Hubert Selby - Requiem for a Dream

New York was no longer a summer festival and Harry and Tyrone were hit with a cold shot… Brody couldnt score any more uncut weight. What! Thas right. He can get weight, but its been cut. Shit man… what happened? Tyrone shrugged and rubbed his head with the palm of his hand, Brody say it look like somebody trying to stretch out their dope. Stretch it out? Tyrone was still nodding, An if Brody caint get no uncut weight aint no body gettin it. Harry was staring at the package on the table, We cant do any more than pay for our own stuff this way. Well, why doan we just stop using???? They stared at each other for a moment, the implication of Tyrones question slowly, through much resistance, sinking in and registering. Harry shrugged, Yeah, I guess we/d better. But I guess we may just as well get off now an cool it tomorrow. Yeah, baggin this shit without a tase is a draig. Harry chuckled, Looks like we/re gonna end up with a supply of milk sugar. Thas okay baby, someday we be gettin us that pound of pure an we be needin it than.

Marion and Alice were all for not using and so all went to sleep that night with a grim resolve. They got up about noon, smoked a joint with their coffee, feeling good about the fact that they werent giving any thought to, not using, and sat around for a while, watched a little television, talked about maybe eating something, but not really feeling like it, then sort of moped around thinking and talking about the various things that should be done that day and making plans for doing them, then watched a little more TV, and more coffee, and more grass, spending much of the time dabbing at their running eyes and noses, and by three oclock they realized they were making a big deal out of nothing, that if they really wanted to stop using they certainly could, they were proving that right then, but it was stupid to panic and to think the world was coming to an end just because they couldnt score for any uncut weight right now, so they got back into the spoon. Their noses and eyes cleared up and they listened to music as they ate.

A week later they still couldnt score for any uncut weight so they tried again to stop using, but this time they were back in the spoon before they were dressed. They awoke earlier than usual with panic roiling their stomachs, their eyes burning and their noses running, and the magic of the dope healed all their ills immediately. It wasnt that they couldnt stop using, it was just that this wasnt the time. They had too much to do and they werent feeling well. When everything was straightened out they would simply cut the whole scene loose, but for now theyd take an occasional taste to hang loose.

Sara finally developed a morning schedule that enabled her to accomplish a few very necessary things. She took her purple, red and orange pills at once, drank a pot of coffee, then tried on the red dress and golden shoes and spun around in front of the mirror looking so zophtic and feeling so good and trying to force from her mind how she would be feeling by noon. She kept the dress on and sat in her viewing chair and watched the shows, no longer spinning the selector, but watching the entire show. She saw the announcer, the audience, the prizes, and heard the laughter and applause, then forced herself, with much effort, to cross the stage to where the announcer was waiting, a big smile on his face, and listened to the applause, but now she couldnt control herself and she left the screen and came into the room and walked around the apartment, looking at the old, old furnishings, the lack of light and life, then tried to get back into the set but couldnt quite make it and eventually seemed to disappear somewhere, Sara wasnt quite sure where, maybe in the back of the set or under the bed, someplace. It puzzled Sara. She looked all over the house, but couldnt find the little red riding hood. The next time she paid closer attention to where she went and asked her what she was doing and where she was going, but she just looked up at her and tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders and gave her a So who are you? look and went her merry way and again disappeared. For days she was stepping right out of the set and walking around. She didnt jump down to the floor, but just sort of stepped out of the screen and was on the floor and very obviously and noisily ignored Sara as she roamed around looking down her nose at the apartment, occasionally looking over at Sara disapprovingly and gave a huff and a humf, and continued on her way inspecting everything and finding fault with everything and giving Sara that look of looking down while looking up. Finally Sara got upset and angry and stared right back at her, Who are you to be telling me? Who do you think you are? and Sara turned her nose up at her, and when she lowered her gaze she had disappeared. For many mornings the same thing until one morning the announcer left the set too, and little red riding hood led him around the apartment showing him this and that, the both of them shaking their heads with overwhelming disapproval, then looking up at Sara, shaking their heads again, then back at the spot of inspection, back to Sara, another shake of the head and off to another area to continue the inspection and the disapproving glances and shakes. For three mornings it happened and each time Sara felt worse as she watched them look at the shabbiness of her apartment, What do you expect? You could do better all alone? Its an old building. Ten years no painting, maybe more. Im old. Alone. You do it. Im trying, Im trying, and Sara could feel a hot twisting in her gut and a wave of nausea clutch her throat, Please… please. I/ll explain. But they didnt stay to listen but went right back into the set and waved at the audience and then hundreds of people followed them out of the set and around the drabneses of her tiny apartment and the television followed with their cameras and other equipment, the thick cables stretched across the floor and Sara could see herself sitting in her viewing chair looking at the set surrounded by the lifeless gloom of her apartment and it seemed to be getting smaller and smaller as she watched it on the screen and felt it happening around her and she was feeling a sensation of being crushed, not by the walls, but by her shame and despair. She didnt know what they were finding and seeing, but she knew it was bad… o so very bad. She should have looked before they got here. What was there? She was cleaning the other day. No? She wasnt sure. She changed the channel, but the picture was the same. Every channel, again and again, the picture the same. Millions of people were watching her stand in front of her set trying to change the channel, to change the picture, and she felt something crawling within her. Everybody knew her shame. Everybody. Millions. Millions of people were already knowing, but she didnt know. The tears whirled around in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She didnt even know. She only knew that they knew and that she was overwhelmed with shame and despair. And now she could see the little lady in red and the announcer leading the people around her dingy little apartment, on the screen she could see them and they were looking out at her with expressions of disgust. Sara clung to the television set trying to hide the screen and slowly, ever so painfully slow, she folded into herself until she was kneeling in front of the set and leaning against it, her head hanging low, her tears staining her red dress that she wore at her Harrys bar mitzvah, curling into a ball as the screen filled with people looking down on her disapprovingly and she hugged herself as a huge wave rolled from her stomach up to her throat and she felt herself drowning in her tears, O please, please… let me on the show… please… please…

Brody got burned. Snuffed. Tyrone couldnt find out exactly what happened—he asked a half dozen people and got a half dozen answers—but how it happened was unimportant, the fact that he was cold stone dead was. He was found in an alley either shot, stabbed, shoved off a roof, or by what they call misadventure. His pockets were empty so it was obvious he was done in. Whenever he was out of the pad he was either holding or had the bread to cop. Tyrone listened to the stories and boolshit for a while then split. All the way back to the pad he bugged himself about not having a good backup connection. They had looked around half assed, but Brody was getting such dynamite shit they knew they couldnt do better if they went to France. Then when he ran out they just couldnt seem to get around to looking for somebody else, being convinced that the dynamite would be back soon, that if there was anything good in town that Brody would sniff it out. Now they were fucked… s.o.l., just plain shit out of luck. Jesus krist man, thats a fuckin drag. Getting himself fuckin killed an leavin us high and dry like this. It just dont figure. Not Brody. Not after all these years. Well baby, seem like we gotta do somethin. Caint just sit aroun here. Yeah. Thats no fuckin lie. Shit! What a lousy fuckin break! Just my fuckin luck! Hey mah man, cool it. Aint gonna do no good sittin aroun here nose wipin our selves. Yeah, yeah, I know man. It just gripes my shit is all. Well it dont make me feel like doin no tip toe through the mutha fuckin tulips jim, but we gotta get our little asses out there an see what we cain do. Harry finally chuckled slightly, Yeah, I/ll go to the front of the bus an youll go to the back. Yeaahhh, ah always did like mah business in black and white. Sheeit, we/ll latch on to somethin baby. We jus be cool an somethin will break.