Crank (Crank 1)

postmidnight, 30-some hours till

back to the books, the party had

hit high

gear. Pot smoke hung, a skunky

green curtain, but I didn’t want to

fall low

so I indulged in another big snort

before inhaling a couple of tiny tokes,

mostly

to satisfy the incredible urge to pollute

my lungs. I topped that off with a Marlboro,

landing

on just about the perfect plane, just about the

place I wanted to be. Not too speedy, not even close to

straight

falling into the yo-yo rhythm of crank, pot,

beer, tobacco, the sensational motion and emotion,

up and down,

Bre

ndan hanging tight, though I suspected

he might desert me, take off on a flirting binge. And,

oh, god,

the jealous stares of girls I had envied

not long before, girls suddenly, strangely on fire to

know me,

though they had never once in the past returned

my smile. And now, instead of Kristina, they got to

know Bree.

Brendan Stoked the Fire

Let’s take a walk.