Long WeekendSubmitted by Spam at 2008-10-08 17:16:23 EDT
Rating: 1.72 on 34 ratings (34 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Vanilla scented smoke billows from the machine near the DJ booth and instantly your vision, already blurred and twisted up by the booze, is gone completely. You're there alone now, sitting inside that white cloud, just you and the music, nothing else. And it goes on for a long time.
And then, when the fog slowly ebbs away and reveals the rest of this night's dancefloor comrades, you realise that it’s still there, sort of, light and misty round the peripheries. Smile then my friend, cos that mist means the pills have kicked in and you’re no longer in control man, just a passenger riding the tide with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam. Close your eyes and rock your head back to the heavens, cos it's all just starting for you.
When you open them again you're in a different place, maybe a different time. It's a toilet cubicle but you can hear feminine chatter in the background which is something you try and get your head round as you bounce from side to side between the partition walls and try and at least get some of your piss into the bowl. A gentle tap on your shoulder as you put yourself away gives rise to a start and a curse as you realise you didn't lock the door properly earlier so turn around and freeze for a second when she smiles at you, all blue eyes behind golden hair.
And don't even fucking think about worrying what she's doing here or if you've walked into the wrong door man, just stand there and take in that fucking beautiful smiling face, framed in the smoky glow of your ecstasy rush.
"Sorry" She says with bright smile and liquid eyes "All of the others were locked."
And that's it brother, the extent of your conversation. This is good for you though cos face it, you aint gonna be able to talk to her anyway so instead just stand there stupidly as she locks the door, squeezes by you in the cramped space and pulls out a bag of white powder. And the best part for you man, is when she cuts up two pretty healthy looking lines and passes you the rolled up fiver to go first. Sure, you're all fucked up and you've not even spoke to this goddess yet but that doesn't matter man because it’s fair to say right there that you're in love, end of story.
Share an awkward moment after she stands up from her snort and the confinements of this cubicle push the two of you together so that your hips are touching and your face is close enough for you to breathe in her perfection. See her lips part and her eyes close as she leans slowly in to kiss you. This is fucking beautiful man, you say to yourself as you lean too, just fucking beautiful.
And lose yourself in that explosive instant when your lips touch, just close your eyes man, ride the moment from there.
A hesitant tap on your knee brings you back and the first thing you see is a uniform leering over you with an angry expression. It’s mouth is flapping away but you can't hear anything it says and it takes you a few seconds to realise that this is because you've got your iPod plugged into your ears and that that's where the soft folk music is coming from.
"Ticket please," The Uniform says when you unplug.
Ticket for what? you think, but you don't say it, instead, on some instinctive reflex, your hand goes into your pocket and it's something of a surprise when you come out holding the thin card of a train ticket. The Uniform takes it and stamps it with a grunt before handing it back, moving on and leaving you to contemplate who you are and where you're going.
You're the floor of a train in one of the vestibules between carriages leaning up against the locked door. The ticket in your hand says Leeds to London one-way which is a touch of a shock as neither of these is home. Don't question it though man, just ride it. Just ride it.
You catch eyes with the vestibule's only other occupant, a teenage student-type with laughter in her eyes and a muted respect in her smile.
"Nice hat" She says.
You don’t own a hat but you say thanks anyway which is good, because as it happens, you've somehow gained what feels like an expensive Fedora which sits atop you're head at a jaunty angle. Life's full of questions though and sometimes it's best not to get the answer so go back into sleep my brother, lean that head back and pull your hat forward over your eyes and just go back to sleep. When you awake, things'll all make sense.
But they don't because the next thing you know you're lying on a fucking beach propped up on your elbows as you watch a dieing sun douse itself into the sea.
"Where the fuck am I?" you ask to nobody in particular and the body lying next to you chuckles.
"Newquay" he says.
Fuck man, Newquay's a long way from home. There's a bag of powder lying by your legs and it doesn't belong to you and could be any one of a number of things but you promised yourself on that train that you'd stop asking yourself these sorts of questions so instead you just drop a wet finger in there and suck off the contents which taste chemical and alien to you.
"Ket?" You ask with a hint of fear.
As if that makes it all better.
"Fuck." You say and sink back into the sand to stare at stars that leak out from the night sky.
Floor. Just floor. That's all you make out beneath the brown rim of this fucking hat that's slipped down over your eyes to obscure everything else. You push it up with one finger to see where the tide has pulled you - another club. You're on the dance floor and there are four women surrounding you, two blondes, a brunette and a redhead. All hanging from your every drug fuelled fluid movement. All fucking gorgeous. Fuck, when did shit like that start happening?
Then, you catch a glimpse of your reflection from the mirrored walls and see the fuss is possibly justified. The mysterious hat's actually a Stetson-type thing and the combined effect of that and your knee-length trenchcoat - which for some reason you're still fucking wearing - makes you look like a fucking old school Cowboy. Not having shaved for a week or so completes the look.
Yeah, Clint Eastwood Baby.
A rueful smile when you see that the girls have slipped away, confused and repulsed by your reflection staring. Fucked-up wanker that you are, you've been looking at that bastard for at least ten minutes.
Clint never did that.
Another toilet but this ones moving man, rocking from side to side. There's a freshly racked line sitting on the cistern which is gone before you've even thought about whose it is and where it's come from.
Step out of the doors and see that you're on another train. It's dark outside this time though so you know it's the night train where no ticket's required and the sole occupants are a couple of drunkards and a scarred shitless single mum, cradling her infant protectively.
Who know what you’ve just snorted and how long this journey will last but one thing’s for sure, you gotta keep a low profile, don’t want now police picking you up in this condition.
But that mum’s just staring at you horrified for some reason so you’ve gotta balls it out bruv.
“What?” you say, with the lowest of your intimidating tones.
And that does the trick because she’s staring back at the seat in front of you before the syllable’s even fully out of your mouth. So you look out of your own window and catch your reflection again; A hat-wearing bearded dickhead wearing shades at night and with a shiny red rivulet of thick blood free-flowing from your nose.
Yeah man. Keep that profile low.
“Where the fuck am I?” you ask.
And Rob responds.
“You’re home man”
And don’t fucking worry about how you got here, what you did for the last four days or what any of this all means my friend, don’t you worry about that at all.
Because the main thing really is that you made it.
And you’ve got yourself a nice new hat in the process.
5 days 4 nights.bmp