Tweakerworld

by Jason Yamas

I correlate drug and sex addiction to homelessness. I paint a cast of colorful characters: Tennessee Tim with his slow drawl who demands I take my shoes off and wear slippers inside his flat; he’ll die eighteen months later of pneumonia stemming from AIDS. Cool Lips Kevin whose husband is sober but allows him to parTy; he will wake twenty-two months later from a G coma covered in feces and discover his legs no longer work. Designer Jake who instructs his assistant to make me a vegan milkshake and smokes meth in front of his entire staff; his heart will stop beating in twenty-six months after suffering bradycardia from daily GBL use. Nurse Geoff who married an eighteen-year-old Colombian who became his houseboy in exchange for citizenship; his immigrant husband will stab him in the neck thirty-one months later, believing he’s an intruder after suffering weeks of sleep deprivation. Antonio who owns a hair salon and makes me bring him a chai latte so the stylists will believe he’s ordered Postmates; he’ll be in a coma thirty-three months from now after suffering a stroke from missing the vein. Guillaume shakes his head. “These are some of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.” “But they aren’t what you’d expect when you hear of a meth user,” I reply. “People picture toothless rednecks.” “I think,” Guillaume retorts, “that you think you are better than them.”