The Speed of Life

        We hadn’t seen each other in months. Things had changed. I got a girlfriend. You got reacquainted with meth. I walked in to your apartment and I was stunned. You’d made so many modifications, the place was unrecognizable. There was the ceiling light fixture in the living room that was now a giant metallic spider with glowing, green eyes. There was the table saw in the kitchen and the drawers full of screws, nuts, bolts, and other hardware. Not a single eating utensil to be found. Oh, that’s right. Tweakers don’t eat.
        As I stood there with a mixture of awe and horror combined with a dose of genuine admiration at your creativity and workmanship, the only thing I could manage to say was…”Wow…you are NOT getting your deposit back.”

~~Story by Greg Gateley

Photo: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blurry_men_climbing_stairs.jpg

Dinosaur Bones

        “Have you ever gotten high, jerked off, and when you’re shooting your load, your brain gets kicked into a different dimension?”
        She looked up at the other museum patrons, forced a smile, and yanked her 29 year old son over to the corner. “Samuel!… remember when we talked about inside voice and outside voice? Inside voice, OK?”

~~ Photo and Story by Xiao Niu

The Spoon

 

        When little Vincent was born, he was the answer to Maureen and Harold’s prayers. A perfect baby for a nice couple. They weren’t wealthy by any means, but whatever they had, was always shared with family and friends. Vincent’s first spoon was a gift from Maureen’s mother. She had bought it from J.W. Mays in Queens only two months before he was born. It was small and silver, with a tiny crooked yellow elephant tacked onto the handle. Her greatest joy was feeding her baby mushed carrots in their kitchen. They were his favorite.

        In their upper East-Side apartment, they always felt shielded. In the past 20 years, Vincent didn’t have much in the way of initiative, much less momentum. Maureen and Harold called him Vincent. His friends called him Vinnie. His parole officer called him Loser, but most everyone else called him Junkie. When Harold and Maureen came home later than usual, they didn’t realize that Vincent had come to visit. Cold, eyes uninhabited. Vincent was no more. On the green linoleum floor of that kitchen, needle bent awkwardly in his arm, blood dripping from his chin, his last hit cooked in that old spoon by his feet. Maureen could only look at that spoon, and nothing more.

~~Story by Eric Feder

It’s Not Easy Being Green

        Did I mention I’m going off the Chronic? Purple Haze, Mellow Yellow, the Green Ass of Kermit the Frog…. “It’s not easy bein’ green.” Sesame Street is on. The big yellow bird, and a monster of cookies. Good stuff. Red numbers tell me it’s 4:18pm, which tempts me. I could go for some cookies right now. Some chocolate chip cookies with those BIG chocolate chunks that make it all gooey and melt in your mouth… maybe later, cause I got this big, shiny mason jar full of the sticky icky, that sparkles emerald in the light, and it has got to go! Time to turn over a new leaf in my life. No pun intended. But one more bowl.

       I might have packed too much. It’s 4:20… What would they say about me now? I was a regular carnos—carNOsar—wait… Oh yeah! Carnosaur—I mean, “Carnoisseur!” There’s a little left. Mostly glowing embers on top of black, but I can make it work. White smoke. I need to find a new hobby. But one more bowl. Then cookies!

~~ Photo and Story by Ian Russell