Sleepless on the Sidewalk

If I was drunk the world would be spinning in front of my eyes right now. Then my brain would interpret that as if the world was actually spinning and that nauseating feeling would start in my gut and grow until I threw up or passed out... or both. Too much going in my head and around me for the rest of me to keep up.
When you're sane and sober, walking through the city on a Saturday night everyone else looks crazy. You're faced with the same stimuli but your sub-conscious manages them. It sorts them into the relevant or not... the interesting, or not. The ones worth noting for later and the ones that require an immediate reaction. When you're drunk these get too much.
When you're stoned, it's like you going in your own little bubble and your vision narrows. Your sub-conscious goes for a break, so although you see everything, you only take note of what you can be bothered for. Sometimes not much at all....except Chicken Twisties. I'll sober up in an instant to make sure I get those in my hand then I can go back to being stoned.
Meth is a whole new ball game. Especially when you're at the heights of a paranoid psychotic episode. You take in EVERYTHING.

Galactic..(or Galacto)...whatever he calls himself. His name is actually Stephen. A hermaphrodite, and self proclaimed denounced unwanted son of Kevin Rudd or something like that. Last time he turned up to Mr Rudd's offices he was surrounded by Police and escorted back to the train station. Next time they'll whack him with an AVO as well. It's hard to describe Galactic. He's as out there as his name suggests. Not quite a tranny, because his features are quite obviously male. But he's got a pink tu-tu over black lycra shorts and these high socks that look like those candy canes. Red and white. The drag queen make up packed on, albeit with a layer of sweat causing it to shine and cascade down his face like rainbow (a rainbow that's been on a bender for 3 straight nights and refusing to call it a day). His face is weathered from his years of chasing the next shot of whatever is available... preferably ice. Or "fast" as they call it on the streets here (as opposed to the "slow"...heroin)

"aww come on guys!" he whines. It's camp and its whiney. You know the type. "I need a shot now! Pleeeeeeaase Nick just give me one! I've got money." That got my attention.
"How much?" I ask.
"I've got 12 dollars here, can you tick the rest until my Centrelink goes in at midnight?"
"No, that would then require us to share company with you until you got paid. So, that's a no-brainer." He knows...but he still looks up hopefully...as if his attempts at looking adorable are working. More make-up, more glitter, more hairspray. I reckon he needs scaffolding to hold up that punk cockatoo business going on top of his head.
"No Galactic. Not happening.
"I've got a full pouch of tobacco"
"and the $12.00".
"OK, I just need the shot. Then I can go and start making money" (he just wanders around the city asking for money. he'll make $100 tonight. Easily. Whatever gets him away from here.
At the same time I catch a snippet of a conversation from a group of girls walking past. Was that about me? Is that shopkeeper in the kebab shop just looking at me? I could have sworn he reached for his phone as soon as he saw me and turned to his mate to talk. What? That security guard is getting instructions through the radio. Bet he turns to me as....OMG HE DID!! What is going on? What club is this.. Arq. Is that Stromae's "Allors on danse" they're playing? I added that to my Spotify playlist the other day... how could they possibly know that? This is getting real weird now. That's the second white Toyota Camry that's gone past me in under 2 mins. They could be undercover detectives. Fuck! I've got half a ball on me and I haven't even stashed it properly (under my nuts is as far as I'll go...none of this, "cheeking" business in between the butt-cheeks. The safest method is meant to be the "shelving" method. Right up the clacker. Fark that!
Jane is trying to explain to me how she knows Silia. How they used to live in a boarding house there everyone that lived there was a "working girl"...except her of course. Jane was the receptionist, but she lived upstairs...and the working girls were downstairs. Sounds reasonable...

God I love Jane. She's my other half. I'm sure of it. That's as lame and cheesy as they come I know.. I would be cringing right there with you any other time in my life. But then I met Jane. Then I felt the vacuum that's created when she's not here with me. Cutting a limb off would be easier.
I probably shouldn't be with her. She's older...and I want kids. She lies a lot...and I want an honest wife. She puts me down in front of others...and I'm self conscious. But she is a lioness. Queen of this concrete jungle. This..cesspool I've been calling home. My scene right now is like the dregs of a barrel of waste water. I tell myself I reside in the clear bit that floats just above the murky stuff.

She's my Queen. When I walk beside her through the streets and alleyways of the city at night I couldn't be prouder.
But a Queen needs a King to sit upon the dais with her... and I'm not there yet. These past few months I've been withdrawing deeper and deeper within myself. Isolating myself. My thoughts. They're still there, but I'm not sharing them. Imagine reading this monologue to Galactic. He'd ask for a double shot after as payment! Nah... I need to get out of this demographic. It's not me. I'm merely a visitor. A tourist into Sydney's underbelly, which I'm actually honoured to be experiencing. But it's starting to suck me in, and I need to rise up out of it. With Jane or without (Preferably with, but I need to carve my own path).
"Niiiiiiick! Please! Why do this to me? I'm always so nice to you guys. Jane! Aren't I always good to you? OMG you two are so gorgeous together. I love you guys! "

Galactic. Only two ways to stop him...her..whatever. Either give him the shot or tell him off. The latter means red lighting us. Bringing unwanted attention when we have drugs stashed on us. Not a good idea. On the other hand, I don't want the drama of having Galactic sticking around till we find somewhere safe to do the transaction and for him to have his shot. No chance. He's run out of veins he can use so it becomes a half hour affair as he sticks the needle in and out of his arms, wrists, toes, neck even. drops of blood all over the place...you get the picture. Not a pretty one.
Jane's got a soft spot though. She goes into maternal mode and sorts him out with spoon, alcohol swabs, a fresh needle, all the apparatus. sterile. ready to go.

I never understood why she goes so out of her way for them. I personally don't want to be seen associating with them.
"Show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are" - A Greek proverb. I don't want to be labelled as a junkie because I'm talking to one. It's sad and unfortunate, but its society. Jane doesn't mind though. But I get it. Her kindness gets repaid tenfold. It is the reason she can walk, unafraid and unchallenged, through some of the roughest and most dangerous streets and alleys in the whole country. Some of these people would rob their own families for a shot. Some have bashed, raped, even killed, in their drug fuelled psychotic states. But Jane floats through the underbelly like Mother Theresa of sorts. And by default...I get a free ride too. Hmmm...Untouchable by association? Guess it works both ways.