Streetwalkers at night and children by day. Daddy’s little girl looks up at a beautiful boy with heroin-fueled eyes hoping there is room for her in his cocaine damaged heart. He likes to watch her touch herself from across the room as he drinks his gin. Her friend smokes a cigarette next to her and she gives her a drag. He knows he could have them at the same time. The bums know them and it makes them feel like junkie queens. The girls are so used to being grabbed and kissed by these homeless men that they don’t mind the smell of the urine on their jeans and missing teeth. Every one knows these types of girls. The ones that have too much fun and misunderstood Lolita because they watched it too young. They stop at their usually pizza spot to make their payment for a bundle of dope. The girls take turns getting the advantages from what most girls are dumb enough to do for free. He is waiting in the bathroom, so her friend waits outside. When she comes out, she tells her, “I hate those types guys.” But, they both know it’s a lie. Every girl loves how it feels inside. Her friend jokes, ” We do what we need to survive.”
They run to the McDonald bathroom to cook their medicine and inject it in their veins. She is 30 and has been on dope since 14. Her best friend is new and only 18. She is the only person she can’t really lie to, so she tells her the truth. She says, “You don’t want to end up like me. This is obviously a problem. I let one of my friends die right next to me last week, just so I could have their bags and money…. (Sighs)…you don’t want to spend your life getting high for free. Its exhausting…I only do…cause its the only time…I don’t feel him on me.” Her friend just stares at her for a while, then roll up her shelve and shoots another bag. Even though she means it and love her friend there is a sense of relief. She loves her so much, so selfishly that she would rather have her never leave. She knows that they will both die one day, so why not together? Like Juliet and Juliet.
They walk around the Lower East Side, wide eyed, time suspended. They live on a 711 diet paid by panhandled coins. These girls flash smiles at the crusty boys that steal them beer from the corner store in hopes of fucking on the sidewalk. They do, but only out of numbness and boredom. It’s not what they want, but it’s a taste of real life. She is used to it, but her friend isn’t. She cries about it because she is still waiting for a man to come ad force her to trade in her needles for pearls. But, She loves the feeling of the dirty skin and whiskey breath of the bums that chase her and the hotel rooms that the suits buy her. She loves being what they want and being able to pick and choose. She loves to hear about how she tastes.
Eventually, they will make it to the other side of respectable life or they will be buried alive. People say you can’t stay out all night for the rest of your life. Her best friend was sent away. She stood on the platform, watching metro north pull away. She swept like a baby cause she knew she was never coming back. If her friend survives rehab, she won’t be the same. She sits at the bar that they used to meet at in hopes of seeing her face. But, she won’t. She does not recognize a single face. The junkie crowd is gone. Not even the boy that stole her can be found. He was the only one who didn’t tolerant her track marks, but found them beautiful. He didn’t want to save her or change her. He could have made her happy. Him, her and Mr. brownstone could have been so happy. But, he is gone. The entire crack squad is gone. They probably all OD’d. She is sad, but not really surprised. It’s the junkies’ fate.
The more I think about it, I can’t believe that was me.