Nick on a Bender
Nick on a bender is something to see. He came stumbling into my place sometime after midnight, I'm not really sure as I was dozing on the couch, feeling kind of sad about Steve. My quiet joy at the prospect of him returning to Melbourne had evaporated.
"Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring!"
I opened the door and standing there was someone, or something that resembled Nick.
"Happy NEW YEAR!" Big eyes.
"Happy New Year mate."
He'd been going since New Year's Eve. Good meth, he said.
"I've been dancing, I've been fucking, I've been dancing, I've been fucking. I've been fucking dancing."
"It's 10am, Nick!"
"Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhh, isn't it great."
"Don't you have to go back to work?"
"No, not anytime soon. Got a joint?"
"Where have you been?"
"I've been everywhere, man. I've been everywhere..."
"No, this morning?"
"Ooooohhhh." Some kind of an attempt at a serious face. "Out." Hands in the air. "Some place." Shaking head. "Just getting home, or something." His pupils were huge, black hole in the universe. His eyes wouldn't line up together. "Where's that fucking joint? A man's not a fucking camel, you know!"
So, we got shiface stone before midday.
“What year is it,” Nick suddenly asked.
He regaled me with the body count, the pipes, the pills, the days blurring into one. “I remember there was a 31 year old accountant in a city apartment. Then I was at some under ground club. The next thing I remember I was at 80, and there was a guy in a suit who had just come from a new year wedding, who had over dosed on heterosexuals.”
“In the closet?”
“You know, just how I like them.”
“Was there parting sorrow?”
“No, we are catching up next weekend.” He started to power down. “He was nice.” Nick was closing his eyes. “Tall, 6 feet. Why do we still say height in feet?”
And then he promptly passed out.
And, I have to say, I felt better.
"Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring! Ring, ring!"
I opened the door and standing there was someone, or something that resembled Nick.
"Happy NEW YEAR!" Big eyes.
"Happy New Year mate."
He'd been going since New Year's Eve. Good meth, he said.
"I've been dancing, I've been fucking, I've been dancing, I've been fucking. I've been fucking dancing."
"It's 10am, Nick!"
"Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhh, isn't it great."
"Don't you have to go back to work?"
"No, not anytime soon. Got a joint?"
"Where have you been?"
"I've been everywhere, man. I've been everywhere..."
"No, this morning?"
"Ooooohhhh." Some kind of an attempt at a serious face. "Out." Hands in the air. "Some place." Shaking head. "Just getting home, or something." His pupils were huge, black hole in the universe. His eyes wouldn't line up together. "Where's that fucking joint? A man's not a fucking camel, you know!"
So, we got shiface stone before midday.
“What year is it,” Nick suddenly asked.
He regaled me with the body count, the pipes, the pills, the days blurring into one. “I remember there was a 31 year old accountant in a city apartment. Then I was at some under ground club. The next thing I remember I was at 80, and there was a guy in a suit who had just come from a new year wedding, who had over dosed on heterosexuals.”
“In the closet?”
“You know, just how I like them.”
“Was there parting sorrow?”
“No, we are catching up next weekend.” He started to power down. “He was nice.” Nick was closing his eyes. “Tall, 6 feet. Why do we still say height in feet?”
And then he promptly passed out.
And, I have to say, I felt better.
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