PCP what a wacky wonderful mindfuck…
Last time I puffed it was an accident. I was strung out and took the train to meet my usual chick to go cop some heroin. I was sick and scattered, we had to walk a block or two or three and she sparked up a half joint. Passed it to me and mumbled something about it being a primo [crack+tobacco/coke+weed]. I was busy calculating my piles of powder in my head and took a couple good rips, yup she’s rockin it as that familiar rush zooms thru my body. Another couple pulls… wait a minute here. What did you say that was?
Just rock right? Oh sherm also, great.
Ahh shit, the sidewalk starts to shift sideways and my vision is skewed. Tripping over my own feet, legs of jello. Finally we get to her place, I give her my cash I go inside to wait and watch TV with her grandma.
I start buggin on the 1950’s like TV with the aluminum foil antennas, the room is taking on the typical PCP warp and we sit in silence, among the plastic covered couch [which I feel a connection with thick yellowed plastic, it feels as if its the fluid that has taken over the atmosphere, slow air bubbles burst, I want to roll in the plastic, I hold back though]. My dope girl comes back and throws down a big pile of bags and a few rocks. Asks if I need fresh needles, uh no thanks. I got my own. So me geeked on PCP, tweaked on rock, sick from not having dope I start fumbling with my bags on a TV tray [who has those anymore?] and their taped up and I am having the hardest time trying to open them up, depth perception screwed. The girl is giggling watching me. The grandma seems comatose, wonder what she’s on?
Anyways, I dump 2 bags into my cooker, squirt, filter, suck, Ok ready. Tie off and my veins were horrible at this time I had to dig to find one. Being sick, cracked-out, and pcp fueled doesnt really equate to a easy injection. Needless to say I finally hit and whoooshhh all that anxiety and tripped out crackiness vanished. I tipped ‘whats-her-face’ 10 bucks and she walks me down to the ‘EL’. Than she starts fucking with me telling me she saw some stick-up kids on the way back and we better hurry. Yea funny shit… your lucky your dope is killer. I had a over a grand in my sock under my foot, and a couple 20 in my sock [just incase] but best of all I had a winter coat pocket fulla dope.
Uh whats inside your pocket, uh the inside of my pocket.
I split and made my way up the train platform, packed a pipe load and let that plastic smoke tingle the hairs on my neck. Exhaling when a train flew by the other direction. The auditory hallucinations ringing thru me as my body shakes as the train platform trembles from the passing train. Yum, Good rock. I rip the stem again, ignoring the shells of humans cluttered with their daily nonsense and enter the train.
Deranged eyeballs stare,
I sweat and twitch,
The trains windows etched in graffiti, obscure the glare
Underwater pcp bubbles, slanted
I shoot more dope and smoke more base
Steal your head, right off your face
laced
Seedless 
February 22, 2006 at 10:03 am
Good story! Made me remember some shermed out days/nights and how weird of a substance it is. Keep up the stories man, I love reading them! Be safe and have fun.
March 10, 2006 at 1:06 pm
This little tale perfectly sums up why I am so in love with opiates, specifically, their ability to disarm all those ill feelings that usually accompany the ingestion of CNS-stimulants. I’m sitting here right now, thinking about a point in time (less than three hours now) in the future and hoping that everything goes as planned and the dope man lands.