Pusher

 

We ran and ran until our legs would carry us no more – our pursuers had stopped chasing us a mile back – but we were running for the joy of it. We were gasping and panting for breath as we laughed uncontrollably. I thought I might asphyxiate from laughter. I tried to speak to Bell, but could only muster some wheezy vowel sounds. He was on the ground now in paroxysms of mirth.

“I think the whole pub was chasing us!” I exclaimed - once I’d caught my breath.

“It might have been something that I said,” replied Bell.

We went into convulsions of laughter once more; he laughed the way I imagine coyotes laugh with sniggers and whimpers and howls. It was typical of Bell that after a few drinks his impulse control completely deserted him. We were on a pub crawl down Leith Walk and went into the Central on a dare. It was the roughest pub on the Walk in those days. I would never have gone in there normally, but Bell urged me on. The place was mobbed, but Bell managed to grab a tiny space on a bench next to this middle aged bird, to tell the truth she was quite tasty. She and Bell were soon wrapped in conversation, her husband who was sat next to her kept a leery eye on proceedings. Then it happened – I knew it would. Bell had to push things too far.

“You make a handsome couple” he said.

“Thank you” she replied flush of face.

“Any chance of a wee kiss?” he enquired lecherously.

“Oh, no” she answered shyly.

“Just a wee peck maybe?” he insisted gently.

“Oh, alright then” she puckered her lips.

“Oh, no you hen – I mean yer man” the company went quiet and her man glowered at Bell. We split laughing and I broke into a run with Bell trailing behind. Sure enough a crowd of tough looking radges followed us from the pub.

“Do you all want a kiss?” taunted Bell as I dragged him away.

“You have to stop antagonising the heterosexual community

Bell – before you get your head kicked in” I warned him.

“You know the difference between straight and queer Johnny?” he asked.

“Enlighten me Bell.”

“Six pints of lager.”

“I only drink special.”  I quipped.

“Maybe you never gave lager a chance.”

That last comment hung in the air between us and we let it die there. We were headed back to my place and a fridge full of beer when Bell suggested we make a detour.

“Let’s go wind up Buddha. I could use a line of speed.”

“Okay, but go easy on him. He’s a good mate of mine.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” replied Bell; “I’m a perfect gentleman around your friends.”

I rolled my eyes, but said nothing. Bell seemed contemptuous of anything straight and his behaviour around my hetro friends was often a bone of contention between us. We arrived at Buddha’s place and made our way up the three flights to his flat. Buddha seemed glad to see me, but was a little more reserved toward Bell.

“Come in lads and take a pew. Anyone fancy a cup o’ chai?”

Once the tea ceremonial was dispensed with Buddha set about sorting out three generous lines. He assured us that this gear was the bee’s knees and that we’d be flying in no time at all.

“Ye’ll be rabbitin’ awe night wi this stuff – guaranteed.”

“You only serve the best Buddha,” replied Bell; “That’s why you’re my favourite pusher.”

Bell had that glint in his eyes. He was out to provoke Buddha who bristled at the word ‘pusher’.

“I’m nae pusher – get that straight. I never pushed anything on anybody in my life. My clientele don’t need pushin’ they jump o’ their own accord. I’m a dealer and a bloody good wan. I deal in entertainment of the highest quality and have never had any complaints. My deals are spot on and my gear is clean, never trod on. People are never pushed in my direction – in fact I never heard of anyone being pushed into takin’ drugs – it’s always been on a strictly voluntary basis. Take yer average junkie – naebody forces them into it. Yer junkie gets up every morning and decides that today he’ll be a junkie an’ he’ll be a fuckin’ junkie til he changes his mind. That’s what separates the casual user from the addict – greed and will power. Naebody makes them junkies – they jump o’ their own accord.”

I agreed wholeheartedly with what Buddha said; though I thought there was a certain irony in his saying it. Buddha had been doing speed for ten years or more and as far as I knew he did it every day. We snorted our lines and snorted some more; sure enough we were talking and philosophising into the small hours and beyond the dawn.

“You like it then?” asked Buddha.

“Aye we like it alright – its rocket fuel.” I replied.

“I could do you a lay on” he offered.

“I don’t know...”

“Take a couple of ounces – pay me next week – ye can flog it at a tidy profit and still have a bit for yersels.”

And so I left Buddha’s with two ounces of pure amphetamine sulphate and an ounce of sticky black hash in my pocket. Had I been pushed into it? No, I think I jumped, with a little persuasion.

“Well, where are we goin’ now?” enquired Bell.

“Back to my place,” I replied, “I just want to put my feet up and relax.”

“Let’s go for a drink,” suggested Bell.

“It’s six in the morning Bell.”

“I know a place that opens at six”

“I suppose I could use a bite to eat to settle my stomach.”

“Fuck that – I’m buying you six pints of lager!”

The Cuckold

It was the usual Friday night slot at Sandra’s house. Her man Archie was at the bowls and would not return until the early hours when the bowling club threw him out. I liked Archie, we were mates and I always felt a tinge of guilt visiting Sandra on the fly. However, Sandra was a real looker with a voracious sexual appetite and I like that in a woman.

