this is the first chapter...check out the rest of this ongoing work in bingong's profile

FROM C TO H

It didn't really matter what her job was. He didn't care and she certainly didn't care to discuss it. But he asked all the same, it was a way to keep the conversation of nothing continuing. This is the way they survived their lives; their encounters reduced to the primal urge, the underlying physical end to what had to be done. He spent less time straightening the lines on the mirror this time as he finally offered her one. She smiled while watching him‑

"I like you. You're not a fiend."

"You don't know that."

"Oh yes I do. You're polite."

"People like chewing animals. People don't care. It doesn't matter if you take the first line or not."

She wasn't sarcastic ‑ that was the worst part. He felt disgust because he knew he handed her the mirror in such a way that she would have to do the thinner line that was aimed at her. He wasn't polite and she knew it. He knew it and longed for someone that would throw his sarcasm back in his face. Then he would feel guilty and start squirming. But that was better than feeling like he was superior and having everyone continually prove it to him. With reserves he thought were gone he reached over and softly cupped the back of her neck. She withdrew too easily, letting him know she couldn't. He couldn't. They wouldn't.

"I'm too wired to do anything"

He threw her a rehearsed line guaranteed to protect him.

'That's okay. I've decided that I'm asexual."

"I mean it wouldn't be worth it. I can't even enjoy your touching me. I want some dope... to come down."

"You don't need any yet, you just had some. Ah, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna split."

"No. I'll be right back. Could you just give me some money?"

He took a slow sip from his Red Stripe and reached into his front pocket, moving away his mini Bic lighter. He came up with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her, with admonition in his eyes.

Janine's cat slid up to his leg. He absently brushed it away as the door closed. Able was sick of listening to Salsa and put on some old punk. It was old, but gave him such a pseudo righteous feeling that he couldn't stop listening to it. Maybe one day he'd outgrow it. Maybe he had outgrown it and now he was just being mechanically retrospective. So, his musical tastes were sloppily living in the past. Not that he could afford that. An old conversation with Christie stuck in his past.

'You're always living in the past. So much, that you have no time for the present or me. When I'm finally gone you'll probably think about me and feel sorry for your damn past once again.'

Of course she was right and he wondered if she would laugh seeing him like this. He used to think she would astral project herself to his bedroom at night, but had given up on that obvious egotistical delusion.

Able Fawlty started worrying about driving. He worried about his sex drive, his drive for money and his drive for life. All had diminished till they appeared out of a keyhole from a distance of two feet. Why was he here? He took in the larger line and started twitching some more. Outside the early morning darkness screamed with cats screwing and empty bottles thrown. Was that a hole appearing in his nose? The cats were getting louder.

Janine came in, double locked the door and hit the bathroom. Able wondered whether she would offer him any heroin. The tape ended and he put some Betty Carter on.

"Do you think I'm a bitch" she cut a few small lines of H on the mirror next to the coke.

"Not a bitch. Well, kind of. You hold the better qualities of bitchiness on a tight rope. I guess you're okay as long as you don't fall over the line."

"You want some? Phniiiihh… Ah, much better."

He tried a small line and felt his mind stop twitching. Cautiously he touched her cheek. She kissed his nose.

Later she released her mouth and started using her hands. Nude on the rug he came.

"I'm sorry I didn't swallow but I don't know you that well."

"Why don't you give me your number and we'll get together again?" he asked while putting on his shoes.

"You won't call me. What's with the asking bullshit?"

"Because I like you. You're interesting. 'Cmon, give me your number."

"If you want to reach me you can get in touch through our mutual friend, Drano Brain."

"No he's always really fucked up. He won't even remember introducing us."

"You probably shouldn't tell him about this anyway. He's kind of got a thing for me. It's weird but he does help me sometimes. Don't fuck it up for me! Give me that pen. Oh I know you're not going to call me anyway."

Saying things like that was precisely what drew him to her. He gave her a kiss knowing she was right and shook his hair down five flights of stairs.

