Getting Higher Read Online Free PDF

peppering the windows with a ceaseless tapping. It was still pouring down hard, even worse than it had that afternoon; the Stonybank River was slowly climbing its banks and the streets of the city were filled with puddles. Thunder drummed in the distance.
    "Say, Crank, watta' you think...about Rocky?"
    "Well, personally...I thought the movie...sucked."
    Joe groaned, his eyes still on the ceiling. "Not the damn movie! That dude...you know, that dude that's always at Tap's."
    Crank laughed. "I know who it is, dumb shit. That was a joke...don't you get it? Ha ha ha...you dumb shit! Boy, are you…stupid!"
    Joe ignored the wisecracks. "Rocky said he's gettin' a job in Bartlett, maybe with Donald...Donald Duck trucking..."
    Suddenly, Crank roared. "Oh, geez...ha ha! It's Donald son , not Donald Duck ! Ha ha ha...you stupid sonnuva'..."
    He started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably. Soon, he was rolling on the floor, clutching his side; the bong clattered to the floor, fine dark dope spilling out of the bowl. "Donald Duck, Donald Duck...ha ha ha ha ha!!"
    It seemed that Joe didn't even notice his friend's performance. He just sat and stared upward, mumbling on to himself. "Haven't you thought...you know, about...like, about a job?"
    Crank just kept tossing and giggling on the floor and didn't hear a word Joe said. "Well, whatta' you think?"
    His laughter subsided a little and Crank rolled over to look at Joe. "Hey, Joey...ha ha ha...how many Pollocks does it take...ha ha ha...to screw in...ha ha ha...a lightbulb?" He roared, as if that were the whole joke and there was no punchline.
    Joe kept talking. "Only problem is, there's no...no fuckin' jobs to get in the first place. Who gives a shit, right?"
    In five minutes, Joe forgot what he was saying and fell asleep. Crank was still laughing.
    "H-hey, Joey...ha ha ha...I just...I just shit my pants, man!! Ha ha ha ha! I laughed so hard...I...shit...my pants!! Ha ha!!" He laughed and laughed for a long time; then, he drifted off to sleep, too.

    *****

    Chapter Six
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    When Joe and Crank awoke the next morning, they both felt miserable. Joe woke first, his head beating and his belly churning like a motor; before he realized what was happening, he was heaving all over the floor, all over himself, and, in his struggle to stand up and stumble to the bathroom, all over the sleeping, puffy body of Crank. Once he reached the gaping toilet, Joe plunged to his knees and puked violently into the bowl for a long time.
    After a while, Crank came around, too, roused by the sound of Joe in the room. As he rolled over onto his back and jimmied his sticky eyes open, Crank slowly became aware of his own dismal, sickly condition. His head was rushing and swirling like a blender, his neck was pierced with a needle of pure, cold pain; his mouth was glued shut, and his body seemed so heavy that he could not move.
    After a few minutes, moaning and clutching his skull, the fat redhead somehow pulled himself up and steadied his vision...only to look down and see Joe's vomit festering all over his clothes.
    "Sonnuva' bitch," he groaned, turning away from the sight. "Oh, sonnuva' bitch."
    Then, he threw up, too.
    It was a long time before Joe and Crank could think, see, and walk straight. When they could, they cleaned up a little, splashing some cold water on their faces and wiping the vomit off their clothes. They didn't bother to change their clothes, though they were all filthy and smelly and wrinkled like wadded newspaper; for one thing, they were still too sick to try, and for another, they didn't have any other clothes to change into.
    At about three o'clock, they decided to go out and meet their pushers. It was Wednesday, the day they made deliveries for the local drug dealers; at the time, it was the only job that either of them had. They were paid forty dollars a day, together, for working Wednesdays and Mondays, and split the money between themselves. It was easy work, as long as they didn't