Visions of An Elusive Kangaroo

     Prescription pills cost sixty credits at a local inn and brothel.  The naked mole rat faced old man takes your wrist and scans it, a beep goes off on the computer screen.  Credit received.  The old man goes to the back, down a dim lit hall, and shuffles his feet through empty orange plastic containers scattered on the floor.  He comes back to the counter with a case of purple bottles filled with glowing capsules of the stuff.  He says the white round pills have a tendency to cause hallucinations unworldly, and that the city would be a perfect place stroll while on them.  I grabbed my prescribed amount and quickly headed out onto West street where everything jumped with energy.  Multicolored neon lights brought daylight to midnight.  Crowds of people and animated things-- a normal Tuesday night.            
 
     Going into a deli just below an apartment complex to buy a fizzy drink--wrist is scanned and computer beeps--it glows every time a black light touches it. Downing four pills I feel my throat itchy with the fizzy bubbles of the drink.  Not a minute goes by as my drink slips from my hands crashing on the white and peach colored tile floor.  The deli owner begins to yell some sort of language that fades in then out like slow-mo on repeat in scattered frequency.
   
     I leave that god awful shop and stomp up East Tourking Street over to Gonzo's for a early power up and a wild sit in full of elderly hackers.  For a minute I stayed and got myself out of there before the orgy kicked into full gear.  Without my shots I would have been caught dead and the night was still young and throbbing with juice to be sucked up and purified quick.
   
     Wasted tourists and local alike crowd the streets like zombies looking for a sight they've seen before so many times, always searching for something new and coming up short just before the cherry pops.  My eyes begin to warp and melt and grow abnormal as I try keeping them open. Walking through the crowd I see faces of disgust, torment, and ugliness; directed at me or themselves, I could not tell in this state.  Every laugh heard I thought was about me; the way their faces seem to be all gazing toward my way, I told myself in a monotone inner dialogue, "Side effects may include paranoia and schizophrenia."
 
     So, I tilt my head back and drop in three orange tangerine tears into each of my eyes with a syringe.  Standing with good faith that I would make it through the night without losing my mind to these vultures and haggard cultists, I trudged on.
 
     I turn down a street I couldn't read from the blurring LED sign, then hailed a cab with on weak fist.  The cab was a brown bear and only took fish for toll, I had none, couldn't afford it.  So I left the canny cabby grumbling and cursing as he turned into an open lane without signaling.  Bumping and rubbing against other cabbies of all varieties and size, all abusing their horns and their right of way, chaos in ordered one ways.  I drift towards the Fair in the square, where I read on my vision dashboard, would be performers of stripper acrobats and medieval knight jugglers singing experimental hymns for charity; instead I find drunken marionettes and more tourists polluting the fountain in the middle of the square.  My feet felt like silly puddy and I lost my sense of smell, a second tangerine squirt into the left eye and my senses heightened back. The stars came down to greet me, as they do on these occasional overdoses.  Watching them twirl about I got horny and felt up the wrong broad leaving me with a bruised chin and a bloody nose, (later, I would see in the mirror a black eye inflamed like an ass of a baboon.)

     This trip was special to me but strange on its own and from all others I've been on.  Somehow I happened my way into a library.  Lying in a pool of my own vomit alone in the corner with the old holo-decks, I chas my high with a catalyst pill designed by myself to keep these trips on constant flow.  I saw a ghost of a lady in blue skin, she smiled wickedly and lovely white row of teeth.  With a tender dry warmth in her voice she said to me: "You're doing fine, Kangaroo.  You are fine, keep it up!"
 
     I got up out of the sewage I dispelled onto the vibrating carpet and left the library giving a guffaw to those around to whom it may concern.  Outside, the forest of the big city was drenched in sunlight, I put on my heavy lenses.  I saw a path leading to somewhere, I couldn't know where, but I'm on my way now down it.  That's for sure.  To keep it up.