Blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, hopped up on angel dust with the angel of death…

It was the hottest day of the summer and I woke up with a fever of 102. I had just recently lost my home, my sanctuary and my string of puppies that I kindly referred to as my friends.

Not knowing how to grapple with reality, I decided to blur my ostensibly shitty existence with copious amounts of drugs. Poison of choice – heroin mixed with a Xanax cocktail. I already had the syringes in place and now all I needed was a location to shoot it. Unwilling to go to my family for help, I found a haven for my drug purpose in the bathroom of a Dunkin donuts. Constantly making trips to the bathroom to shoot dope became second nature for me that night. Dope running through my veins and Xanax in my brain with this bloody fever consuming my body when suddenly and without notice, everything went dark and I blacked out.

What seemed like a few hours turned into a full day and I found myself in bandages and an IV in the hospital. I was told that day what I already knew. Massive amounts of herion were found in my system followed by a heat stroke and exhaustion. The resident doctor on call advised me to go to the detox center but my head advised against it. Why would I go now? I had too much to take care of. So many things to do and not enough time to do it and yet, at that moment I couldn’t think of one thing to do except the very thought of doing nothing. So I ventured out of that Coney Island hospital prison and set out on my next adventure. With ten dollars left to my name, I was discouraged of the many possibilities that were not available to me. But I was also hopeful. I was in New York City. The city that never slept! I was bound to find something to do and I did.

By 1am, I found myself roaming the city filled with bright lights and hopeful faces. God, how I hated those damn faces. Those stupid visages only seen on the infestation of tourists that came to visit Times Square. Amidst all the hustle and flow of the city, I stumbled upon a 24 hour Starbucks and decidedly agreed that this would be my next haven. By the window I found an elaborate sign made by a homeless man which I used to my advantage. Entering the Starbucks, I nestled into one of their more comfier chairs with my sign in place and a cup beside it and slowly dozed off. I woke up next morning and found 10$ to my surprise.

The next night, I roamed the streets once again, but this time to find myself surrounded by the downtrodden grimaces that consumed the faces of the depraved and impoverished. Not having a sanctuary in sight I parked myself next to the only bum that seemed friendly enough to let me occupy his space. We talked about life and what it felt like to be homeless. What one can do to get by, where one can sleep, where one can get drugs. And of course those bums knew exactly where to cop all the goodies. So of course that night, both the hobo and I found some dope to satiate our thirst and cheered to life as we knew it.

By 3am, I noticed that the city began to wind down. There weren’t many jovial faces or saddened visages. Quite the contrary – civilization seemed to come to a standstill and for once I saw the city that never sleeps, slept on a Tuesday. Not knowing of what to do next or where to go, I reluctantly entered a 24 hour Macdonalds. Some would have decided to finally call it a night and go home, but all I needed was cheap food, great lighting and good ventilation, and I was content. In between taking ten micro naps a minute, I suddenly found myself in the presence of a tall dark figure. It was a man, a very tall man, a very blonde man with chiseled features, piercing green eyes dressed all in black tailored perfectly to his body. He wobbled over to me, almost gracefully dancing over to my table and looked at me slightly perplexed but more intrigued. He glared and finally said

“Why are you here with your sign, you don’t look homeless?”

Taken off guard, I hesitated a response because honestly I did not have one. Why was I here? That was a good question that required a good answer, but in my depraved and tired state I didn’t dare venture an answer. So I glared back and said “I don’t know.”

He looked again, with his fiery eyes and handed me a roach and said “smoke this and make sure to take a good long pull and hold it in.” Who was I to say no to free drugs or free anything at this point, so I took a long deep hard pull…and then it hit me.

It hit me like a bullet through my brain. It hit me all at once and in levels. I couldn’t understand how or what or why that was possible. Weed never hit me like this before. All of a sudden I began revaluating my entire existence, all my decisions that led exactly to this day. And I looked at that tall dark figure and asked “What is this?” He slyly muttered “Angel dust” – my mind was racing at ten million miles a second and throughout that treacherous mind race, I was constantly thinking one thing “who is this man, and why is he here?”

I looked at him and posed the question. He didn’t answer but it’s what he didn’t say that scared me. For that one moment in my life, I was in the presence of pure evil. His energy transcended and I could feel exactly where this would go next.

I looked at him and asked “What are you doing after this?” He replied, “going home.”

“Where’s home?” I asked. He said, “up there,” as he pointed towards the sky. “Up where?” I asked again. He said, “Up there. Come with me.”

I looked at him quizzically and reluctantly said, “It’s my time isn’t it?” He agreed and said “yes it is, come with me.”

As I stared into the night and looked at what I became, I knew that this couldn’t be it. I looked into the night, then at myself and then at him, except he was gone. It’s almost as if he evaporated into the darkness never to be seen again. It was that night that I realized I had a rendezvous with the angel of death on angel dust .

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