He was the slowest motherf*cker on the planet. No doubt about it.
When I mention slow, I don't mean intelligence wise, for both of us had attended some of the finest schools for the gifted that Detroit had to offer. I mean physically slow, because it would take him 40 minutes to get out of the goddamned house. There was only one thing that could make Tobey rush and it wasn't me, because I tired myself out often trying. It was dope.
I was often envious of his love for dope because at that point I had not had a personal love affair with heroin. I had sniffed it with him but, like I said, I was more into the up. It just didn't fit into my life at that point.
I asked him why he liked it so much and he told me in his usual >style, equal parts Bukowski, Detroit ghetto,
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and Jim Thompson, "Ya see, people like us, man,we're so smart that everything hurts. A kid gets killed in Iowa, and that shit hurts. A thousand people die in India, man, that shit hurts. I was rejected by Suzie Buckethead in the 4th grade, and that shit still hurts. I need some insulation from the world."
It made sense to me. Life fucking hurts and drugs killed the pain- at least, at this point they still did.
Tobey picked up his second arrest for heroin possesion and was facing jail or long term treatment. He opted for long term treatment. He would call and beg me to mail him dope. He would be in tears, sounding much like a child and very confused.
Mailing dope seemed like wasting it and I hated to waste drugs, so personally, so I never mailed him shit.
In those six months I made new connections and continued to try and kill the pain of life the only way I knew how and awaited my partners return.
When he came back he had lost his swagger and seemed almost afraid to
see me. We went out once and he left early and said he had a meeting to go to.
Time came...
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