Cocaine on the Uber ride

 In each corner we turn, we hit it too fast.. stop fucking hitting the corners man!

A small car, out on the winter night. It's been December a while by the time I ride round the bends at Arthur's Seat. If two headlights are searching across the fields, it's ours. Me and my driver. 

We're hitting the turns so fast. The beams dart over fields and grass, they turn. 

Throw their daggers of light out, searching towards the loch. 

Round they come and swinging out further into the dark where the road rears up and twists. Niddrie and further on, out in the distance. I can't see. We're going so fast. 

With unpredictable caution the car slows at a moment. The light blares hard on a wall, scraping the bumper as the immediate threat of it's appearance is quashed as the driver turns his wheel in fright. 

How does he not know what he's doing??!

This Uber is going too fast. This driver can't Drive. Where did he learn? 

I remember that boy in the jail. Was in and out for serious crime in Romania, couldn't qualify- couldn't get an Uber license. Used his brother's. 

You mean it wasn't him?!

I come down and down and I come down again. I hit cocaine and I hit it hard. Another night thats become a night that was. 

This Uber better get me home.

You know, when you can drive, you can feel the car, the way it moves. 

This moves too fast. 

Headlights are nearing in the dark. On a downslope, a loch ahead. sad, still and blue. A brief moment of calm, interrupted by the far, far too fast descent and it's headlights ahead, they approach the bend, as do we.

Fuck why doesn't he slow??!!

Two of us out in the dark. 

Nothing stirs all around.

Black looming figures, black trees and branches, briefly glimpse at us as the headlights brush against them, orange hazy eyes and black again. Back to sleep.

 High above such housing schemes where people are dozing. I wish I belonged back there now. I don't want to escape anymore.  

"Keep your voice down"

Hushed and ushered into a stair of the side street. Dim tenement again. Through in a small, cold- freezing room huddled round and sinking in sofas. 

I pass over money, I pause to look. We all pass on chat and I'm up at a kitchen counter. So impatient. 

Gurning whilst licking cold lips. Anticipation is the dream. Cocaine flows into the spoon, shaken out my plastic bag and then it dissolves. 

We sit and shout at each other 

"This guy's alright"

Clean and fresh amongst the dark woods and sodden fields, cold air whips the bonnet as brakes once again bring the city into view. 

Sitting silent together, apart. We have ended up on this road because I got high. It was my wages that ruined and yet here they have saved. Got me home.