[ ROOM ] - our muses are deliriously sprawled out in one of their bedrooms at 5am after talking doing drugs all night. (lou & jim)
regretamine.
"They call me chemist," glug-glug, "they call me doctor," go to bed, you fucking idiot. "I prefer shaman, I prefer wizard, I'm the kind'a guy you seek out in a cave, you know, I saved those fucking idiots."
It's never straightforward with Jimmy. It's never just a night out. It's usually two, minimum. He's perched on the very edge of the chair in the dark corner of his bedroom, in his boxers, a hoodie, and his timbs, you see his legs were warm, boiling in fact, and his ears were freezing. And the timbs, they were in case he had to stomp someone, if you stay ready, you don't have to get ready.
This night, that turned into two, had humble beginnings. Direct eye-contact, there's something in his eye, a glint of mischief, "you want a line?"
His eyes have been open for 37 hours.
"This is what I live for," leaning forward, ash falls off his blunt, drinks his beer as if he's parched, and lets the empty can fall to the floor, with the others. "I gave those people an experience they've never had before, I showed them something they can't see nowhere else, and I held their hand, I saved their fucking lives."
He was talking about the acid incident. The grind never ends. He'd got talking to some college kid, he wanted to try acid. What was he gonna do, only buy two sheets? What's the fucking point?
"No bags?" No nothing? Just loose? Who fucking raised you?" He's barking into the black Volvo's window at some guy who's all ribcage and shit moustache.
Everyone on the brink of crisis, you can't outrun acid, but the shaman knows that you can drown it. He don't need no tab, he was on that good vibe shit, I'll buy everyone in this fucking room a beer, I'll buy in two, fuck it, six, cash in hand.
"I made four grand, and spent four grand on beers, and look at me," tears another beer off the plastic, cracks open, "you still awake over there?"
