He rolled up his sleeve and took out his equipment. He tied a handkerchief around his arm to make the veins stand out and I helped him locate one. I cooked up the stuff and shot it home for him. He cleaned out the needle under the faucet and we sat down and had cigarets.
"So tell me about this uru," Rollo said.
"It's truly the most, man," I said.
But I couldn't go on. Rollo was a lush-worker, a cheap hood. I'd feel self-conscious trying to describe how it was. Telling him would be like dirtying it up. So I generalized.
"It's a real bang," I said. "A speedball with a jet assist. It's gone, brother. It takes you there, but there."
"You sound like a teahead," he said. "Is that what it is, tea?"
So I told him that was about right and he went away feeling superior. He used the white stuff and I was only a viper. So he thought. Let him think what he wanted. I'd been with it; I knew, and that was enough. It was like being one of the elite.
The phone rang and sweat came out in my palms as I picked it up.
It was Jones, asking if I wanted to travel with him again.
Travel. That was a new one. But it certainly described it. I told him yes, trying not to let him know how eager I was. But I had the feeling he understood, even over the phone. And it didn't matter. I didn't have anything to hide from him. He was my friend.