Walking with the Night

As it rapidly approaches the 3:00am hour each night, I somehow find the wherewithall to pull myself away from whatever "project" I'm tweaking on and focus my vision and thoughts on my best friend--Jaime. He is my Pit Bull and constant companion.

He too has merged with the night and expects, if not demands, a walk to the neighborhood park at 3am, and to be tossed his favorite tennis ball for about an hour until he gets his excercise fill. This is my obligation to him as his master, and good dope, when ingested consistently and with proper respect, should never cause one to dodge responsibilities, but rather fulfill them with a gusto, enthusiasm, zeal and thoroughness not possible by "regulars" (the term I use to describe non-users--it ain't a compliment). Good Dope enhances life, doesn't high-jack it.

Even though the night air is probably brisk, I'm perspiring profusely, but nevertheless must manage to bundle up to give the appearance of a regular. Jaime is so elated, his whole stocky tan and white body seems to twist involuntarily as he jumps about waiting for his collar to be bound. After a few moments of attempting to remember anything that I'm sure I've already forgotten, we leave my Fortresss of Speed and rush into the darkness.

It's drizzling slightly, enough so to explain the constant oily sheen that coats my face, despite any and every effort to wipe it off, dull it with powder or cut it with astringent. That's when you know your product is bomb. With a pep in my step, I was shining like new money!

Most tweakers are too paranoid to leave their window peaking perches in the early evening, let alone at 3:00am. Not Night Watch! It is precisely this audacity, this boldness, that causes cops to glance my way and keep it pushin'. If you experience a heightened sense of paranoia when high, this is a weakness and a sure sign that meth may not be for you and you might want to downgrade to a large espresso every now and again. It's only after inhaling good shit, exhaling a mushroom cloud like the one over Nagasaki, am I able to comfortably look strangers and family directly in the eye, converse candidly with police (if necessary), perform work, attend school, or do any other mundane or complex task. Meth is, quite simply, a "performance enhancing drug, and I'm no different than Barry Bonds.

I tossed the ball so rapidly and ceaselessly, that Jaime was quickly spent. Every night I see a petite little Mexican transexual, a she-man, walking north past the park we go to. It is usuallly always wearin a mini-skirt that wouldn't fit my Chiuahua (got one of those,too). She's obviously working and I'm not mad at her. Hating is not in my nature. I'm just knowin that whatever she's doin, she's doin it smokin' and I wonder from a conissuer's stand point, whose is better. It's common knowledge that faggots love and will pay for the top-of-the-line "queer juice"...


..on second thougnt, what the fuck! Unless he/she thinks sleeping 8 days a month is over-doing it, then neither she or her shit are anywhere close to my level. Just call me O.G. Meth!