neal will kill me when he reads this
neal had started on the substances years ago.
at first it was nothing major. we'd all be sitting around drinking or just watching tv and he would walk in with a rag soaked in gasoline, smiling ear to ear and take a whiff or two, just as a joke. sure, he'd get a little light headed, giggle a bit and maybe pass out behind the couch, but as long as he stayed away from open flames we figured it would be fine. i think there was some level of social satire involved, most likely attached to the then still looming inevitability of peak oil, but neal always payed more attention to the news than i did, and it was always too much effort to play catchup. the interesting thing was, as petroleum prices rose higher and higher, so in keeping did neal's state of inebriation as he indulged more and more. as he himself would say "the route of all the world's problems is also the most effective escape from them."
neal had been hitting the tank a few times a week all through high school, but as soon as they went into iraq he became a full blown addict. we had become a little tired of his tirades, but were still fascinated enough by his reckless disregard for his own brain cells that we would constantly bring up his habit as a conversation starter at parties. after only a few rib prods neal's private vice was transformed into a parlor amusement. it was an unusual event to leave a gathering of more than six people without him jumping onto a piece of petroleum plastic lawn furniture and inhaling its liquid equivalent. neal was still edge at the time, or at least he claimed to be. we tried to reason that this was probably just as, if not worse for his state of being as alcohol, but we never managed to remember this point until after he'd huffed enough that his eyes were nothing but black pools of processed, regular grade, siphoned texas tea.
the obvious conclusion happened on a sticky hot august day. neal had been pouring over graphs on the internet all day. by noon he had a knee high pile of calculations laying at his feet. they all told him one thing. we'd hit the mark. oil at the same speed. need still rising. would it ever stop? neal knew the answer. he'd never been known for having a huge amount of faith in the choices of the general populace, but he was right about this, we were all fucked. i suggested we cool down by taking a walk for some slushies. i would regret this mistake for the rest of my life. neal was in a bad way when we left the house. he'd insisted on bringing the goats bladder he'd taken to using as a refillable holder, a step up from a black garbage bag. He never took his nose out of it the entire way there.
i'd been on a heavy bender the last three weeks and was battling a constant hangover with the cheapest vodka currently in production, drowning in my own pain just enough that i could ignore the problems of my friends. the two of us stumbled through the heat, sweat pouring from our brows as we both fought our ailing limbs. when we finally reached the ultramar i suddenly realized my idiocy. neal's eyes had been dying for months, but they still narrowed at the sight of a slightly overweight, slightly overdressed man filling an H2 with pure premium. neal finally snapped. he threw down his bladder and, as corageously as you could possibly imagine, stumbled, finally with a sense of purpose, towards the man, yelling every simple fact of modern man's folly he could imagine. i could only watch as the man let out a slight grunt, reached into his car and pulled out a half finished cigarette. he took a single drag and flicked the butt at neal, never saying a word, which was a shame, since they would have been his last. as it now stands they were "does anybody want anything from inside?" neal burst into flame instantly. i remember how still he stood, holding out his hands as they were wrapped in the searing, all destroying red flame. Plumes of black carbon poured off his back. In the last second before his eyes shriveled up like raisins he centered the man in his path and dove forward. i could hear a family of four scream in shock and fear from inside the car, drowned out only slightly by the spongebob dvd playing on repeat on the fold-down plasma screen. neal, totally blind, tripped on the pump hose. The auto shut-off did it's job, but it was too little too late. i was tossed back as the tank under the station detonated, sending molten metal and cement flying in all directions. i collapsed in a swell of self loathing and remose, screaming at the heavens and cursing my own lack of intervention on what i now see was something a man felt he had to do. maybe it was only the denial stage of grief talking, but from inside the roaring blaze, as slight as you could ever hear, i could swear i heard the whispered words "are yoooooooou stoooooooopid?"
at first it was nothing major. we'd all be sitting around drinking or just watching tv and he would walk in with a rag soaked in gasoline, smiling ear to ear and take a whiff or two, just as a joke. sure, he'd get a little light headed, giggle a bit and maybe pass out behind the couch, but as long as he stayed away from open flames we figured it would be fine. i think there was some level of social satire involved, most likely attached to the then still looming inevitability of peak oil, but neal always payed more attention to the news than i did, and it was always too much effort to play catchup. the interesting thing was, as petroleum prices rose higher and higher, so in keeping did neal's state of inebriation as he indulged more and more. as he himself would say "the route of all the world's problems is also the most effective escape from them."
neal had been hitting the tank a few times a week all through high school, but as soon as they went into iraq he became a full blown addict. we had become a little tired of his tirades, but were still fascinated enough by his reckless disregard for his own brain cells that we would constantly bring up his habit as a conversation starter at parties. after only a few rib prods neal's private vice was transformed into a parlor amusement. it was an unusual event to leave a gathering of more than six people without him jumping onto a piece of petroleum plastic lawn furniture and inhaling its liquid equivalent. neal was still edge at the time, or at least he claimed to be. we tried to reason that this was probably just as, if not worse for his state of being as alcohol, but we never managed to remember this point until after he'd huffed enough that his eyes were nothing but black pools of processed, regular grade, siphoned texas tea.
the obvious conclusion happened on a sticky hot august day. neal had been pouring over graphs on the internet all day. by noon he had a knee high pile of calculations laying at his feet. they all told him one thing. we'd hit the mark. oil at the same speed. need still rising. would it ever stop? neal knew the answer. he'd never been known for having a huge amount of faith in the choices of the general populace, but he was right about this, we were all fucked. i suggested we cool down by taking a walk for some slushies. i would regret this mistake for the rest of my life. neal was in a bad way when we left the house. he'd insisted on bringing the goats bladder he'd taken to using as a refillable holder, a step up from a black garbage bag. He never took his nose out of it the entire way there.
i'd been on a heavy bender the last three weeks and was battling a constant hangover with the cheapest vodka currently in production, drowning in my own pain just enough that i could ignore the problems of my friends. the two of us stumbled through the heat, sweat pouring from our brows as we both fought our ailing limbs. when we finally reached the ultramar i suddenly realized my idiocy. neal's eyes had been dying for months, but they still narrowed at the sight of a slightly overweight, slightly overdressed man filling an H2 with pure premium. neal finally snapped. he threw down his bladder and, as corageously as you could possibly imagine, stumbled, finally with a sense of purpose, towards the man, yelling every simple fact of modern man's folly he could imagine. i could only watch as the man let out a slight grunt, reached into his car and pulled out a half finished cigarette. he took a single drag and flicked the butt at neal, never saying a word, which was a shame, since they would have been his last. as it now stands they were "does anybody want anything from inside?" neal burst into flame instantly. i remember how still he stood, holding out his hands as they were wrapped in the searing, all destroying red flame. Plumes of black carbon poured off his back. In the last second before his eyes shriveled up like raisins he centered the man in his path and dove forward. i could hear a family of four scream in shock and fear from inside the car, drowned out only slightly by the spongebob dvd playing on repeat on the fold-down plasma screen. neal, totally blind, tripped on the pump hose. The auto shut-off did it's job, but it was too little too late. i was tossed back as the tank under the station detonated, sending molten metal and cement flying in all directions. i collapsed in a swell of self loathing and remose, screaming at the heavens and cursing my own lack of intervention on what i now see was something a man felt he had to do. maybe it was only the denial stage of grief talking, but from inside the roaring blaze, as slight as you could ever hear, i could swear i heard the whispered words "are yoooooooou stoooooooopid?"