Where's Mike?

 Where's Mike?

     Our drug use while nothing to be proud of was just slightly harmful and not financially disastrous. My Mom used to say "you are always broke but you have money for pot" and she was right. Yet, there was one brief period when we flirted with the hard stuff that has destroyed millions of lives and wasted billions of dollars from people who did not have billions to spend. The 1980's was the cocaine decade and eventually we tried it and loved it just for that very short and expensive initial high. While I experiemented with plenty of recreational drugs my hyper-sensitive nervous system was a sort of regulator of excess. I never really used barbituates since I drank alcohol to slow down and my amphetamine use was short and discouraged by an accompanying insomnia. Things like mushrooms, peyote, psilocybin or DMT were really hard to find and harder to trust as genuine. Hashish and good old weed were everybody's pals for our lifetimes without a care about what they did to our lungs. Then coke showed up and it was a greater risk and thrill for dangerously hip young men and women. You would be at a party and whispers would begin that there was blow available and noses would perk up. Greg was introduced to the drug out in the desert and his two cousins were experienced in the acquistion of  the precious commodity. I personally attended a snowfall in Palm Desert where I was the only non-Sheehy snorting away. Most of those in my circle were just gram buyers which I think was about a hundred bucks. It was understood that what we got was stepped on several times and a long, long way from pure. It might be possible to get an 8-ball (31/2 grams) for a desert party but grams were good for about 8 to 10 lines. Once you got started the desire increased to about a line every half hour. It was very hard to stop until the supply was finished. So the story here is one we repeated mostly during the holidays since the tale comes from a Christmas party at Greg's pad on Tremaine in 1987. There was about a dozen revelers who had contributed a goodly sum of dough for a purchase of "an OZ." This kind of investment meant like hundreds of lines of blow and probably an all-night affair. Holding onto a shaky marriage I was not that enthused but wanted to please her since she had a big nose for nose candy. The man with the connections was Mike and he was to make "the buy" then show up at the party where mirrors and razor blades were at the ready. As the party progressed a question kept being put forward by the "stakeholders" with greedy nostrils awaiting the drugs. Where's Mike? The inquiries started about 8;30 and continued until midnight when it became apparent that our Mister Big had found another use for the OZ which was up his own pie-slit nostrils. As Greg and his chick Lissy bade farewell to guests there was one more plaintiff  whimper "where's Mike" To finish the story as Greg told it he awoke the next morning refreshed and delighted to witness a clear-headed Winter's day. Like me, he was relieved the prodigal cousin had wandered elsewhere.

                                                   Where's Mike?