Ice

Here's the Australian Federal Police with 46 kilograms of Ice they busted out of a speedboat brought into Australia from Canada. It was the largest ever seizure from Canada and the fifth largest seizure of Ice in the country's history. Two sleeps to Christmas, goes the joke. Overtaking ecstasy as Sydney's most popular party drug. Can be smoked rather than shot, adding to its broad appeal. Felt grimy after I got home, ratty in the head. Can't be in this room anymore, he thought, as he bolted from his chair. Just too much. They loved to parade their wares. Did any of this do anybody any good? Did the war on drugs do anything but keep coppers and lawyers and politicians in power and employment?

You could see them sometimes, the little groups of bewildered junkies; wandering the streets at the hour when everybody else was having their morning coffees. Bewildered, because they weren't used to be up all night; weren't used, in a way, to even being conscious; certainly not to feeling any pain. And there they were, scattered to the four winds; moving from housing department flat to another; the secret codes, the walls that kept them going; encased; not harmless; ratting on each other; but more than that, just ratty in the head. And utterly bewildered.

The flats were a mess. The good times were good. Kilo after kilo. Customs had no previous intelligence. They selected the container because it came up suspicious on a number of indicaters. The story said it was by chance; and they weren't happy. Words I had never written. Words I could never defend. They were there at the Stonewall at 3am, and they were there in the Cross at 6am, and the younger and more financial of them were in every trendy club in town. He missed Richard; who had died years ago now; he had been such a handsome boy; he had been such enormous fun. And he had outlived them all, and would continue to go on outliving them all. The pains were random and insignificant. The stories weren't the ones he had expected but they were all there. The criss crossed alley ways of the news floors; the treacherous talentless little pricks that surfaced in the surf and just kept bobbing. He didn't care anymore. The slip stream was glorious; had been glorious; and all the Ice in the world would never make any difference to that. If only he could go back; if only he could do it all over again.