Crystal Magic Meth by John Patrick Robbins

John Robb new

Crystal Magic Meth

 

He had been up for days looking out the window, wondering were the cops staking him out .

Talking to friends and mostly the voices in his head.

 

He dialed his dealer and left yet another voice message.

 

Tommy was speeding out of control but so is the nature of the beast on any good binge no matter your poison.

 

He picked at his skin,  he lost track of reality .

It was far from the bullshit they sell you on some after school special.

 

He didn’t know what it was, he only understood it was his center and the only thing that felt right.

 

Totally spun and running on fumes of death and decay.

Tomorrow did not exist as it all became a blur.

 

“Dude you need to fucking sleep !”

 

Bob yelled at him.

His old friend was beyond frustrated, as  he battled his own vices.

 

And watching Tommy go off the tracks was far from easy without any true way to help himself let alone his old friend.

 

“Fuck man you see that house over there ?, somethings up with those people man !, I’m telling you they’re watching us!”

 

“It’s that shit you’re on dude !, nobody is out to get you , well maybe that dude right there jogging down the street!”

 

Tommy looked through the blinds before he caught on his old friend was fucking with him.

 

“You fucking goober .”

 

Tommy shook his head and had to laugh .

 

Even in a fog of his own, Bob could always be a first class smart ass.

 

Tommy knew the shit was getting to him but so was life in general.

The party was always full throttle with him and his roommate.

 

Maybe that’s why they truly understood one another and clicked from the start.

 

He checked his phone just in case he didn’t hear it go off.

 

 

Still no reply .

 

“Shit man , let’s go to the bar I need something to fucking come down.”

 

“You need to stop fucking with that shit dude and you would be fine, but hell if you’re buying let’s get the fuck out of here !”

 

The ride to the Thirsty Camel was quick, they joked about all the same bullshit.

 

Women and the lack there of them.

Old drinking stories.

 

“We really both been through the ringer huh cowboy ?”

 

“If you consider we both poison ourselves nonstop with toxic chemicals and slightly toxic relationships. Yeah you could say we certainly had our fair share of troubles brother.”

 

It’s weird how two of the most toxic people can forge a friendship that’s more honest than those of so called normal people.

 

The Thirsty Camel was dead as always.

And Tommy was glad for that, Bob was bad enough around close friends let alone total strangers.

 

And as spun as Tommy was, the last thing he needed was to be playing referee between some stranger and his often inebriated friend.

 

Becky behind the bar tried to pretend Tommy didn’t look like he was on the verge of death.

 

“Hello stranger what will it be?”

 

The usual for me sweetheart and whatever my buddy’s having .”

 

Becky looked at Tommy and paused for a second .

 

Then she got his Beam and coke placed it in front of him as she leaned in close.

 

“Tommy are you alright?”

 

“No I am Tommy, that alright fucker I ditched while I was hopping bars with another dude called Mr okay.”

 

An old fart halfway across the bar snickered as he shook his head.

 

“Tommy I’m not joking , you do realize you came in here by yourself right ?”

 

Tommy just looked beside him where there was nothing but an empty stool where Bob  should be.

 

He just acted quick and played it off as a joke.

 

Ordred a club sandwich and some fries to go .

 

Sometimes on a good binge of any kind we are confronted by our own personal demons .

 

And other times we share space with some old familiar ghosts.

 

Tommy stopped calling his dealer least for that night.

 

Bob always said you can’t chase the sunset and expect nothing more than the darkness eventually.

 

Sometimes he heard voices and spoke to old friends .

And old memories came to life and told more truth than any living fool cared to share.

 

Eventually he would kick the habit or die trying.

 

Old ghost’s and familiar faces are seldom left behind.

 

John Patrick Robbins is the editor in chief of the Rye Whiskey Review , The Abyss and The Black Shamrock Magazine .
His work has been published here at Punk Noir Magazine , Ariel Chart,  San Pedro River Review , San Antonio Review,  Piker Press, The Blue Nib, Red Fez , As It Ought To Be Magazine.
He is also the author of If Walls Could Speak Mine Would Blush published under his pen name Frank Murphy from Syndicate Press.
His work is always unfiltered.