Able Still Fawlty

Thompkins Sq. Park was half sleeping in the dawn light. As usual, New York had been up much too late and would again, hardly get a couple hours rest. Able threw a sleeping bum a quarter but didn't feel any better. He realized it was a selfish act, everything anybody ever did was selfish. You give the bum some change and you're momentarily absolved. But that didn't even work any more. He blew his nose for the third time in two minutes. Have to get some more tissues, he thought.

The Corolla started easily but Able let it warm up an extra two minutes until the red line was between the C and H. He felt for the car, it always took him more than a few minutes to wake up. He threw in his latest music experiment from his phone and wondered why it sounded so amateurish as he drove down the F.D.R. He had the road to himself and moved that sucker at 90+ per. It was the cars equivalent of two cups of coffee.

At 7:42 am Able threw his keys on his cluttered duplex coffee table he had dragged off the street two nights ago. He smiled at the thought that he still dragged in all his furniture off the street, then cringed when he remembered someone telling him once that the definition of a WASP was someone that could not walk down the street without looking in the garbage for something charming. He took off his contact lenses (which he was able to do no matter how fucked up he was) and washed his face. Sleep would come soon; or would it? No, it seldom would. He had at least three good hours till he passed out or two and a half if he slid into bed, but that would be time spent trying to go to sleep unsuccessfully. There was nothing to do but smoke some Kush and a bottle of vodka. Then the time would be reduced to an hour. He flipped on some Ambient music and his computer. Two hours later he was still playing some minecraft spinoff.

At five in the afternoon he woke up with his face on the keyboard. He had gotten the high score and had missed another day of work. Able didn't give a shit, since he usually worked about 53 hours a week anyway. A little binge would be okay. The frayed Van Gogh print on the wall smiled back in agreement. He shut the computer and the stereo.

He picked up a napkin from the floor. It had been lying there for two days.

THE CRUSHER LINE
My face is numb
My whole body's numb
I'm gonna crash soon.
It's fast Baba‑baridelala‑derit‑soo‑soo
It expresses without words
My hands are numb
My mind is numb
love,
Cindy

He sort of remembered he had been with Cindy, doing molly and not being to really do much of anything with her. Then the buzzer buzzed. Bzzzzzz…He glared at the door and checked the peephole.

"I know you are there, Aybulll!"

It was Maria. Able had met her a month ago at Uptown Beirut, a sleazy studio sized dark drinking bar. He must have been very strange that night. She insisted he leave with her and do more drugs at his place. He had some coke and they did it up. Then she started shooting it up. It was grade D to begin with and Able was not impressed. He had to let her stay when she took her shirt off and said 'if you want you can touch them. Please give me some money'

He gave her a fifty and told her to keep her tits to herself. Sometimes Able remembered there were weird diseases going around. It was a shame since she did have nice tits. The problem was that she came back 20 minutes later to do it up with him. She had thoughtfully bought him a bag of C along with her fix of H.

Maria was a very hard girl to turn away. Not because she was sexy, but because her mouth never stopped.

"The Spanish government is sooo fowked up. They want all the kids to do heerowin to shut them up" she said as she tightened the grip on the string around her arm.

"Yes but‑"

"Umph... Everyone I know in Spain is on it. It is very cheap and everyone is so fucked ahhhhh up."

"Uhuh"

"Can you save me some of that coke? I got a job working in this munitions firm for Spain in Neew Yersey. My ex husband who I still live with got me a job. He's a hit man for the government and..."

Able returned from his wandering as Maria buzzed the buzzer again. BZZZZZZ. "Maria, I'm leaving now."

"Bullchit. Open up. Please Gheeorge."

Twenty dollars and twenty minutes later she had the needle in her leg and her shirt off.

"They want me to learn how to type. I looked at the secret documents ahhhhh. And ... uhhh...I saw...uhhh....Well you know...uhhh…"

"Phnniiii" he answered deciding to enter another world.

Able picked up her shirt and was sorry for doing it as the smell stayed on his fingers. He handed it to her and she finally left to her ex (?) husbands place on A and 3rd street. It was now ten o'clock and he was ready for the Slime Pit. He knew his dealer would just be arriving with the goods and probably some women that Able would end up with at some club that night. It was so hard being excessive.