She answered the door wearing a flimsy black silk negligee and beckoned me in with a wolfish grin. Forgoing our customary glass of wine we stumbled up the stairs with indecent haste groping and snogging as we went. Once in the bedroom we wasted no time shedding our clothes and getting down to business.

We were on the job for five minutes when I heard an unusual creaking sound and it wasn’t the bedsprings. I paused for a minute and asked Sandra what that sound was.

“What sound?”

“I heard something – it’s stopped now.”

We got back down to it, but a few minutes later I could discern the strange creaking again. Glancing over my shoulder I could see that her wardrobe was rocking. This was surely the source of the mysterious noise. I thought I was tripping – my blood ran cold with fright – the way it does sometimes when you are first confronted with the unknown. I leapt out of bed and opened the wardrobe and low and behold there was Archie crouching with his trousers around his knees.

“Hiya Johnny” he said with a sheepish grin.

“What the fuck is going on here” I enquired angrily.

“He found out about us” chimed in Sandra “and he wanted to watch.”

“That’s disgusting” I retorted “you’re fucking perverse!”

I was hurriedly dressing as Archie and Sandra were trying to explain the situation. Unbelievably they wanted me to stay. I was, ironically, taking the moral high ground.

“It’s just a wee game Johnny – you like to play games” said Sandra.

“I wouldn’t interfere – I’d be quiet as a mouse – you wouldn’t know I was there” said Archie.

“I’d fucking know alright” I replied. “You pair take the biscuit – I want no part in your wee games.”

I left in a great cloud of righteous indignation vowing never to darken their door again. I did though - I met up with Sandra a couple times after that, but although I still found her most alluring the magic was gone. I’d check the wardrobe for passengers each time and though it was always empty I couldn’t stop thinking about Archie. How did he feel knowing his wife was at home with her lover while he was presumably playing bowls? Knowing he knew just ruined the whole thing for me. I’ve never forgotten the spectator in the wardrobe either and whenever I’m in someone else’s bedroom I always do a quick recce before removing my kit – which looks pretty weird; but it’s a participation sport for me and no audience is required.

.

Dragons

for my head
Shug said
and gave me a wrap
for the pain
all fingers and foil
trembling slightly
I inhaled
the acrid smoke
burning lettuce
slipped easy
into grateful lungs
I was waiting
waiting on a wave
a cool dark one
to sweep me up
and lay me to rest
I smoked myself sick
but even that felt good
in fact everything
felt good
too good
and I saw that
a man could lose himself
chasing dragons
.

Bobby

Bobby and Susan were best buddies
It was purely platonic, so they said
In fact they were so close
That when I asked Susan home
Bobby came as well
I could tell he was crazy for her
His eyes never left her
As we sat drinking coffee
In my living room


I thought I had struck out
Things being the way they were
With Bobby there and all that
I stood up and stretched
Said it was time for my bed
Susan stood up and took my hand
As we both left the room
I clocked Bobby’s dial
There was a look on his face
I’ll never forget
.

Brompton’s

Squeeze me a Brompton’s and blow my joint while I eat this bird. I have a hard on for the kind of high only a hard shot of junk provides. My old man got tarred for drinking this bug juice, but I don’t care about tar – it’s the feathers I object to. I’ll blow my own brains out before I let anyone turn me into a chicken.

Those cold-blooded bastards down at the lizard house have it in for dissenters who sup God’s own from the crystal cup. They incarcerate anyone who jacks up or spreads a little green on his lungs. Their war on drugs is a futile exercise in enforced conformity. The pressures of the market lead to standardisation and the ubiquity of mediocrity.

Prohibition only causes the criminality that keeps the law enforcers in business. Everyone is a would-be snitch. Everybody is an enforcer trying to gun us down in a hail of psychic bullets. Pour me another baby; I’ve come over all terminal. I need to cradle my consciousness in velvet gloves.

.

Joyride

Richard brought her around

they brought some booze

which soon ran out

while he was out buying more

I fucked her on the kitchen table

I still can’t remember her name

but she was a looker

or I was very drunk

Richard arrived back just in time

to see her straighten her dress

and me pulling up my jeans

he had that resigned disappointed look

that told me this was not his first time

he dropped the booze and left

not all bad news then – he left the booze

we drank some more

she tearfully told me she loved him

as I undid her blouse

we fucked with less passion than before

we took the time to get low down and dirty

when the booze was gone

she remembered

she had a full bottle of gin at home

I was beginning to get the impression

that booze was a big part of her life

she took a minute to locate the car keys

“Les go” she said

“No” I replied, “Les call a cab”

she would have none of that

she pronounced,

 in slurred speech,

that she’d drive home

with me or without me

that’s how I found myself driving shotgun

in a weaving death trap

I steered from the passenger seat

and she operated the pedals.

we were both blind drunk.

still, I wasn’t so drunk

that I wasn’t terrified

all the time I was thinking;

will I die like this, drunk in a pile up

with a nymphomaniac alcoholic

squeezing my crotch

as I steer through the blurred traffic

on my way to a bottle of gin?

Christ, I don’t even like gin.