The time between this post and my last is near inexcusable. It has been rather difficult as I have been engaged in changing my lodgings. I now am livin' in a rather small, run down, ramshackle of a miner's cottage in east brunswick. I live with six or seven (the number fluctuates) meth-headz. 'lemmie just tell you right now that I am rather frightened by their skin.
The general hygiene of the place is quite below sub-standard. For one thing, weekly cockroach races are held in the bathtub. The junkie who loses has to score the smack for the week, and the winner is exempt from rent for the following fortnight. I too have become engaged in this despicable betting circuit. My money for tomorrow is on Jose Frerenandez The Destroyer of Gingerbread (the smallest cockroach - I always love an underdog. I do end up supplying a lot of smack. Which I don't even partake in. Quite a dollar-suck).
We have no television, so evening entertainment consists of observing these degenerates shoot up. Their semi-concious songs and rambling fill the cold night air, wafting through the breeze like the rustling of 1000 trees that have been cut down and replaced by upright fans that have a bit of toast stuck in the blades. Crunchy and repetitive is the best way to describe this.
So as you can see, I've become accustom to this daily malaise. Im used to the smell now...well, most of the time. Except Tuesdays. Curry night. I'll leave the rest to your wonderfully sharp imaginations.
Anyway I must be off now. It's my turn to prepare the bathtub/racecourse for the big night.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
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