May 7, 2012 § Leave a comment

“Can you hear us pumping on your stereo?” – Supergrass 
If he looks at you like that, with that strange jittery composure, it means he’s done more cocaine than you. With that figit, where the eyes don’t scream, they shout questions. The lips stay still. The eyes scream at everything. He’s done more cocaine than you. You are, too him, small fry. You are, for the next few minutes, naive. It’s not a competition. Competition is the last thing you need here. The last thing you need is to be racing to a gram.
Cocaine. Take all your money, all of it, out of the bank, sell those brickabracks you don’t need, the rare vinal, the old guitar, get it all together and throw it all in a blender. Powder your own money. If you don’t need it. Cocaine is bad. Cocaine is a money pit. Cocaine is that feeling you get just after. Cocaine is trying to stay in the moment. Cocaine is a time machine. Cocaine is a chase to stay still. Einstein – cocaine. 

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