Intervention
Yeah, that Intervention. That’s where I’m headed if I can’t stop my addiction. I guess I’m halfway to being cured cuz I recognize I have a problem. Big time problem. Damn it though, it feels so good when I do it. It puts me on another plane, I just can’t explain it. I can score just about whenever or wherever. Got my latest fix today in Burtonsville, yesterday, College Park. I find myself justifying reasons to be in certain parts of town.
To look at me you’d have zilch-point-shit idea anything was going on. I look and act normal, for the most part. Forget about the money I’m blowing, I just don’t care. Wasting gas at plus $4 a gallon, who gives a shit. I’ll drive anywhere to get what I need.
It goes something like this:
Me, “Hey baby whassup?”
Connection, “Whassup with you playa?”
Me, “You know, it’s your world I’m just living in it.”
Connection, “Whadya need? . . . got a new ship in, limes are killa yo. Get some reds on, they da bomb . . . blues are . . .”
Me, “Stop it. You know exactly what I want.”
Connection, “Damn, you do need this, you all jumpy an shit.”
Me, “Yeah, yeah whatever, I got a problem, blah, blah, blah, hurry up.”
Connection, “That’ll be . . .”
Me, “I know how much, damn.”
Rinse and repeat. That’s me now. That’s my life 24/7*. It’ll stay like that until the end of the summer when things seem to change. I get a little more rational through fall and winter. Come spring, it starts all over again. That’s when Rita’s opens and I can get my mango ice on once again.
*OK, maybe that was channeling The Wire a bit too much. OK, a lot too much. But, every time I get my mango ice on I do channel Clay Davis, “Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiittttt.”
