DOPE, COKE & VIAGRA

I stop at my room before exiting to the backyard. A sudden gloom has settled over me. I don't know if a joint will improve or exacerbate the situation. I reach toward the top shelf where I have a bag of dope I scored two days ago from District Judge Mike Salinas. Mike and I are the same age. We have been friends since high school although we never socialized until 30 years ago when his work as a prosecutor for the D.A.'s office made him a good source for me. He has been my lawyer in all three divorces, doing the paperwork for a pittance. A decade ago he surprised the community by winning a seat on one of the district court benches. Everyone is cognizant of his alternative lifestyle, but he is charismatic and nobody holds his personal habits against him. Whenever I'm short of dope, I pay him a visit. Last week I took Adrian along to play with his ten-year-old son. I ended up staying past midnight, coming home when Fabiola called: "It's midnight. Adrian should be in bed." I had extended my stay at Mike's after he pulled out a bag of coke. When I came home, I went to the computer and wrote about this deep unhappiness I felt, an unhappiness that dates back to my youth when nightmares engulfed me and thoughts of suicide afflicted me. Engrossed in my writing, I didn't notice Fabiola standing over me. "What are you doing?" "I'm writing." "I thought you were drunk?" "I am." I hadn't told her that I had been snorting coke, particularly with Adrian accompanying me. I followed her to bed to avoid a further ordeal. "What were you writing about?" "I was writing about my unhappiness. I don't want you to misinterpret what I'm saying. I've always fought this unhappiness. It goes back to my youth. It must be a chemical imbalance." The cocaine raced through my body. "I wish I had known about your unhappiness when we married. You're always depressed. You've depressed me. I used to have friends. I used to love Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas, but you're a drag to be around because you say those holidays bring back memories of your boys. I'm very unhappy." "We had a nice Christmas last year," I say. I had made a serious effort to be merry, not only because I didn't want to hear the annual complaint, but because I owed it to the children to act festive. "As to your friends, I have never stopped you from seeing them. I have my friends. They never abandoned me because I was seeing you. Yours vanished." I explained to Fabiola that my dark perspective explained my calling as a writer. She thought it was exciting to be with a writer when we first met, but now finds my writing more a nuisance, some of my articles causing her public embarrassment. "Are you married to the columnist?" "Yes, I am, but I'm not responsible for anything he says." I find a bud and crumble it on the desk. I'm finishing rolling when someone fumbles at the door knob. "Why is this door locked?" asks Fabiola. "I'm involved in illicit activity. I'm almost done." "Why don't you come and collect your son? "No problem. I'll be out in a second." I will smoke the joint later. If I'm stoned, I'll be more inspired to feel my cock sliding into Fabiola's cunt. I should take one of those natural tablets that are as good as Viagra without the side effects. I can't remember how I discovered them, but it was by chance and they are remarkable. The proof? I'll wake up in the morning with one of those break-of-day hard-ons.