The Big Weekend 2019 - Friday

 I wake up.. was I asleep? 

It's Friday. It's still dark. It's 6am at Castlecliff. My supported accommodation, 

•

A fortress of a place. Wind driven clouds from the north race above. Too high to be heard. But it'll be cold up there.

Silence sits all around, here below. shelter from the night. In what little warmth the shelter offers. Down in my room at Castlecliff I keep all of that out. I slept the streets many years.

I used to look up at castlecliff in my teens. Smoking down on the grassmarket daffodils and the grassy summer slopes. 

 A dark forbidding tower, no doubt. Over-hanging the steepest castle rocks- sheer rocks. I'd look up whenever I was hopping about that side of the Royal Mile. 

People would jump the outside railings from one story to another. On a mission to cross and bypass the security. Hanging down from the outside walkways. Drugs.

Hopping down railings and risking a high fkin fall. Just how it was.

It'd be something that id be considering in a few hours in my own messed up mind. Desperate I'd be

•

Back to the bed. In a huddle, all shivering. The sweat.

  Is this it?

Check the phone.. 6.15 am. Try and sleep some more. 

I can score, but it'll be after 9 before I can even call. 

Been going to painter Steve down Pilton way the past few weeks. A merry trip. Memories hello.

I'm getting the thoughts. The thoughts of dreamy butterflies, imagining standing down at the Scabby flats. Standing in rain, grey, waiting for him coming. Coming as he might. Could be 5, could be 20. Euphoria and then some.

Today's like all the rattles I've been having.

 I scored off Steve yesterday, early. Only a tenner-0.2. It held me- kit's decent, but I'm a half-teenth a day guy. Fucking disaster. Some habit. Down from town on the bus I've been heading. Head pressed against the window. watching the same shops, walls, bus stops pass on by, same as every day. All grey. Like staring at the world through grey tinted glasses. 

My dopamine is gone. Been long gone, been years ago lost... Fuck me what am I saying. 

I need dopamine now it's in my legs 

It's shady blue by quarter too. Quarter to seven. 

Still Ill.

I was dreaming!  I think  she, the blonde haired girl I know, she gave me kit, sold me kit. It hit in the pin brown and thick, in it went. I'd finally scored, off the blonde haired girl. 

I wake and I'm still Ill. I recoil and squeeze my legs in frustration. I had fucking scored!! 

Awake again in the dark.. ... Or

Wait... Is it..

 lighter?  

..0830

And so. The boy appears from bed- and yet, no rest has been had..

My trackies are old and on the floor. They've jumped from hostel to hostel with me, through the trauma and they travel with me now. Many don't see me like this, at my worst, but they always do. My legs are cold- barely graze the insides as I pull them up. 

To my left is an ensuite- still and unused. Unturned taps and a plughole always dry.

Curtains hanging down and drab maroon hold back the windows, brushed with the rising light from outside. It should be a trickle of relief. Light. But it cuts through the gaps, glaring at the walls and I want to fight it, fuck it off. Daylight and further for the junkie.

 Stare grimly at the wallpaper decor, pulling on the same t-shirt, the same fleece for years. Old comfort you were.

 Ive actually kitted the gaff out alright. the sash an case offers vantage of roofs, greens. windows changing through day and night. orange lamps. 

Oooaaawwh fffffk like I could give a fff??

I'm really hoping Steve's up or just, even, got his phone near his bed or the couch. Wherever he's asleep. 

He's surely still asleep, but nothing is like the fucking angst of not knowing you'll score and it's an angst that never ceases. A life of worry.

•

I'd been doing better since I moved here. Jaundice had taken my eyes by the end of 2018. Id moved 6 times in 3 months. Bin Bags. In the rain.

So part of me deals with these shit shows a lot better. It could be a good life- if made right. I've managed to cut down on my kit use a lot in the months since Poplar lane last December and judging by the standard of my fellow hostel tenant's rooms I'm a sanctuary from littered floors - brown carpets-. 

My bird lives on the landing upstairs and two brothers that sell shite crack live 3 doors along. 

Suddenly my phone pings*

 ya absolute fker! Steve is up an he's like "Shoot down" he's up before nine

-and he's not saying hold on or "I'm just up" or taking an hour to text back he's telling me "head the Fk down!! Cause he's got and I want yesss.

As I said, that 0.2 from yesterday barely held me then. That was yesterday. A day ago. Only an H addict can understand how long I've waited for this half teenth and the tantalizing euphoria knowing I'll be jaggin within the hour...

What a night tossin n turning. Forgot about now ...

There's a knock 

8.45 in the morning, Friday. 

Da Fk?? 

There's a knock at the door

Im crouching over my solitary chair. Weakened - hungered, but hungry for kit no more at least and I really don't feel ill anymore.. I'm gonna be heading out. I crave the journey down now more.

My shoes are on! My head is high.

 -Knock away at my door I'll just ignore- 

you will not stop the merry train.

When you're certain of scoring, the problems fade. The rattle is silent and I become Robbie G again. I can be a good guy. I think of my mum for a brief second...

I'm back. Its happening. To you? A few hours restlessness. To me? Hours of pain. 

I'll be resting my pale face on the glass of the bus window. Counting stops till I sprint off...

Turn to the left ..

Down through the walls..

Grey brick walls...

Steve.. there he is. Heroin. Score! 

Knock knock..

Suddenly I'm nervous 

Two knocks? hearing a second knock 

Not good.

For the first time in a long time I open my front door to daylight- Morning too!

Spring's trees calmly, sit awaiting the days weather. Not much else is happening it seems. That I notice anyway...

Wait ...why are you at my door...why -this...?

"Alright Robbie pal. - can we have a word?"  a male voice,

I look down at a burly man of 40 something 

Crew cut, North face coat

Holding out a badge. 

I know it straight away. 

My eyes squint into focus.

He's dropped his badge, 

identity.

  I was trying to read that u cnt!

A similar aged woman of similar gait and form is next to him- as is the poor resident staff member who knows me so well. Who's had to let them in.

Steve. Please no. Its a beautiful Friday morning.

"Can we have a word Inside?"

Thats a warrant. 

Police Scotland CID

Its Friday morning. That's custody till Monday. I'm Ill, I'm really Ill. 

I won't be getting out. 

I've got front row seats for the st Leonard's big weekend.

End of part one

½