12/18/98

i woke up this morning had a scoop of ice cream, a shot of whiskey, and a cup of coffee. i don't usually behave this way but last night was the holiday party, and i work for a large corporation. i'm one of those fringe guys, a part timer, i answer phones and teach classes. i don't call any shots, i don't make any rules. last night was the holiday party.

the booze was free, people mingled. it was neither as bad nor good as i expected. the food was not quite mediocre and i was glad i had eaten a tuna sandwich before showing up. in anticipation we were drinking wine in the office and i was the last to arrive.

last night was the holiday party, i'm kind of a fringe character in corporate america. while drinking with the academic manager i asked if i he thought i would ever have a real job, with responsibility. he laughed and said, "i wouldn't hire you." i laughed as well. it was a good laugh. when the laughing stopped we went back to our beers but remained standing very close to one another.

my boss the sales manager cornered me by the tables on the patio. he said he'd read part of my book. he asked me if i did drugs and i said, "no, not really." "is anything in the book true," he asked. i was already drunk. i said, "sure, it's all true except nobody died." he asked me if i wanted to smoke some crack with him later and i told him that would be fine even though i hadn't hit a pipe in a good three years and i knew it was a bad idea.

i'm the type of guy that says yes. i follow through on bad ideas against my better wishes and my boss has a real strong personality.

many beers later we were rid of his girl and my girl and we were down in the hayes valley. he was walking very quickly so i knew he was a crackhead. it explained a lot about the way he worked. the way he sometimes heard everything and sometimes heard nothing, his mood swings. it all made perfect sense lit by the bars on lower haight.

"give me ten dollars," he said. "i've only got a twenty." "i'll bring you change." and then he was gone. i walked into a bar and ordered a beer, sat at the bar and read a free newspaper. my boss was back in no time flat. i asked him if he wanted a beer and he took a long pull from my glass and said, "let's split."

"you got my ten bucks," i asked. "no, i've got five." i took the five from him. he said he'd buy me lunch on tuesday. i said, "that's ok, there's never any change in rockville." he put his arm around my shoulder. "that's what i love about you man."

we drove back to my place in portero hill. i live on the bottom of the hill. the view from my window is spectacular in that there is absolutely nothing there except for the grating. i told my roommate who was sitting in the living room, "look, frank, today was the holiday party and my boss is here and we're gonna drink some beer and do some cocaine so don't think i'm a junky 'cause i don't do this stuff that often but if i'm acting weird that's why."

"it's cool man," he said to me.

we cooked up the rock in my bosses pipe. what i hate about crack is all the butane you inhale heating up the rock. it's like eating a lighter. i let my boss know he needed to get me some admissions consulting because my cash was running low. he squinted and nodded his head. he sure knew how to hit that pipe. i would follow him, smoking the resin off the screen.

we didn't talk about much. it wasn't like when i used to snort blow with louie and lie around in empty apartments with wooden floors and tell each other how much we loved each other and then one star filled night an open mouthed kiss on ada avenue. it wasn't like that. louie and i had a view. me and my boss didn't talk much, sat on my couch hitting that pipe. it felt alright. i clenched my teeth a lot and i knew my mouth would be sore in the morning. we waited for his roommate to show up but his roommate didn't.

i guess i was smart. at some point i switched from beer to water. i've learned a few things from being on the other side of the tracks. i fell asleep and my boss left and when i woke up i was a lump of clay on my couch.

this morning i got a phone call from michelle. i had decided i loved michelle. she called to let me know she had read a story i wrote and didn't like it very much. she thought i could rewrite it. she said i should write a story about a person that comes from nothing and really succeeds. i told her it's been written already. she said i could make it original. then we talked about nothing.

michelle's got great skin. soft like silk to the touch. she smells like a rose. one night i slept in her bed and i slipped my hand between her closed thighs. it was the farthest i ever got. on the phone she said, "maybe we should just hang out." "what do you mean?" i asked. "you know what i mean." "that's true, i know what you mean." "you see," she said, "we communicate." i had touched her breasts on top of a hill overlooking berkeley. they were perfect. i wouldn't be touching them again. we made plans to meet at the book store sunday at noon.

outside, the weather was cool and the sky was mush. i could not gather a thought. "that's the disadvantage of crack," i thought. i drove to the ice cream parlor and had a bowl of ice cream and read about the invasion of iraq. "the world exists outside of me," i thought. across the street there was a dimly lit bar.

i returned two movies to the video store. they were late and i had never watched them. i bought a cup of coffee went home. my house absorbs light. it is filthy and dim. i grabbed the whiskey off the windowsill, "hair of the dog," i had heard. i took two good swigs then sat down with my coffee. i wonder what i will do next.