Stoned Loners Inc.

Stoned Loners Inc. Stoned Loners Inc.

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Summary

Male, alcoholic and drug addicted making an appearance in crime. Started to unravel his transition of living straight or going criminal.

Summary

Male, alcoholic and drug addicted making an appearance in crime. Started to unravel his transition of living straight or going criminal.

Content

Submitted: August 24, 2012

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: August 24, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

 

Stoned Loners Inc. 

The whole plan fell apart on the way out of the bank. Shots were fired, people died, and I'm here writing about this in a dream. My body aches and the broken bones are fractured in several places. I should have listened but, “I didn't”. I wanted to make a few dollars. Wanted to vanish all my debts, and fines, and mistakes but only made a ton more.

 

“Now what?”

“Nothing”

“What do you mean?, Nothing”...

 

The phone died in the tunnel, and I went ahead anyway alone, and with no back up. I was by myself, with nothing. And sometimes nothing is what lead me here.

 

I never cased anything in my life as big as this, and dudes do it all the fucking time, and here we are, just mosing around like no big deal. Myself and the other customers. The tellers behind the counters are busy, and so am I. What the fuck am I doing here. I thought. Why can't I just get a job, live normal and be satisfied. Satisfaction..

 

There is no satisfaction when you're in an addiction. 1 beer and speed-ball to the next high, and bad decision. No fairy-tales, no dreams, no real life, or it's all trampled in the past. With people hoping they never see you again, or wishing to see you, so they could get back an ebt card, a 100.00 dollars, or love that won't come back. Instead, they get nervous, start hiding shit, and know your sweat is a big red flag....Damaged people from a damaged emotional roller coaster called Dad, son, brother, hubby, or Ex.

 

Nothing is stronger than an addiction that has saturated a mind, soul, nervous system, and brain stem. Its like fishing for minnows with a large net. Keep scooping but nothing is coming up, and you'll never feed yourself or family trying to catch a loser...a myth, or fantasy one has going on in their own mind, hopes and dreams. Sad really, but I know its a part of life, and that bullshit is what I can manipulate in society.

 

Did 7 bank robberies in the span of 18 months. I got cocky. I lived better on stolen money than I could have imagined. I had shit, lost shit, and gave shit away. But today, I am healing, and through all the delirium, am gonna loss my ass here.

 

I'm gonna do some big boy prison time. I might not if I escape, but I float in and out of consciousness, and I feel the steel around my wrist. I know the smell of a hospital room.

 

I take a shower and think of the bank, and where the guard is. Will that 3 minutes he's out smoking a cigarette in his minivan be enough time. Will the bank tellers, be cautious today. Its a slow Thursday and not many paydays are going on, so it seems slow.

 

I make the water hot as I can stand it, and just stand in it for a while. Thinking about the bike I stole will get me away from the bank fast enough. If a goddamn camera seen me locking it up last night, and will it look funny, when I unlock it today. I know this part of town. And hopefully the house am gonna run to doesn't have anyone in it. This is my first time. I dry off, and use alcohol on my body to dry my skin even more. I doubt it works but that's my mindset. I think of smears, prints, and DNA. I hear the music from Heat playing and put my clothes in the hamper, and leave the bathroom dark.

 

My clothes are plain. Dark khakis, and a white t-shirt with a light gray dress shirt, and brown loafers all from Goodwill. A plain cap from a Gen X type store, and the note.

 

Dollar store supplies, and rubber gloves...I'm paranoid, and hungover. The adrenaline makes me shiver, and I want to explode out of my skin....I stuff my braids into the cap, and put band aids on my ears to hide the tats, and gauges I think people would see, or remember. I am in my own world and haven't talked to anyone for days. Not even my sponsor.

 

Anyone asks am doing job interviews, or on a work search. The car two blocks away is not mine, and will make it back to its owner. I like nice cars, and this one seems out of place but in plain view shouldn't be noticeable. Right? We'll see.

 

I don't remember that, just running as fast as I possibly could. But, back to where I was, and me leaving the room I'm getting evicted out of. People gotta do there jobs, and when you don't have one, or care too, this is what happens. Not really, my therapist says I am a blamer. Fuck that and him.

 

I pull out my apartment keys, and pretend to open the car door. Its all a fucking sham, and only I believe it, and right now I need to. I move the sun blind out of the windshield and slip it under the seat. A little to the front of the steering column is the cracked plastic and the micro chip. I turn the ignition and it purrs to life, and shits about to hit the fan.

 

What am I about to do is nothing unique. I am an out law in my own mind. Living as 2, a criminal and someone in recovery. Not good in either, but haven't given myself enough time in both to see a difference. I will become the latter am sure years down the line. Its march 3rd, 2012, and I will be in the city section of the local paper, and it will be brief on the news stations. I realize I might get caught, but that is the scream for help unheard to myself until now. “Holy shit, here I go.”I say in a void of head space, and nausea.

 

I see two police vehicles on my way across town. Paranoia has set in. They know, I know, they know...

 

I'm defiant now. I want this to happen. I am making this happen.

 

From 1:32 pm until 1:39pm everything feels like a blur. The note coming out of my shirt pocket. The stunned look on the tellers face. The amount of cash in my hand, and now in the shaving bag am holding. While I am leaving American Imperial Union to the bike outside, and heading north first then west and down the back streets to the vacant house for sale. My ass is freaking out. I grab the clothes from a backpack in the bushes and slide into the basement window, and drop to the concrete floor. Sweating, heart beating, the taste of alcohol coming out of my lungs, and the need to piss hold me in fear. Crawling into the shadows of the basement. I take off my cap and shirt, undo my pants and look at the sun rays beaming in, and watching the dust settle. My hands are wet inside the clear rubber gloves.

 

The sirens are faint. The only chaos is in my mind. I gather myself, and the sweat is cool. I want to drink. I want to drink a lot. I wish I had a life I wanted back.

7,893.00 is 5 years am sure. But right now its the next month and a half. 49 days, and a wake up.

 

Its been a couple hours. The cops are still there I think. I am brown, and to close to the scene. I hear a dog barking. It doesn't matter the dog isn't a German shepherd. Its small and annoying. I remove the band aids, and roll up my clothes and head towards the front door of the house. Outside, I turn left, and at the corner I see Broadway, and the little shops. I feel fresh and clean. My back pack is black, my clothes are black, and my hair is loose. My Converse are green, and in the house behind me is a pile of clothes burning in the fireplace. It smells good, and just like the weather man said. A chance of rain is now a 100%.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 


© Copyright 2018 StoneLoners. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Other Content by StoneLoners

More Great Reading

Popular Tags