i just began re-reading junky in the tub and i would be lying if i said i didn’t feel like doing heroin about now. i’m easy prey for the glorification of addiction novels. i have never tried heroin and i doubt i ever will, that’s a bottom i dare not wish to hit. this book is the closest i will ever get to it.
to write about shit like this like it is an artform, the desire of getting fucked up and sitting semi-circle face-to-face discussing the evolution of i dunno, dinner plates during a time before computers and rollerblades, who can fucking resist that? i know i can’t and i know that i don’t bother to try much. sitting in a starbuck’s with your classmate eating brownies, where’s the romance? i’d rather have dirt stains on the soles of my feet lying on my back in a forgotten field, fucked out of my head, talking about a book i will never write and the things i never said.
anyway, like i says, easy prey.
