think are you doing ? ‘ and he say ‘ Get away or I shoot you . I got myself hid good .’ We are getting some C on RX at this time . Shoot it in  the mainline ,son. You can smell it going on , clean and cold in your nose and throat then a rush of pure pleasure right throught the brain lighting up those C connections . Your head shatters in white explosions. Ten minutes later you want another shot . . . you will walk across town for another shot. But if you can’t score for C you eat, sleep and forget about it.This is a yen of the brain alone, a need without feel­ing and without body, earthbound ghost need, rancid ectoplasm swept out by an old junky coughing and spit­ting in the sick morning.One morning you wake up and take a speed ball, and feel bugs under your skin. 1890 cops with black mus­taches block the doors and lean in through the windows snarling their lips back from blue and bold embossed badges. Junkies march through the room singing the Moslem Funeral Song, bear the body of Bill Gains, stigmata of his needle wounds glow with a soft blue flame. Purposeful schizophrenic detectives sniff at your chamber pot.It’s the coke horrors.. . . Sit back and play it cool and shoot in plenty of that GI M.Day of the Dead: I got the chucks and ate my little Willy’s sugar skull. He cried and I had to go out for another. Walked past the cocktail lounge where they blasted the Jai Lai bookie.In Cuernavaca or was it Taxco? Jane meets a pimp trombone player and disappears in a cloud of tea smoke.