Sam Pink - Witch Piss

“Yeah, monarch,” Craig said. He clicked his teeth. “Man, look at you, Bug Man.”

“Yizzir,” Face said.

Craig laughed, kept licking his lips.

His lips were like, white with dryness.

Me, I was trying to get crust out of my eye.

Things were happening so fast.

Worlds of possibility crumbled into newer and larger worlds so fast, it was as if none existed.

Craig said he had a riddle for me. “Alright, this a real brainteaser,” he said, sitting up a little. His hand looked like he was about to karate chop something. “Alright, you got two coins. They equal 30 cents. One is NOT a quarter.” He folded his hands. “What are they?”

I thought.

“One is a quarter and one is a nickel,” I said.

He clicked his teeth. “Dag, jo.”

It was the first riddle I’d ever solved.

Larry said, “Hoowee, namn.”

Face laughed like, ‘Hik’ik’ik.’

He took a cigarette butt from behind his ear and lit it, offering Craig a pull.

Craig said, “Man, you know I done quit smoking. Come on, man, I’m allergic to cancer. Shit, I got stress too. My motherfuckin job got me travelling all over. I should be smoking like I kilt Jesus.” His cellphone rang. He ignored it. “Work. Man, them dudes I work for, they be I-talian and shit. Talkin bout, ‘Ey paisan! Goomba! Yo, ey!’ Them motherfuckers, they all live up in Norwood Park and shit. Up northwest. They own everything , man. They got that strip place called The Pink Monkey. They told me I could work the door and shit but I said nah. Not with them girls there, jo. Haha. I’m a hound dog, man. Plus I’d be selling powder to they asses in no time. Powder powder powder . Who wannit?”

Face laughed. “You feel me, cous?”

“Them girls love they powder,” Craig said. “You want the best powder, go to them girls.” He pointed at the ground beside me. “Shit, you snort gravel, they get the best gravel.”

I laughed.

Snorting gravel up into my brain where it ricochets at an increasing speed until becoming a humming sound, completely liquefying my entire head, which then spills down over my body in a perfect coating.

Larry coughed. “Hoowee. Namn.”

He picked up the 40 off the ground and took a pull, holding the neck with one hand and the bottom with the other.

“Pass the pain,” Craig said, sitting up.

He tipped his hat back and scratched his head, took the 40 from Larry.

A train passed above us.

After it passed, Face looked at me. “Ey, how come I ain see you the other night.”

I pushed one nostril closed and blew a hard booger out of the other nostril. “It was late when I got back from taking Speedy home.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, smiling. “Hik’ik’ik. Dang, cous. Ey, God gone bless you for that, though. F’sho. You the man. I got you. Even if I ain got shit, I still got you. Face got two dollars in his pocket then you got two dollars. And I’on’t even have to say that, cous.”

“Yeah man,” I said.

Craig was idly tapping his crackpipe with the metal part of his lighter. “Let’s play some cards or something,” he said.

Face got a pack of cards from Spider-Man’s dumpster and broke down a cardboard box, laying it on the ground.

We played spades, sharing a 40 Face had newly opened.

“Aw man, forgot,” Craig said, shuffling the cards. “Scrappy done gave me this shit here. You seen this, Face?”

Craig went into his backpack and got out a small square calendar(?)/book(?) called A Thousand Places to See Before You Die .

He held it out for everyone, flipping through the pictures.

One was a castle on a small mountain.

“Shit,” Craig said, smiling. “Tryna live in this bitch.”

Larry looked at the castle, arranging his cards and chewing his bald gums. “H’only issue I’d be worried bout be how to git food up there. Specially when it snows. But hoowee, namn.”

Craig was looking at the castle. “Man, if I lived there, I be like ‘Fuck the world, I’m in my castle, jo, fuck all y’all.’”

It felt cooler out.

I noticed it was beginning to get dark.

And for a couple seconds, it was scary — like that meant the world was breaking, or expired, or bruised, or something worse.

It was really scary for a couple seconds but then I calmed down.

Larry slept out front of the library.

On the way to the Two Door tonight I saw him in his sleepingbag, lying on his side.

He had his elbow against the ground, head propped up in hand.

I waved. “Larry, yo.”

He waved and said, “Hooooo”—slowly standing up.

He wobbled, looking up into the air somewhere.

“Larry, how you doing?” I said, shaking his hand.

He said, “Man, I am FUH-TUP. I’s at the Two Door watching the Howx game. Hoooo.”

The Howx game.

Many play the Howx game and many lose.

“Hooo, I drank too much,” he said. “Naaaaamn. What’re you doin?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Namn. I am, FUH-TUP!”

“Walk with me back to the Two Door.”

He said, “N’ok yeah,” but then didn’t move when I started walking.

He stood there, trying to balance.

“Hoowee, namn,” he said, taking off his hat and rubbing his head.

I walked down the street towards the Two Door.

Face was at the bus stop out front, smoking a cigarette.

He was wearing a big Blackhawks 2010 Stanley Cup Champions T-shirt and a red White Sox hat backwards.

“Wha’s good, cous?” he said, slapping my hand then pulling me in for a hug.

“Nothin, man.”

“Shit, you wanna walk with me? I got some beers and a little bit of a fiff back at my mama crib. We can tip some with bitch-ass Troy if you wanna.”

Troy lived in an alley near Face’s mom’s house, where Face stayed.

On the way there, we passed the library.

Larry was asleep.

“Hahhhh, he smack-drunk,” Face said. “They threw his ass out after he ain have no money. Du at the bar didn’t have to be so rough wit his ass but he ain have no money.”

Oh Larry.

Larry Larry Larry.

We went into an alley behind a gas station.

Someone had written, ‘One more chance’ in thick-tipped permanent marker on a dumpster.

There were drips coming off the letters.

I imagined the drips coming from the sky — lowering from rain clouds — and everyone gets to pick one to climb — and when you get to the top you get something — but whatever you get, it’s yours and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Nothing!

Face and I passed backyards and gangways and dumpsters, piles of garbage, a garage with a large gang tag that’d been x’d out and inverted in red.

A pit bull rushed up to the gate of a chainlink fence, barking at us.

It made sideways eye contact with me, going, ‘Oorv, oorv.’

Part of me wanted to grab it by the head and kiss it right on the lips then let it eat my face off.

The other part of me wanted the exact same thing.

Troy’s place was down the alley, by an old freight door — with a loading ramp held up by metal wire on each side, a throne of beds stacked on each other.

Face stood by a dumpster and tapped the lid with his fingernails. “Wha’s good, T?”

Troy lay in bed with a stained hoodie on, coughing, his eyes barely open.

He was drunk as fuck, pasty spit around his mouth.

He opened his eyes a little. “Wah? Ey, hassa goin, man?”

He barked out some mucus.

“You sleepin?” Face said, lighting half a cigarette.

Troy said, “Nah, I mean, issa trissa but, heh. I mean, yeah, I’s sleepin a lil haha.” Then he leaned over. “Hol on a sec, there.”