Brock Steals My Dope

I had already been living in my own apartment in the building that my mother managed and had been allowing my best friend at the time, Brock, who was homeless to come over and hang out and use the amenities whenever he needed too. He came by about two or three times a week and we always had fun. I was trying by then to keep quitting the use of methamphetamine but the little bits that Brock always brought with him for me felt like a God send considering I had no other way to combat my symptoms and with the rent for the apartment I certainly had no money for drugs either.

I remember the first day he had come over after I had moved in and set up my new apartment which had no furniture but a chair and lamp that I had set up. The lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling, bare bulb over the chair like an interrogation light and, the stiff wooden chair facing into the corner of the wall like a punishment for a small child, which I thought was artistic and had drawn back the hanging blinds across the huge bay windows wide so all the neighborhood could see, Brock came in and immediately wanted to leave. Right away as soon as he walked in and saw how I set up my place he wanted to leave. I had been through this with Brock before in situations where I made him so uncomfortable that he just wanted to leave. I use to do this on purpose to him.

We both use to do this to each other sometimes; act so grossly out of order with the conduct of the general public, that eventually one of us, or maybe even both of us at the same time, got so grossed out by our own behavior that we couldn't even handle it ourselves anymore. Being this way, rarely did we get on each others nerves. But, it did happen sometimes. We were sketching out together. And, Brock as an actor and model and I as a writer both took it quite seriously and performed our sketches as a personal form of art. Brock made me take the simple set up in my apartment down and close the blinds so the place looked normal again. It was fun.