Adios Ayer: Don’t Take That Second Adderall

Let me pause for a second. This isn’t about my fucked up drug story being better than your fucked up drug story. This is just me, again, opening up my solar plexus and letting you come inside.


There was this chick I was really digging. I think she was Dutch. We were both living in Brooklyn. I think she hated me.

I was torn up about it. I had never had a girlfriend before. I had been alone my entire life except for my dogs. The girl had these very mild brown eyes that would put me into a trance. There was a freckle at the side of one of her eyes. She was petite. She spoke a little French, she spoke a little Dutch. She was from Florida. She knew a lot about Van Gogh, Van Morrison, and Van Halen. I kept texting her, but I never got anything back.

She was a champion pot smoker. I was smoking a lot of pot at the time, but I nearly fell to my death through an elevator shaft at the Clinton-Washington stop so I decided to take it easy. I could tell she didn’t like that I wasn’t smoking with her when we did hang out. I could tell her main goal in life was to get high. Really high. Like, blow your brains out high.

After a while I had to foregt about her, but, of course, her face lingered in my dreams. I would wake up at 4am, sweating and would turn to the moon for an answer, but all it said was fuck you.


I called up my cousin Lou. Lou was down in Florida. He said I ought to try some different kind of drug to get over the Dutch girl.

Try Adderall. It’s a sweet little pill. You can get slow release, which is a sustained high, or you get just salt tabs, which hits you right on the money immediately.

Which is cheaper? I said

The salt tabs, he quickly replied.

Within a week I had 10 of these salt tabs, written out in a fancy prescription from my psychiatrist.

I went home. My dad was high on the couch. He had just smoked his nightly joint. He had a long day of painting portraits at the local zoo. He was sitting there, shirtless, in his little wooden chair by the window, letting the cool air seep in. It was snowing outside. Dead of winter in Brooklyn.

My dad’s girlfriend came over. She was a little woman. I never understood anything she said. I liked her though. She seemed like a tough chick. She alway sreminesced about dropping too much acid.


I had taken adderall before on a roadtrip with Lou. I remember the come-down being horrendous. But I was upset that the little Dutch girl was nowhere to be found, so I had to do something, right?

So, I sat in my room. I pulled out one of the salt tabs. I was listening to Lil Wayne for some reason. I needed some music that gave the world the middle finger. I pulled my dick out and tried to think of the Dutch girl, but nothing happened. I picked up a pink pill and examined it between between my thumb and index finger. It had the number 12 on it. I held it up to the light. Little dusty pieces of it were flaking off. I put it on my tongue and swallowed.


For 45 minutes I had listened to the same song Jose Padilla song. The song was called Adios Ayer. To this day I still get chills hearing it, let alone think about it. I want to vomit when I hear the intro to the song, which is a cacophony of little birds whispering to eachother until these symphonic piano keys come bounding in.

I was glued to the song. I couldn’t move. I was stuck between two boulders. Jammed in this mix of sadness and a daydream like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I could feel my brain being altered. I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t thirsty. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was purely caught up in the trip this tiny tablet was taking me on.


After about an hour. I started feeling really sad. I used to have these dreams as a kid where I was in a crumbling cave. They were night terrors. I would wake up in a pool of sweat. The cave was ashy and would move back and forth in disturbing, vibrating, gesticulating ways.

I walked out to my dad and his girlfriend. My dad had a new joint lit that was hanging off his lip. The fireplace was now lit as well. It was blazing there. I saw a figure in the carpet, but paid it no mind. I sat by the fire. My dad stuck his chin up in the air, which was his customary way of communicating something that didn’t need to be said. I didn’t know what he wanted.

Yes? I said

Nothing, man, chill, he said.

Chill? I said. What the fuck was he talking about? How was I not chill? I chuckled.

Take it easy, dude. Watch Ben Hur. He had one of his movies on. He was always watching some classic old movie. He would watch it and then tell me about it the next day. He lived for his old movies.

I got up and walked back to my room. I needed another Adderall.


I bit off half a piece of one of the pills. I sat there for two minutes. I immediately regretted it. My eyes got as wide as dinner plates. I grabbed onto my throat. It was suddenly closing up. I got onto my feet and caught my balance on my little desk with my left fingertips.

Holy shit…I mumbled. Holy fucking shit…

I walked very slowly like I was Cary Grant into the living room. My dad and his girlfriend hadn’t moved. I couldn’t tell them anything. I didn’t want to scare my dad’s girlfriend and my dad doesn’t believe in sesnitivity. My dad would have told me to relax, you’re fine, dude, you’re gonna go crazy, he would say.

He didn’t believe in doctors until your were basically on your death bed. I had pneumonia recently and I didn’t go to the doctor, because he said I was fine. And finally, weeks of having a fever of 104, I went to the doctor, staggering, blue in the face, hands and feet as cold as ice.

I walked past the two of them.

I’ll be back, I said. Terrified that this would be the last time I ever saw my father. This would be the last time I ever interacted with anyone. How would they react? I would be dead outside in the snow and they would have no idea.

I opened the front doors of our brownstone. I started sprinting up the street. The snow was heavier than I expected. There was about three feet of it on the ground. I lifted my legs up higher and higher. Trudging through, trying to settled down.

Running for my life! My throat was closing rapidly! It was the size of a peanut! My eyes were singed by the oncoming snow. I remembered all the days I spent in Brooklyn as a child. I had accomplished nothing. This is how it was going to end. I crossed the snow covered street. I saw no other civilians. I ran up into Fort Greene park. I fell against a giant tree. I was breathing heavily. My stomach was in a figure eight! I leaped up off the tree wanting to make the most of the last few minutes of my life!

Then…as quickly as my throat had closed…my experience started to change. I said…fuck it. I had done enough running in my life.

I was about 100 yards from my house. I decided I was either going to die on the run or slow down and experience it. I stood there…As straight as the bautiful trees in Fort Greene park. I moved my chest back and forth slowly, letting the night air hit my lungs. My throat began opening up. I could feel the fear melting away. My feet were soaked through from the snow.