Hey why don’t you move again? Tried getting to sleep last night. Took hours. No sleep. So turned on TV. The same rugby game was on. It had 15m to go. That means the “hours” I had spent trying to get to sleep where actually only fifteen minutes. Oh shit. That’s not a good thing. Brain is going a hundred miles an hour in five different directions again….. Finally get to sleep around 2pm. Am wide awake at 3pm as the Nomad gang pit bulls outside my window barking at fuck knows what. “Shut the f ck up” I yell at the Nomad guy.
“Yeah, sorry bro.” (laughs) “You’re not using P (“p” for pure crystal meth) any more then? You asleep boy? Hahah. Shot bro, fucken dog. Laturz“
Three and a half hours later I am watching the god shows on TV before some good political show is due at 8. SpongeBob squarepants gets caught on a fishing hook on TV2. I watch it for half an hour. He gets off the hook. A can on tuna appears from nowhere and a voice over artist says “anyone got a can opener”. If all these new TV shows that get off doing random things all the time aren’t designed for ADhD people, then they are responsible for creating them.
Here we are, it is morning. The sun is shining in the window of the east of the house. The door is in the stairway to the west. It is 8:30am Sunday morning. There is a knock on the door.
Anywhere or anyone else in the world would be thinking “neighbour been robbed?” “kid injured?”
Me? I think one of the local druggies has got the wrong flat for the dealers. But sometimes the old Samoan boy who lives opposite needs extra dialysis treatments over the weekend. I’d better answer the door, he doesn’t have a phone and I ring the hospital and / or taxi for him to get to his life saving machine when he feels bad after 48 hours without it.
I open the door. The guy has scurried off. Yeahp. Another one of those guys looking for the dealers.
“Try the next block over, same flat” I yell out into the stairway.
The guy comes back up.
See’s my bike in the hall.
“He bro, Lance Armstrong bro, got any steroids?”
hAHAHAHAH. Fucken funny junky prick I tell him. He grins ear to ear like he should be on a tv comedy show. Maybe he should.
If only he’d move, straighten up and find motivation without illegal drugs…
But he won’t. I recognise him as being Micky something. Funny little guy. He was a street kid when I was selling computers after I dropped out of school. We used to go and get wasted on my lunch break (I had no one to get wasted with so would take a joint and a Jack Daniels down to the park next to the whore house. The street kids became friends after a while… The whores did too, coz I was babysitting for one of them with my girlfriend. We finally ended up screwing about twenty years later. Turns out she is boring. What an end to a nice fantasy that was…. Pays to have no expectations, plans or ambitions. That way you don’t disappoint. Sigh) Micky something once was on a bus during one of my many disqualification periods (only thing slowing me down is the police lights too Gabor). He reeked of solvents. The plastic panels on the bus interior were starting to bubble around his breath. He slurred “Hey love, open the window, a bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill us” to a fifteen year old school girl. She stood up, opened the window about her head and looked down at him with a loverly grin and said “No, but sniffing glue sure will”. Even Micky something had to laugh at that. Shot down, Micky. Must remind you of that one day, now that you seem straight enough to make sense again. Maybe he is on opiates now. Moved up in the world. Had a good brain once upon a time. Don’t think it is going to be one of those “lived happily ever after” fables….
Quite glad in the end it wasn’t the Samoan with the dialysus. My phone is telling me I am out of free minutes and will have to pay from now on. Hope old Samoan guy doesn’t need his dialysis today. I am broke.
And now, since I have been up for about fifteen minutes, I am going back to the toilet.