It wasn't as great as we'd expected.
I, myself, was having a pretty good time. The world had become ethereal, as it usually does when one is ripped on strong opiates. A whole new spectrum of vibrant colours revealed themselves to me (well - not new colours, per se, but colours I hadn't seen in a few months.)
Each person who sauntered past me would radiate with a sense of potential friendship, leading me to offer everyone my heartfelt greetings. Life had become worth living again!
Scrib, on the other hand, had receded so far into the interior monologues of his mind that it was impossible to get a word out of him. Questions would pass right through his brain as it twisted and turned, contemplating the sadistic inner workings of reality. There was a lot going on in there.
Fernweh, while not quite as reclusive as Scrib, had succumbed to one of the most prominent adverse effects of heroin - the Bothers.
Everything was bothering him - each sentence I spoke irked him, each misplaced shrub in the grass enraged him, the sound of the footsteps of passers-by infuriated him.
Thus, each word that he spoke was confrontational - whether it be to contradict what I'd just said, or to hate on something, or to talk down on someone. The Bothers always make for some truly lame social situations, where beneficial conversation is replaced by a competition between two egos.
People using heroin often find themselves vehemently arguing with each other, too busy thinking about how awesome they feel to realize they're both defending the same topic.
Snooze was extremely dissatisfied with our choice of relapse. We chose not to care - we sure as hell hadn't pushed the drugs on her, and it's not like we'd turned into psychopathic demons who weren't fun to be around.
Sure, Fernweh was grumpy, and Scrib was lazy and quiet, but that wasn't really much different than usual. Besides, I was having a great time with Snooze.
After I flailed around in the park for another half hour, our hobo bones began to creak. This is a telltale sign that something was coming... something... big. Something... wet...
We looked upwards and saw an army of storm clouds marching across the firmament. We hopped up, grabbed our bags and dashed towards the clouds and our destination: the Spadina bridge, where I'd slept last year on my journey through Toronto.
We'd beat the storm.
We had to!
No comments:
Post a Comment