Able noticed that he was starting to become angry again. He had been lethargic for so long now that the feeling had been with him for well over a week without his even noticing it.

The first hint of this was easy to see in hindsight, bad dreams. Dreams of violence and blood. The man in black, seven feet tall with muscles much too big for reality. His oversized hands clutched the axe that collided with Able's genitals, flinging them and his midsection off the bed. His body splattered all over the stucco off‑white walls. The giant once more heaved the axe and sliced Able's head diagonally, then drank the spewing blood. He woke up at this point, there was no use for the nightmare to continue, he dies and the nightmare ends.

The problem was to figure out what it was that he was angry about. Himself? Work? Bartenders? Politicians? SJW's? Whores? Everyone? Everything? Maybe it had to do with reality. Did it indeed exist? There were two answers that he could think of. That he was someone's bad joke or that he was completely, utterly alone. Neither thought made him happy. Both thoughts seemed to make too much sense.

Torture Town and the Crusher Line

The cab barreled down Ave A. It smelt like someone had been smoking coke in the back seat. His nose had become attuned to the scent. Sometimes he would be walking down a street and a momentary whiff would hit him. He would think _'There's a coke factory in this building.'_ A friend, while walking once heard him say this, took a sniff himself and said _'I don't know. Smells like garbage to me.'_

"HEY! Getaway from my girl!"

POW!

"Are you fucking crazy man. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

SWACK!

He had been drinking some vodka and this big bruiser hit him, looking for a fight. Able never really fought but he couldn't just take being hit for no reason. They took their conversation outside. Two minutes later there was a whirring sound and he was being frisked by two cops from a paddy wagon.

"Ali, look what we found here"

"Cuff him."

It was like he was in a school bus going on an outing he just didn't want to go on. A minute later he felt this great sinking feeling. He was swallowing his heart.

"Look man it's nothing. Why do you have to take me down? C'mon man, this is gonna kill me. Why aren't you fucking around with the main source."

The driver slowed down and started tailing two Puerto Ricans who were nodding out on the street. They stopped and jumped out the van, grabbing one guy each. One was clean but the other had a kit consisting of a syringe and some rope. Nothing else, just a kit. He waved his Needle Exchange card at the cops. They just threw them both into the back seats.

Able listened to them whispering in Spanish. They were handcuffed behind the back. One of the guys managed to free himself, just like fucking Houdini. He told his friend quietly to try and do the same but his friend was freaking out. The guy who had gotten free acted very cool and kept whispering. Able tried his cuffs and couldn't figure out how the hell he did it.

The thing that really freaked Able out was how the guy that had freed himself didn't just split. He really could have. He could have jumped out the back and ran his ass off but he didn't. Able thought about honor at such a wasted time in his life and wondered again if this was someone's bad joke or if he was just very alone. He was surprised at the to see a junkie that devoted.

"Strip"

The Precinct felt like a bad Law and Order episode on Acid. Able kept thinking about the two lines he left on a mirror at his apartment. They threw him nude into a cell and denied him the single phone call he knew was his right. When the gate slid shut with a thundering clap, once again he swallowed his heart. 'I am really here. I'm going up the fucking river for a few years.'

The cop that finger printed him did not have a cold. Able fantasized about Maria's tits while the cop took out some tissues blew his nose again. Alice in Wonderland? Hypocrisy in New York?

Sometime early in the morning he was transferred to central booking. He was very relieved until he got there. 'I'm not a fucking criminal, what the fuck is going on?' Another cop blew his nose.

They took his pictures. At this point he tried to look as innocent as he could, as if the pictures would speak for him where they would not allow him to. He was thrown in a cell with six sleeping homeless and other addicts. One guy was dressed in pink loud baggy pants, sandals and a tank top. He had a baggy beret and a purple coat. Able thought he might be a pimp but then figured it was just another drug bust. He too had been picked up in the van with Able.

