“she shoots up in the neck,” she told
me. I told her to stick it into my
ass and she tried and said, “oh oh,”
and I said, “what the hell’s the matter?”
she said, “nothing, this is New York
style,” and she jammed it in again and said,
“oh shit.” I took it and put it into
my arm, I got part of it.
“I don’t know why people
fuck with the stuff, there’s not that
much to it. I think they’re all losers
and they want to lose real bad. there’s
no other way, it’s like they can’t
get where they’re going or want to go
and there’s no other way.
this has got to be it.
she shoots up in the neck.”
“I know,” I said. “I phoned her, she
could hardly talk, said it was
laryngitis. have some of this wine.”
it was white wine and 4:30 a.m. and her
daughter was sleeping in the bedroom. she
had cable tv with no sound and
a large screen young John Wayne watched
us, and we neither kissed nor made
love and I left at 6:15 a.m.
after the beer and wine were gone
so her daughter wouldn’t awaken for
school and find me sitting in
bed with her mother
with John Wayne and the night gone
and not much chance for anybody—
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