July 1998
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The Day I Smoked Too Much Crack

(An obscure drama)

by Mark Egle

He sits in his automobile, fumbling through frequencies on the direct current lump of analogue mess in his peripheral. Ashes fall in his lap, and stain his exo-skelatel shroud. As he opens the car door, he looks at the asphalt below and vomits, leaving a colorful stream of stomach acid, freezer-burnt Pop Tarts, and Tang. Walking to the institution he wipes his mouth, fingers through his short, bristly hair, and consumes three tic tacs. He sits in a graffiti-ridden throne and gives his contribution to society with a black Bic ballpoint pen. As he sits, he ponders who is watching him behind the blank canvas projection screen that sways back and forth, mimicking his every breath. The scan sheet is complete. He signs it, gives it to the minister, and increases the bytes in his personal database. He then walks outside the gates, watches a pigeon mine through a trash pile and proceeds to make his way home.

When he arrives at his flat he is raped by his flatmates. He refreshes his glass of Tang, consumes a few cherry flavored antacids, and makes his way to the toilet. There he finds his favorite shirt soaking in the porcelain cereal bowl along with a heap of digested, fragrant, terribly putrid intestinal mess. He picks up his shirt, rings it out, and folds it. He makes his way to his room and gathers his remaining clothing on the cold hardwood floor below. As he packs his things he realizes that he hasn't felt this comfortable in months. When he leaves his flat he walks outside and realizes he has no idea of where he is. He has no choice but to curl up on the concrete along with the extinguished cigarette butts, and wait for the nausea to pass. He stands up, vomits again, and tries to find his way to the nearest pub.

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