On another occasion in October 1998, I had gone through the usual five
to seven day binge, and I had enough of it. Under my bed, was at least
$300 of some really good cooked rock, but for that moment, I hated it
and wanted to make it die. But again, I needed a witness. A straight
and sober person this time. Someone who would see me torch the devil
away right before their very eyes.
It was after 11PM and I called Sheldon at the front desk and asked him
to send Rodney upstairs. Rodney was a black ****ter who worked the
“graveyard ****ft”. A truly great guy, good worker, and a devout born
again Christian as well. Perfect. Now he was going to see first hand,
the rich white man getting on his knees and beg God for His
forgiveness. Which I did. But not until I reached under the bed and
pulled out the 15 or so bags and paraphernalia to his complete shock.
I then promptly refilled my trusty $65 butane torch and proceeded to
melt the bags on a Hermes ashtray. As I later cried my eyes away, it
was comforting to have a decent, compassionate individual in my
apartment. Besides me. That’s what always made doing it so difficult. I
was completely alone with no one to watch my back except me. So once
again, I needed my hero to come and save me. The hero inside, that was
me.
As the years progressed, however, my hero didn’t show up as often as he
used to.
I think I know why.
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