Contributor: George Sparling
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I used to get persistent thoughts of going to prison without Deadazine, the guards not handing out my usual nighttime dose. Denial of D, especially by strangers wearing uniforms and packing Tasers, wasn’t like withdrawing from it gradually under a psychiatrist’s script-wring hands.
“Getting a dozen 50,000 volts, wires sticking into my heart, I hovered over my corpse witnessing a wasted life. My only success: death,” I said, wearing boxer shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, looking at the kitchen floor.
“Steve, you’ll never go to prison. Take the med,” Nan said, handing me the huge tablet which I downed with Ginseng tea, a culture clash I never resolved. Nan used to snort Kleenex-soaked crank. Now she never had to blow her nose, just let the booger-clogged nostrils absorb her snot.
“It’s leaking out...
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Author:
George Sparling
