda was pulling up in front of the park, making his way down Green. Ronnie gave me his money and I got in the car. Bernardo yelled at me in Spanish and I handed him the money. He continued to yell at me in Spanish until he let me out in front of the mortuary on Beach Blanket Babylon Boulevard. I slammed the door and made a beeline to the slum. Ronnie knew the routine and he preferred me when I was well. I ran up the stairs to room 22, shut the window, sat on the bed bug infested bed and cooked up on the window sill.
5:04pm I felt like warm, itchy glue. I could hear Ronnie slowly coming up the stairs to room 22. I left the door cracked open because I knew I wouldn't want to get up and let him in. I sat up on the bed, feeling better, ready to talk about The St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Team with Ronnie.
3:44pm: I walked over to the sink, urinated and began brushing my teeth. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked at the circles underneath my eyes. I spit and pulled my telephone out of my pocket. It's Friday. I hate Friday on Broadway. I hate the tourists. I hate the tourist bus, the beer truck, the screaming hookers, the barkers in front of the strip clubs, my floor vibrating from the noise below me, the smell of pizza places, the smell of Italian food, all of the bridge and tunnel weekend warriors-looking for a fight but mostly I hate myself.
3:49: I sat on the bed, opened the window, opened a bottle of Miller High Life, threw the cap at the garbage can and missed. I took my shirt off and watched the people below walk back and forth. When it gets dark, I urinate on them from up here above and they think it is thick fog. I thought about Ronnie sighing at the top of the stairs. I thought about calling Bernardo. I really wanted to go through the night without it. I know Ronnie wanted to ask me if I was going to the French Bakery with him. I know exactly what was on Ronnie's mind. My bones started to ache. The Miller High Life wasn't working, no matter how fast I drank it. I popped one of the benzos Ronnie gave me yesterday and began rocking back and forth.
4:12pm
"Hola"
Bernardo?
"B.."
I need two.
"Ronnie at French Bakery, why you not go, eh?"
Have the driver bring two. Have him bring two, Bernardo.
"Two"
TWO BERNARDO. HOW LONG?
"10 minutes."
4:13pm I put my shirt back on, drank the rest of the 40oz, threw it on the floor and it rolled to the other side of the room. I turned the water on and pissed in the sink again. I didn't look at my reflection in the mirror this time. Justified it all with the fact that I have to try and sleep on a Friday night. I have to try to sleep on a Friday night on Broadway.
4:14pm I locked room 22 and ran quickly down the staircase. I cut across traffic and made my way down Columbus to the French bakery in front of Washington Square Park. I walked in the bike lane to avoid tourists. My stomach began to turn and my bones vibrated. I leaned over the front-left quarter panel of a BMW and puked up Miller High Life in front of a pack of bright-visor wearing Eurotrash. I saw Ronnie in the distance. His flip phone was sitting on the small table and he had a cup of coffee in a to-go cup. He looked so comfortable in his parka. He looked so gentle, just relaxing..Waiting on his fix. Ronnie is a lucky man, he can chip whenever he wants. I have a monkey on my back and no methadone prescription as a parachute.
4:18
"Hey, B. I thought you were going to take a day off?"
Me too. Did you hear from him?
"Relax B. We do this every day. You always panic and it always works out." Ronnie put his hand on my shoulder as I picked up and called the dispatcher over and over.
"B, they're going to stop working with you if you keep doing this. Bernardo said you called 46 times within 20 minutes yesterday. B you need to relax." I always ignore Ronnie when he tells me to relax. I pretend that he isn't saying anything.
4:22 Bernardo's shitty Honda was pulling up in front of the park, making his way down Green. Ronnie gave me his money and I got in the car. Bernardo yelled at me in Spanish and I handed him the money. He continued to yell at me in Spanish until he let me out in front of the mortuary on Beach Blanket Babylon Boulevard. I slammed the door and made a beeline to the slum. Ronnie knew the routine and he preferred me when I was well. I ran up the stairs to room 22, shut the window, sat on the bed bug infested bed and cooked up on the window sill.
5:04pm I felt like warm, itchy glue. I could hear Ronnie slowly coming up the stairs to room 22. I left the door cracked open because I knew I wouldn't want to get up and let him in. I sat up on the bed, feeling better, ready to talk about The St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Team with Ronnie.