T and C Dog Present... Methedrine

“You see, I started calling your grandfather the tea dog because he was in charge of setting up the tea cups and sugar and vitamins in the morning. And then he started calling me C-dog because I get the afternoon coffee ready. The other night we were lying in bed and we couldn’t stop laughing! Because tea dog is the same as T-Dog. And I’m C-Dog. After fifty years, too giggly to fall asleep.”

This was humor. And the thought of my aging grandparents, laughing together in a bed they’ve shared for fifty years, well, that was love.


I let my robe drop. I wasn’t sure when to stop the faucet, not knowing how much water my body would displace. I took inventory: my legs to the knee are quite long- 2.5 hand spans’ worth, but not very wide (four gallons displaced maybe?), a stomach full of wine (nearly a bottle’s worth), hips and thighs (a quite meaty section)… better stop the water now. The water was hot enough to scald feathers off. I laid out the towels, the bubble bath, some candles, a cup of tea with an exorbitant amount of honey- like this was some ritualistic baptism. I had to break the surface slowly, already my feet were pink.

Submerged to the neck, I read some heroin-Dexedrine-Methedrine-influenced Ginsberg (as if there were any other kind), but I put it down after I finished “Howl.” I know some chick with “Howl” tattooed across her wrist. I wonder if this is where it’s from. Probably.

Dexedrine. Methedrine. Heroin. Soup.
Dexedrine. Methedrine. Heroin. Soup.
Dexedrine. Methedrine. Heroin. Soup.

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