Another One Bites the Dust VIII

[Robert Crisman]

Too Close To Home  X3

1.

All Joey's cool--just flat blown away.

He'd always swum like a fish in the chaos--circumscribed chaos. His whims, impulses, popcorn emotions, along with the changes that come with the dope game--all these had sent him down life's twisty byways, for sure. He'd pretty much made those byways his home, and death was sure part of the trip, not only the bodies that lay in the thickets but, if you will, death's own shadow, shrouding every funnytime turn on the trail.

But the shroud was familiar, its weight and its shape and its odor inscribed by routine.

Joey'd slide out of bed, bang his wakeup, then slide through the day slinging dope to the mutts, with stops in the bathrooms, of course, on his way to and fro. This was his orbit, with chiva the sun in his sky...

2.

Life threw its spitballs, of course, like maybe his dopeman ran out, or got popped, or he just didn't show for whatever reason. Or some mutt would come sniveling and bitching; Joey shorted the weight, or, as likely, the mutt came in short on the money. 

Some motherfucker might try and take Joey off, and then that same day he gets snatched on old warrants...

Or maybe he fixed in a bathroom and missed, and came out of the place with an abcess.

Some nosepicking dipshit od-d at a house he was trying to get off at...

All part of the deal; he'd been there like ten million times.

3.

But this! Fucking Rob! His ace boon! At his pad! In his fucking back yard! He'd watched the blood blow out of his ears!

Too close to home!

[Angela]

Joey calls it a sick joy and I wish I had thought of that.  I do get a thrill out of these characters' fuck-up-ed-ness.

[Joey Delgado]

Uh-oh, Joey's losing his shit. Hopefully he can once again find a way to 'circumscribe chaos.' These installments are nail biters for sure, Rob. A sick joy to read.