Space Walk

Space Walk

"It's a space walk man" Giggled the pimply youth. He was sprawled on
the floor leaning
his back against the far wall.
"Get your moon boots on and take the trip man"
It seemed all his sentences ended with the suffix "Man"
"Wow this is wild man"

A thin line of spittle flew from between cracked lips to land on his
chin. There it
remained to slowly congeal, and harden. The boy who's name was Phil,
suddenly became
incapable of speech, he let out a whooosh of air. His already unfocused
and glazed eyes,
shot into the back of their sockets so that only the whites could be
seen. His head
slumped forward to rest on a dirty matted jumper. He vomited, and a
reeking stench
permeated the air.

Alerted by the smell Rob looked over like a concerned mother. He
touched him gently,
automatically reached for pulse point and checked that his airway was
open. It was, so he
aimed a hefty kick, at the unconscious lad, catching him in the kidney
region.

"Bastard, stinking the fucking place out"

Phil slumped, becoming prone on the floor. Rob found movement
difficult, but with
slow motive, deliberate movement and will power, he leaned across and
hefted Phil's body
over, so that he was well onto his right side. Once again he pulled his
friend's head up so
that his airway was free.

Rob loosened the tourniquet from around Phil's penis, and attached it
to his own upper
arm, pulling the rubber and webbing strap tightly. He flicked the skin
of his inner elbow
viciously to raise the vein. With short temper he swore, while hunting
for the syringe, He
realized it had probably been knocked out of Phil's penis as he had
released the torni`.
Phils addiction was much further advanced than Rob's. A whole three
weeks further. Phil
had virtually run out of veins with enough wall to hold them from
collapse. All that was
left open to him was the thick infected vein in his penis and that was
fast becoming
broken. The other sunken eyed youth stared in recognition at his future
three weeks
hence.

As Rob was preparing his fix from the heated smack, the coded knock
came on the
door, and a voice shouted "It's us get the bastard door open will you,
he's heavy"

Jed who had been drifting in the corner, lurched unsteadily over and
unlocked the door.
Howie and Mick stumbled through with Joe hanging loosely between them.
They allowed
him to slump unceremoniously onto the floor. There he lay convulsing
and jerking, the
stale stink of pee, and excrement, beating hands down, the smell of
Phil's vomit.

Joe had been a speed freak, and glue sniffer. Now he was Just a freak:
Death was but a
matter of days away. His central nervous system had folded in upon
itself, to the point
where he no longer needed the drugs. The others kept him, alive,
'nursed' him in the
loosest possible sence of the word, and carted him around town in a
baby's push chair.
This enabled them to present him at the clinic everyday, where they
could obtain his daily
script of Methadone, and share the spoils between them. Without their
care Joe would
already be long dead.

He had lost his speech, his sight and his continence. His body jerked,
and shook more
violently than the worst affected Parkinson victim, shook as only the
body ravaged by
speed and glue knows how.

There was a strange code of conduct between these homeless junkies.
They lived for the
most part a harmonious existence, shared everything they had and
everything they stole.
When one was sick, strung out or incapable, the others took over the
care of him. They
looked out for each other. They were family and when 'Space Walking'
each relied on the
others for survival. They never all jacked at the same time, one was
always straight to
check on the status of the others. If Joey's score dried up tomorrow
nothing would
change. They would still care for him, because they all knew they were
staring THEIR
OWN future in the face.

"`Bout time you fuckers got `ere, my bloody arms droppin` off"

With that Rob sunk the point of the sharp slowly into his vein. He
smiled and began to
push the return slowly home. He smacked his lips a couple of times, and
then exactly
fifteen seconds later the fix hit home.

" Oh Man Yeeees" He moaned as he writhed in an ecstasy more powerful
than a
thousand combined orgasms. Thirty seconds after that he was out of
it.

Three of the six were 'out' Joey was Joey. That left Mick and Howie to
take watch.
Howie was almost strung. He constantly smacked his lips, and was
beginning to shake
visibly. It just wasn't lasting the way it used to, but he had to hang
out just a little longer.
Just a little longer.

Jed was on his way down after being up for hours. His eyes were wild.
He wasn't yet
completely back from his high and already the cravings were gnawing at
his nervous
system, making him jerk slightly. He looked over at Joey still
convulsing on the floor and
muttered "Bastard" As though he had caught, this terrible affliction
from him, and that it
had absolutely nothing to do with his own will, or the fact that he
stuck a needle full of
poison into his veins every day.

Mick began to attend to Joe, where he lay in the middle of the
uncarpeted floor. He was
partially aided and partially hindered by Howie and Jed, each of them
knowing without
needing to be told the importance of pulling their weight.

They took off the soiled incontinence pad, balled it and threw it over
into the corner,
where countless previous soilings had been thrown. The stench of these
'Nappies' in the
squat would have been overwhelming to anyone coming in, but they had
become
accustomed to it. As the pile had risen, so had their tolerance to the
smell. It was Winter,
so at least they weren't bothered by flies.

Joe's rectum and testicles were red and bleeding. The end of his penis
was swollen and
blue, infection had settled in and made itself at home. It was only a
matter of hours now
before the urethra closed completely, leading to a back up of urine in
his kidneys. This
would deteriorate over a couple of days, leading to scepticemia and
death. The self
appointed nursing staff roughly applied a new pad without any cleansing
or washing, then
sat back to have a spliff before they began the task of feeding him.
Mick wiped a fingerful
of feaces onto his jeans, then sniffed at the offending finger before
taking his turn on the
joint and inhaling noisily.

Later Mick went over to check on the others. Phil was dead. nobody
showed any
surprise at this. Jed was living his own kind of hell. Stomach cramps
and sweats had now
begun to wrack his body, and he was counting the seconds to get him
through to his next
fix. Howie was high though not out of it, Joe was Joe and Rob was
'out'.

Mick knew that when Rob came round, the two of them would have to take
Phil's, body
and dump it in one of the alley's.

"One more homeless junkie O.D'd on smack". They'd say as they swept
him up from the
gutter and poured him into a body bag.

The squatters could share out his script, then at last it would be
Mick's turn to trip.
He glanced without expression at the slumped form of Phil

"Keep Space Walking Man ...you lucky Bastard!"