CHAPTER TWO (2)

He procured his small glass pipe and began to load it with the last bit of weed he had in a Carmex container. Mersh, despicable. The worst weed there was; made you giggle. No, he needed his batch to be ready – there were too many injustices going on in his life, God! He thought, If I could just smoke some hydro. He took a hit off the small pipe. Well, it’s better than nothing… at least this mersh didn’t have paper clips in it.

A while back, Mitzi had entered Squirley’s apartment on Miracle Mile, with  hesitation of course for it was dangerous to be white in that neighborhood unless you were Toddy. The day was filthy, but then, days and weeks, months and years always seemed to be filthy on the Mile. Mexican prostitutes, fresh from south of the border always seemed to settle on its every corner and their Josés were forever close by. Regardless of environment, the aim at all cost was to secure some kind bud, but if all else failed, some mersh.

Mitzi knocked and cautiously scanned the apartment complex: a black man speaking to his “neighbor” – which he kept calling him his neighbor for some reason – and shaking the other’s hand the whole while. Matt could see money in his shake. Children crying desperately, Crack babies, no doubt, he thought. These were the dregs, the ass of man-kind in which only destitution and addiction spawned like a viral infection. He suddenly felt the urge to shower, if not, at least to wash his hands.

“Who is it?” yelled a voice from inside the door. The peep hole had been turned inside out – probably some hair-brained scheme by Toddy. Matt peered into it curiously and a colossal brown eye appeared and disappeared. Through the cracked window, the same ordinarily-sized eye appeared.

“Would you mind letting me in, Squirley?”

“Password, please.” There was no damned password, but Mitzi played his game to get out of the bedlam of the complex and into the probable fire of the studio.

“Uhhh… Kind?”

“Enter.”

Matt stepped into the filthy apartment, disregarding the fact that Toddy was asleep on the fold-in bed. The carpet had probably never been cleaned, it seemed to be a shag from the seventies or even earlier. Probably fairer at its installation, now it resembled the oily brunette of the Mexican prostitutes, but much, much older. The smell of Scwampagne wafted through the stale air, and Matt felt nauseous. It was as if the infection was seeping through the cracked window and slowly consuming them, too. By god, how did they look so clean at work?

“Mitzi – I could only score some mersh. I hope you don’t mind.”

Not at this point, he was too dry.

“Naw, its cool.”

“Its just that everyone’s dry, even Pruge. Apparently there’s a war in some Mexican border towns and the Feds are cracking down. So I’m gonna have to steep you, man. Sorry, but I’m not even making a profit. I wish I knew someone who grew.”

“Yeah, me too.” Said Matt.

Squirley handed Mitzi the plastic casing of a cigarette box full of mersh, and Mitzi methodically put it to his nose. Toddy had started to snore.

“Yeah, its mersh alright.”

“Sorry, dog. It’s the best I could do.”

Ryan seized the tiny back and began to burn the plastic to seal out the air. Mitzi noticed the paperclip at the bottom of the bag and a few strands of brunette hair.

“You measure that?” Mitzi asked.

“Sure did.” What a piece of shit, that Squirley was, weighing in a paper clip! But Mitzi refrained from speaking; the sooner he got out of here, the better.

After Ryan sealed the bag, he produced from his pocket a similar bag and ripped it open. “You wanta taste? It’s the same stuff.”

He did. They smoked. It hit him like a small ton of bricks. Mersh could sometimes do that.