



How many klonopin did I take? 2? 4? And a phenergan too? Ugh. Benzos are like magic. You take one then the rest disappear. One day I had taken a handful of klonopin after my mediocre shot of heroin. Apparently, I was walking against a parking meter. I thought I was still walking up the street. I know this because the paramedics stopped me. They parked next to me. They watched me for awhile. I learned that evening that they can NOT narcan you if you are standing aka ambulatory even if you are walking into a parking meter. I supposed they could have taken me to the psych ward. Sometimes they do if you are weaving in and out of traffic. I got hit by a car once but I was dopesick that day. I wasn't trying to kill myself or get pills at the hospital. They guy almost backed over my head to get away in his Mercedes. It was a hit and run. Fuck, I have bad luck.



I drifted back to sleep. THE BLOOD!!!! Fuck, get it together Tracey. There is crusted blood all down my arm. Or is it chocolate? I have fallen asleep with a thing of Hershey's Chocolate Syrup by my face. I also passed out on top of a pint of coffee ice cream. I lick the stain. Not chocolate. It has that salty taste like tears or sweat mixed with pennies. There is blood caked on my arm, on the sleeve of my shirt. Then I feel something poking my skin. I reach down between my leg and my arm. What the fuck? A bent syringe with blood and dope in there. Jesus fucking Christ. What happened last night?



I remember when I was young. I used to drink with my friends. I would do all kinds of stupid shit like flash my tits to strangers on the highway or make out with some hot guy I barely knew. Or maybe even an ugly one with a great personality. My life seemed EPIC, like a fucking adventure. I would have a few beers with my friends. We would play cards or videogames. Boys would light their farts on fire. Someone would end up passing out before midnight. I had friends then. There was always someone who would hold my hair to the side if I started puking. People cared about me then. People gave a shit if I got home at night. People called me the next day to replay the events of the prior evening. Things were FUN. I had fun back then. Now, I wake up alone.





I can piece together my night through evidence. I find an empty bottle of pills. Some were mine. I had a script for a few pain killers from when I got my abscess drained. There was some other things in there as well. It had been the pharmacological version of skittles in the bottle. I guess I had tasted the rainbow. I see I have pants on. My feet are still in the right location. Nothing is broken. Check, check, check.





I hear a disembodied voice "mom!...mommy!!!!" I jump to sitting. Am I hallucinating? No.





On the floor, I see a body curled up under a blanket. This just keeps getting better and better. I am afraid to get off the bed to investigate when I come to the conclusion I have NO fucking idea where I am. I mean I know I am in San Francisco (I think).





This is not my room.

This is not my bed.

These are not my clothes.





I need some answers.





I creep over to see who is sleeping on the floor. I am not sure. It is a man. I can tell from some whiskers. They have sparkly blue eye shadow and mascara running down the corners of their eyes. They are sunburnt in multiple layers around their face with just a hint of lipgloss streaming from their mouth to their chin. For whatever reason, I find this comforting. Misery loves company. I am not alone. Me and this bitch are in it to win it.





I curl up next to them. No, I'm not mommy but I know when someone doesn't want to be alone. There will be plenty of time to talk later. For now, I just want to sleep.





I would rather wake up like this.









Blood. I'm covered in blood. Where did all this blood come from? Crusted old blood. I wish I had some toothpicks to prop my eyes open.