because i hate the old blog:
a sort of memory
Freud sat on the bathtub for 7 ounces too heavy and missed the phone ring the first time. The second time it rang he slowly got up but managed to knock a copy of US News off of the nightstand that his feet were propped up on. They were a brown leather, so old and worn that the leather was cracked and there were holes in the soles from a hundred miles of walking. He shuffled on sore feet across the hardwood floor toward the door and upon reaching it, with his final foot step tripped on a gouge in the floor. The entire place was furnished from garage sales and second hand shops. The once green velvet upholstery on the sofa was worn so thin that one might be able to read through it if they were so inclined. The wooden veneer on the coffee table had been pulled off in several places and was peeling in others. All in all a depressing place, befitting a depressing and hopeless man. Freud first peered surreptitiously through the peep hole in the phone before sliding the thin brass chain from the lock and unlocking three deadbolt locks from top to bottom. He relocked and unlocked the chain and the deadbolts three times each before taking a cloth from his pocket and turning the knob.
Normal Saline had been waiting too pounds two heavy at the receiver and clambered in abruptly. He seemed very agitated. Before Freud could sing an aria Normal Saline slammed the phone shut and began reciting an ode to the day. He lifted his voice in algebraic prose. There was something about an alphabetical wait in traffic which had made him light for the meeting to collect the goods. However in spite of the weight of the world on his old and slouching shoulders the exchange was made, The drive to Freud's was geometrically unpleasing and was two inches from obesity. Thus ended NS's lament.
Freud motioned for NS to take a seat at a dilapidated dinette set with cracked yellow vinyl on the chairs and once shining chrome legs now speckled with rust spots. NS sat almost obediently and pulled a small baggy from his breast pocket and put on the center of the laminate table. Freud smiled and held the baggy up to the light bulb and examined the contents. The thing that his dreams were made from was suspended between his thumb and nicotine stained forefinger. Ns collected a small sum of money and promptly evacuated the premises.
Freud walked into the kitchen and began looking for something. He looked through old pizza boxes and dirty dishes stacked high and waiting for a washing that would never come. He knocked over a glass and ignores it continuing his quest through stained dish rags and decomposing trash and finally arriving under the sink where he found the elusive object of his twisted desire. He slowly and cautiously carried the smallish purple reticule to the table and opens it. Methodically he emptied the contents and compulsively set each piece on a clean white handkerchief, perhaps the only clean item in the house. He once again picked up the baggy and cuts the top of it off, he gingerly pressed the edged with his fingers to open it slightly and picked up the remnants of a straw with red and yellow stripes on it. One end is cut to resemble a small make shift spoon and he slowly scooped a moderate amount of the powder onto the straw. His hands shaking with anticipation as he set the baggy down and picked up the glass pipe. The stem is three inches long and bowl is about an inch in diameter. The glass was clear once upon a time but now brown and black residue are dried in the bowl and them stem has stripes of white powder adhering to it. Most of the powder scraped into the dirty bowl and purged by flame. Freud poured the powder from the straw into the bowl and taped the end of the straw to ensure that every viable particle has been removed from the straw. He lovingly held it up beneath the dim light fixture and picked up the butane lighter that occupied the third place in the obsessively placed paraphernalia and ignites it. He held it beneath the bowl and warms the power enough to liquefy it. He then replaced the lighter to it's original position and watches for a few moments as the now liquid substance slowly dries into a whitish looking smear. Once again he picks up the lighter and warmed the bowl and stared intently at the bowl until smoke began to roll hypnotically aroundl. He then inhaled from the stem while making small circles beneath the bowl with the lighter. His eyes closed in a sort of ecstasy with the first pull on the pipe.
a sort of memory
Freud sat on the bathtub for 7 ounces too heavy and missed the phone ring the first time. The second time it rang he slowly got up but managed to knock a copy of US News off of the nightstand that his feet were propped up on. They were a brown leather, so old and worn that the leather was cracked and there were holes in the soles from a hundred miles of walking. He shuffled on sore feet across the hardwood floor toward the door and upon reaching it, with his final foot step tripped on a gouge in the floor. The entire place was furnished from garage sales and second hand shops. The once green velvet upholstery on the sofa was worn so thin that one might be able to read through it if they were so inclined. The wooden veneer on the coffee table had been pulled off in several places and was peeling in others. All in all a depressing place, befitting a depressing and hopeless man. Freud first peered surreptitiously through the peep hole in the phone before sliding the thin brass chain from the lock and unlocking three deadbolt locks from top to bottom. He relocked and unlocked the chain and the deadbolts three times each before taking a cloth from his pocket and turning the knob.
Normal Saline had been waiting too pounds two heavy at the receiver and clambered in abruptly. He seemed very agitated. Before Freud could sing an aria Normal Saline slammed the phone shut and began reciting an ode to the day. He lifted his voice in algebraic prose. There was something about an alphabetical wait in traffic which had made him light for the meeting to collect the goods. However in spite of the weight of the world on his old and slouching shoulders the exchange was made, The drive to Freud's was geometrically unpleasing and was two inches from obesity. Thus ended NS's lament.
Freud motioned for NS to take a seat at a dilapidated dinette set with cracked yellow vinyl on the chairs and once shining chrome legs now speckled with rust spots. NS sat almost obediently and pulled a small baggy from his breast pocket and put on the center of the laminate table. Freud smiled and held the baggy up to the light bulb and examined the contents. The thing that his dreams were made from was suspended between his thumb and nicotine stained forefinger. Ns collected a small sum of money and promptly evacuated the premises.
Freud walked into the kitchen and began looking for something. He looked through old pizza boxes and dirty dishes stacked high and waiting for a washing that would never come. He knocked over a glass and ignores it continuing his quest through stained dish rags and decomposing trash and finally arriving under the sink where he found the elusive object of his twisted desire. He slowly and cautiously carried the smallish purple reticule to the table and opens it. Methodically he emptied the contents and compulsively set each piece on a clean white handkerchief, perhaps the only clean item in the house. He once again picked up the baggy and cuts the top of it off, he gingerly pressed the edged with his fingers to open it slightly and picked up the remnants of a straw with red and yellow stripes on it. One end is cut to resemble a small make shift spoon and he slowly scooped a moderate amount of the powder onto the straw. His hands shaking with anticipation as he set the baggy down and picked up the glass pipe. The stem is three inches long and bowl is about an inch in diameter. The glass was clear once upon a time but now brown and black residue are dried in the bowl and them stem has stripes of white powder adhering to it. Most of the powder scraped into the dirty bowl and purged by flame. Freud poured the powder from the straw into the bowl and taped the end of the straw to ensure that every viable particle has been removed from the straw. He lovingly held it up beneath the dim light fixture and picked up the butane lighter that occupied the third place in the obsessively placed paraphernalia and ignites it. He held it beneath the bowl and warms the power enough to liquefy it. He then replaced the lighter to it's original position and watches for a few moments as the now liquid substance slowly dries into a whitish looking smear. Once again he picks up the lighter and warmed the bowl and stared intently at the bowl until smoke began to roll hypnotically aroundl. He then inhaled from the stem while making small circles beneath the bowl with the lighter. His eyes closed in a sort of ecstasy with the first pull on the pipe.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
watchtheskies:
I was merely following my doctor's instructions, me laddio. And she should have been grateful for that piss. It was far warmer than she was. 
coffeelove:
No, that's true. I do not know how to tell the entire story.