Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Life is Death

My hand jerks in galvanized movements to the small strip of blackened aluminum foil being passed to me. The fingers holding the strip are blackened and dirty, shiny over the dirt. The windowless room in this hellhole building is lit only by the three white candles on the trash littered table. The walls are grimy yellow from years of tobacco; tar drips from the corners and collects in pools of orange grease. Our shadows dance across the vast left wall like disembodied ghosts. Banda music blares from the outdated hi-fi. It garbles and sputters static.
Pedro sits on the floor jabbing the syringe into his neck with hissing through his silver capped teeth. Slumps into dark and strange dreams. Jose takes said syringe, cooks up the tar clear and sweet and injects the solution into his junk thirsty veins. Xavier quivers on that milk crate starring at darkness wrapped in the flames of devils. Somebody is lying on the blackened cracked concrete floor facing the wall strung out on goofballs. The tattoo on his back reads Life is Death. The air is thick with smoke from cigarettes and marijuana and methamphetamine.
An old whore sits next to fat old fucker on the nod. Whore glares into the darkness, “I'm so horny, Johnny. I'm so horny.” She falls to a whisper mouthing the words over and over. Slowly rubbing her scabby thighs. The smell of shit and vomit are strong.
As I said, I take the strip of aluminum as Javier places the filthy straw into my mouth and ignites a lighter under the foil. I watch as the white rock melts into a syrupy metal fluid and casually inhale the silver smoke deep into my lungs. The smoke takes on a living liquid like consistency as I trail it down the groove on the aluminum strip.
It hits you in the spine first and like an electric current traveling along your column up into the brain to the forehead. I can feel my hair pricking as it rushes across my scalp. My teeth are grinding and my tongue clicks obsessively on the top of my sticky dry mouth. I exhale the fumes and pass the aluminum strip to Old Chuck sitting next to me on the overstuffed tattered couch. He smiles a toothless old woman smile and the wrinkles stand out in the shadows.
Javier slides his hand under my dirty t-shirt and caresses my back that is soaked in sweat, clinging to my quivering frame like a wet condom. He whispers in my ear sexual perversions but I tell him that I am in no condition.
I down the warm orange juice and vodka on the table and wait impatiently for my turn to come again. And again. And again. How long has it been since I had slept? Four...five days? When the dope finally ran out, we stumble out into the darkness and a shit smeared alleyway of a crappy hotel in a crappy part of town. The air is sweet and fresh. Stars shine bright and the moon is a huge hideous orange.
Money gone. Dope gone. I tell Javier come with me. I find an ATM and the party resumes full force. For the second time in my life I try heroin. This time I do not puke. The needle slid in silent and I feel the junk writhing up into my vein. A soft blow to the heart. My body goes slack and I feel all warm and relaxed. Javier, Jose and I go into spun conversations of Mexican politics and 1950's science fiction.
Jose looked at Old Chuck and spread his hands in the junky shrug.
"What, cabrone?"
I get eager and walk out with Javier in tow. I light a Lucky Strike hand one to Javier and head downtown. Everything is sharp and in focus. The lights stand out. The people alien and insect like. I get the horrors and Javier calms me. He is so sweet.
Smells hang over the City, haze of mota, the resinous grey smoke of meth, smell of the sea and salt water and the rotting canal and dried feces and sweat and genitals. Country western banda, jazz and be-bop, one-stringed instruments, Caribbean xylophones, Brazilian drums, reggeaton...
The city of Tijuana is infested by epidemics of violence between snarling cartels and macho cops, and the untended dead are eaten by dogs in the streets. Tourists blink in the sun. People devoured by unknown diseases watch the passing tourist with evil, knowing eyes.
My feet feel sluggish as I walk and I stumble into the 24hr Internet cafe on 2nd and Constitution to write this crap. I mean, file a report on these sinister goings on. Upstairs in a cubical, curtain drawn, Javier sits next to me like an immobile lizard, waiting for the next fix. We both smell like shit and covered in a layer of greasy sweat. He kisses me as I try to type and his mouth taste like diseased metal.
I type faster and more frantic. Sweat dripping, short of breath, horny boy at my side. Fuck it. I return to the Red Zone because I want more. And more I get...

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