Thrills, Kills and Sunday Pills

Eighteen Months

I expected the rental car to look like an actual trashcan. But what I got was a little Subaru Impreza with leather seats. I was impressed, but I guess the impact was only so huge because I was expecting the worst.

I got in the car and the man gave me the keys. As I drove off, I realised I had no clue where I was going.

I decided once I got into Times Square, I'd ask where to go and take directions from someone. If New Yorkers are how people describe them, I'll take it. Friendly, chill, sometimes moody, but I can relate to that.

I kept driving until I knew I was definitely lost.

The lights were dim and I couldn't see as well as I'd like to.

A few people were around, but when I got a proper look at them, most of them were druggies. I would talk to them, as I'm from Dudley, and pretty much everyone in Dudley either does drugs, or drinks enough to make it seem drug induced.

Eventually I just decided to bum cigarettes off someone until tomorrow morning, and take some speed to survive through the day when I find Manhattan.

I saw a teenage-looking guy with a huge black bun and a tiny cardboard box filled with cigarette packets. Figured if I threaten him enough I can get myself one.

I get out of the car and shout for him.

"Aye," I shout at him.

He turns around and gives me a dirty look.

"What you want?"

"One pack," I said, getting out three American dollars. "I got nothing much for now but I'll get you more later."

"Three bucks," he said.

"No shit," I said. All I wanted was my cigarettes and I'd leave.

"Alright. Three bucks and..." he started thinking.

"You're taking the piss now, hurry up," I said.

I regret saying 'taking the piss', which is one of Britain's most common accent slangs, which resulted in some awkwardly cringey impressions and demands.

"Right, three bucks and a shag," said the guy.

"No," I said.

"Right along, love, come on," he insisted, putting his arm around my back. Let me tell you something, I, personally, have never used the term 'right along' in my entire existence. I've never heard anyone say 'right along' in such context.

"Shut up," I said to him. I took his arm off my back and twisted it around his own. He stumbled a little bit, however leaving me enough time to take the pack of cigarettes and walk off.

I got into the car and locked the doors, closed all the widows except one, so I could smoke out of that window.

I lit the end of a cigarette, put it in my mouth and leaned up against the back window. I spread my legs out along the back seats and stretched my back. I had nothing to worry about, just finish the cigarette, go to sleep, and use tomorrow's light to get to Riverhouses.

I made sure the teenage guy was gone before I closed my eyes. I took a drag of the cigarette and the first hit completely calmed my nerves. I let it fill my mouth and lungs before I released it into the air. My backpack was the only thing I bought, because I don't really have anything else. I bought my book, earphones, my Nirvana shirt and my pocket knife which I somehow got through security at the UK airport.

I'm not going to miss Dudley. It stank, it gave me anxiety, it was boring, it was my home. Shit. Eighteen months without watching someone get mugged. Eighteen months of sophistication. Eighteen months without the crappy gigs at illegal clubs with band members who ask you for a shag in return for a backstage pass.

Eighteen months without all that might just kill me.