So here I am, one hand on my cock, the other sheilding my glazed eyes from those bright red and blue lights flashing yards away. How I got here, I couldn't tell you at this exact time, but I do know that this isn't my Mercedez I'm pissing on and I have no fucking clue where my clothes are. Somwhere, far away, a man is repeating the word "sure" in a panicked, yet cloudy tone, sounding lost and scared.
Over four hours ago, the Top Heavy titty bar was the stomping ground for me and three other people, two of whom were on ecstasy and rolling deep. My name was Graham, and i was in luck, because Calvin, my drunken buddy gone AWOL on marine service, was luggin between the two of us more drugs than Hunter S. Thompson and Robert Downey Jr. could ever manage. This was my fourth day on a sleepless coke binge, and I was knee-deep into a balls to the wall, no holds barred, mind-twisting acid trip, nearly three times as much as I'd ever taken. A sane man would have called quits from the beginning, given the .45 magnum cuddling a pinched eightball in my jacket pocket, but this was just too much damn fun. They might label me a junky, a hedonist, a pervert or a lowlife, but right now, I was focused on the drip that had been agonizing me for as long as I could remember, and the strange chemical taste that saturated the tip of my tongue with its bitter bite, making a vodka that much more appetizing.
I couldn't quite register my surroundings, making everything seem brand new, no matter how much I thought I knew. Each second blended into another. Calvin was to my left, boasting about how he was "the shit" at something, constantly adjusting and readjusting the scrubs he hadn't changed for nearly a week. He was feeding off of Leslie, our adopted failed model with a crack crutch that we picked up back in Nevada around two years ago and strung along a wild ride escaping multiple warrants that had recently blown over. Leslie was smacking her gum loudly and darting her eyes between me and Calvin, all the while nodding wildly.
Our other Leslie, or Less as we dubbed her, was sitting quietyly with her hands down her pants. Less was one that I had the most history with and was the catalyst for most of the shit we got into. I met her at a greasy spoon, I was on a streak of speed and 'ludes, when she was still a dude. She had a voracious sexual appetite that wasn't sated by the sex change. She wore a perfect mask of quietude (since her drug preference leaned toward depressants), except for the unexpected fits of frenzy that usually punctuated long binges. Less was always the one to keep a steady eye on, but currently she was satisfied by what was in her pants.
Somehow, there was a vodka in my grip and its gentle warmth was spreading through my chest. Candice, the girl currently on the stage, who I would end up fucking in my car in about an hour, was wrapping herself around the pole erotically swinging her groin masterfully. With the music she picked, the guitar washed over her as the pole slithered between her hold. My mind was playing tricks on me, the voices in my head craving another sip. I brought the glass to my lips and tipped it upward, the thick glass obscuring the various neon beer lights and morphing them into beautiful shimmering patterns that dances behind my eyes. A single drop slid down the glass and splashed on my tongue.
The drugs were strong, but I was smart. The only things I'd eaten for the past three days were a fat handful of psilocybin mushrooms, a little mescaline, and the four tabs of primo acid I was frying on. Running on pure adrenaline and psychedelics, time was slowing down with each exhale. My veins were sliding under my skin, snaking their way along my muscle and sinew, attempting to gain freedom through my fingertips. My chest was still glowing warm from the vodka, and my throat grew dryer with every second. I wanted to say something, but my spine was pulling me further behind, until I hit the booth's plastic backing. My pants grew tighter because, after all, there was a nearly completely nude woman dancing in front of me. i saw light glint off of her nipple piercings. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.
Calvin's heavy hand was in front of my face, a vial in the center of his palm. I stared at it, the fine grains of powder inside shimmering in neon lights. I blinked once, twice, and snatched it out of his hands. Not that I needed any more coke.
"Hey, you all good"
Leslie was talking to me. Her eyes twitched quickly.
"How are you... not... speaking?" Words fell out of my mouth in misformed blobs and dribbled down my wet chin. I shivered.
"You looks like you are deep, baby"
Leslie's incessant gum-smacking was driving me crazy. I needed my pickaxe, just to slide it in and out of her eye socket. Y'know, so she's shut the fuck up, maybe just for a little bit. I wanted quiet and alone time, but all I could find in this strip club was people talking to me. I jumped up quickly, smashing my erection into the sharp table edge.
"The bathroom's thaddaway." Leslie pointed to the back of the bar.
Less still had her hand down her pants, grinding her fingers into her groin. I kicked her and told her to move the fuck out of the goddamned way. She slid out of the booth and a little baggie that was sitting on her lap fell to the floor and spilled its contents. Twenty or so pills rolled in different directions along the filthy floor. Less positioned herself, miraculously with her hand still inside of her, by the side of the table, crunching the pills into yellow dust under her high heels unknowingly. I shook my head and pushed past her as my cock ached more. Words ran in front of my eyes, explaining that I had broke it. My mind was fucking with me. I stumbled past the stage and made quick eye contact with Candice as I pushed the john's door open.
Every single tile was covered in graffiti, little doodlings done by horny meth-heads. The letters and numbers danced along the walls, occasionally melting and calling to me. I walked toward the pisser and unzipped my pants. I attempted to read the dancing writing as I pissed, forgetting that I still had a throbbing erection, successfully urinating on the wall in front of me. I had the sudden realization that I was missing the toilet and shoved my pecker down, letting the piss hit brown water. A carving of a giant penis on the wall began to grow longer and come out of the wall, peeing on everything around me. I finished, shook and zipped, leaving the squirming cartoon cock on the wall to it's own business.
I slid in front of the scratched mirror to inspect my face. My pupils covered the entire expanse of my eye, making me look terrifying, especially to a man on massive amounts of psychedelic drugs looking at his reflection. I punched the glass quickly, a fast jab that shattered the man in the mirror into a million pieces. They screamed horrible shreiks as they fell to the ground, tinkling and boucning on the dirty tile. My knuckles spasmed blood with enough narcotics in it to get a horse high. The cuts shreiked just as the glass had, and I waved my hand around wildly, attempting to shut them up, successfully spattering hot, wet, red blood in intricate splatters all over the walls around me. My hand stopped screaming, and I quickly grabbed the eightball in my pocket, grazing the gun in the process. I broke it open and pinched out a little coke to rub on my cuts. While the coke was out, I decided to cut up a quick line on the sink. As I brought my head down to sniff up that sweet drug, the door crept open. I breathed in heavily, sucking up the fine grains into my nostrils, and looked to my right, where the waitress was standing with the door wide open. I finished my line and rubbed my nose in a quick second, smiled, and pushed past the bitch. I glanced over to my table as I passed the stage and saw three people I had never seen before sitting where my comrades were before.
The drugs were kicking in.