Able took a cigarette out and offered it to Leo. Leo took it. Cigarettes were an obviously valuable commodity and Leo had certainly been through this before. Leo was pissed off that he had been caught dressed as he was. He knew that the biggest crime in NY, even in a NY jail, was to be dressed incorrectly. Nobody bothered Leo, probably it had something to do with the way he twisted the corner of his mouth and squinted his eyes. Able used a modified version of 'the look' until a young male prostitute asked him if he was okay.

Two days, three cells with various amounts of people and two locations later they finally fed the prisoners. The last room Able had been in was Central Booking with two hundred cuffed prisoners. He was not surprised to see a microcosmic culture forming. Again no call was allowed. They had lied to him. He felt this was his big legal angle. It never became an issue with his court appointed lawyer.

More than one drug was being used in prison. Able found out how they had been brought in. Some guys would swallow their supply in plastic bags and clean the shit off it the next day. In one cell where he had only one cellmate he was offered a woolly, a coke cigarette, as a parting gift from his new friend. At first he was sure he was going to be killed or summarily fucked up by this giant fearsome looking character. Instead they got into a conversation about time.

"Yeah. I never get to see my wife. I got out of prison after two years for armed robbery just as she was going into jail for a year for dealing. Then she gets out and I go in for a year..."

The food they were served was drugged tea and stale cheese and salami sandwiches. Some guy in Able's cell had a friend outside who gave him extra portions earlier. Those were sold for two sweaters a pack of cigarettes and a jacket. Able bought two cigarettes for $10 after some bargaining. One knife-wielding maniac who wanted a cigarette, but had no money, was finally thrown in another cell after fighting with too many guys. He was in for attempted murder. Before he lost it, he told about various people that he killed and the techniques he had used. Able fell asleep in the middle of his ranting. Someone had taken his pillow/jacket. He couldn't fight them, but he had made some friends by now. The madman ended up with a swollen cheek and Able got his jacket back.

Hours and hours later and after two minutes with a court appointed lawyer, Able stood with some teenage hookers awaiting trial. His haggard looking lawyer told him to plead guilty and she would get him out on just a disorderly conduct rap. He didn't agree with her and wanted to be totally free. She asked if he wanted to stay in jail a little bit longer. Able got out on a disorderly conduct with no mention of drugs on his records. He didn't want to stay any longer.

They gave him his belongings, a bill for $475 and sent him out. He felt exhilarated, dead, humble, proud, but mostly he felt like taking a shit. The cab ride home was quiet and he talked about the Mets with the driver. He always talked about the Mets whenever the driver spoke any real English. At home he finished the two lines on the mirror after vowing off the stuff and listened to the messages on his ancient answering machine he bought at the thrift store for a buck.

"Steven, this is Janet...Cindy's friend...I know I just met Able but I feel so bad. He was so nice. Cindy said you're organizing a search party going through all the burnt out buildings on Ave D. Can I come?"

BEEP.

"Steven ... I know this must be hard on you but I'm sure he's not dead ... He probably met some chick and he's banging the shit out of her right now ... Don't worry ... Hey I hear he left a couple of lines on a mirror. Can I come over and do them?"

BEEP.

"Aybulll...Maria .... My husband is gone for a week, why don't you pass by and we could‑"

BEEP.

"Hello ... HELLO ... Pick up the phone if you're there ... Able, this is your mother ... Where are you...we're worried ... pick up the phone ... Steven tell him to pick up the phone. I hate these machines."

BEEP.

Able played the first message over four times and laughed. Then he played the second one and the others that were on there and laughed some more. He was still laughing when Steven came in.

"Where the HELL were you? We had search parties looking for you. Your picture is plastered all over the streets."

Able had seen one of those and laughed at that also. He finished eating his third pirogi from Kiev and started working on the Mushroom Barley soup with a handful of Challah. He wasn't angry anymore and that was a good thing. In fact he was actually happy. He was even happier that they hadn't let him make a call at booking. He felt glorious. Tonight would be a hell of a fun night. He would party with all his friends and tell the story. But most of all he would not have a gate come crashing closed in his face. But while he was free from jail, he wasn't sure if he was really free of much else.

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Added bonus! Torture Town dirty version 2