About a Girl
We were somewhere around Greece on the edge of a cliff when the drugs began to take hold.* There was a can of six pack on the back of the car; I was holding a Heineken bottle, chugging it as fast as I could. The concept of speed limit was vague. Sometimes it was 60 MPH, sometimes it was 90 MPH. The speed was part of the action, equally as important as the drug-induced ecstasy. My companion, a woman whom I met just 26 days ago, was unaware of our current predicaments, and just how close we were from death. She was too high on mescaline to care.
For over the past two weeks we’ve been traveling non-stop through all of Europe, engaging in acts many have come to consider immoral, sexually deviant, and illegal. We lived this life before we met, and we’ll continue to do so until our deaths, which from the looks of it can come at any moment.
Our relationship was more than just mutual, but never serious enough. I can best describe it as superficial. We desired the flesh, the drugs, the thrill, the Edge. There’s no intellectual thought or honesty present. She thinks she’s an intellectual, but I’ve seen her writings, I’ve seen her prose. It’s full of shit. I haven’t mustered the courage to tell her, mostly because of how fucking useless it would be.
Throughout the course of our time in Europe we’ve encountered people from all races and ethnicities. The craziest fuckers you could imagine. The type of people who spend too much time doing things instead of thinking them through. White collar workers in search for something special, unable to obtain it due to their excess and misgivings. I learned more from this collection of scumbags than I did anywhere else. She, on the other hand, was too busy to see the joke, too busy to care. Every moment I saw something unique and interesting she was looking the other way.
There were moments where I tried to show affection for her, to let her know she was not alone in this journey. It wasn’t enough, for every time something was going right, there was another on the verge of collapsing. I must confess such attitude only resulted in anger by my part. I was undecided as to what I wanted, this being my biggest sin. By the time we were already consuming the drugs we were all just apparatuses of pleasure, nothing more.
But if I’m being honest, none of this matters. We’re going home in five days. The moments we’ve had will stay in the past. There will be no honest effort in any fiber of my being to attempt seeing her again. I committed these acts of debauchery mostly out of necessity. I needed the drugs and the ride, and she needed someone to share them with. She means nothing to be, but I bloody tried. Lord knows I did.
*The opening line is a direct tribute to the opening lines of Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.