Bennington and I have been doing heroin all week. He tried to kill me but I stopped him (as always) with my feminine intuition and memories of Krav Maga. He’s okay, still in the hospital, but stable, and luckily when I was visiting him I was able to squire away about five bottles of morphine and six bottles of Dilaudid, so in addition to the dope we were getting on the street, this winter of 2022 has been all golden brown for Benny and me. “Monica,” he asked, “once I get out of here, let’s get clean, okay? Go back to Rooster, and the cabin. I miss Massachusetts. I miss my home. I don’t like being on the street. Please. Help me.” I smiled, nodded, and said yes of course dear but there was no chance I was ever going back home, at least not as long as heroin is forbidden in the Quibbits household. Harrumph!
•••
I broke Benny out of the hospital last night (it was Roosevelt, it was easy). We went to Times Square and looked for similar minded people (freaks, degenerates, criminals, crazies), but couldn’t find anyone with a lighter. Everyone vapes now. Why? It’s electronic. It’s getting Wi-Fi into your lungs. Help me understand this. Bennington wants to go see Spider-Man: No Way Home but I have to remind him that one, the Virgin Megastore with the movie theater inside of it closed years ago, and we don’t have “proof of vaccination” or whatever fucking card you need to get inside everywhere in New York City. I swear to God this city is hellbent on destroying drug addicts and “chickens,” both of which I am. Why can’t I evacuate my cloaca in Starbucks? I’ll be polite, I’ll use the restroom!
So I made Benny settle for Transformers in the two-story McDonald’s. He was high, he was fine. I thought about all the Club Kids that came here 25 years ago, strung out on so many more drugs than us. Peasants, perverts, junkies. I’m glad they’re all dead. Hurrah! We’re still alive. Bennington’s watching Shia LaBeouf eat a Transformer and I’m eating a Big Mac with NO CHEESE. I decided not to get a Coke tonight because I bought some coke and I’m thinking of trying a speedball tonight. Maybe Bennington should try one… “Hey Benny, wanna try a speedball?” He’s nodding. “I don’t like Speed Racer.” I explain: no, a speedball, it’s heroin and cocaine, it’s good, wanna try?
And then we’re in the bathroom, and then I’m cooking it up for him, and then he’s turning blue and losing his feathers, and then the foam starts coming out of his beak, and then I start squawking. All of the employees come out wearing their masks not knowing what the FUCK is going on but I see that someone brought a first aid kit and I know there’s Narcan in there so I spur-clawed them yes I spur-clawed them it means I tacitly maneuvered my way into the possession of their objects, and if there was collateral damage I apologize, but nevertheless, that’s how I revived Bennington and that about catches us up to when you arrived, Officer.
Am I free to go now?
—Follow Monica Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits