What We Do Is Secret Read Online Free PDF

bound to lead to what happened in Citrus Alley, and Siouxsie’s so big-sisterly lately, I know she wouldn’t like me being in that dude’s car in the first place, not Napoleon Solo. And anyways it’s hard to explain, right afterwards I told Blitzer the trick was just trying to scare me, and show me I wasn’t as sly as I thought I was, and it was a good thing too, because I didn’t know about those credit card keys, and now I do, but all he said was too bad he couldn’t smash the dude’s skull instead of his windshield.
    “I don’t know how old he looks, but he’s got sideburns, and sideburns equal Social Security on that corner,” Siouxsie says. “Sixteen’s past retirement age.”
    I’m all, Same goes double for you with Mr. Slice of Hair Pie, you’d better punch the rhyme clock while you can. And she tells me not to worry my spiky little head none, they’ll be back in the sandbox before I can say Old Snatch-Donald had a farm.
    And they’ll be rich.
    And they’ll party down.
    So I A the Q what they’re on tonight, anyways.
    Squid says, “Just the teensiest bit of MDA.”
    “Have some,” Siouxsie says, but I remember what Connie Lingus said at Tony the Hustler’s once, it’s like dosing hard on pure confusion. It was that time after Regi Mental and Johnny Valium rolled a dealer in Cosmos Alley outside the Gaslight and got an ounce of meth, a pound of MDA, and a syringe-type bottle of liquid with no label and one of those rubber tops you poke the needle through. They called it the Mystery Drug. And while they wrapped up grams and half grams of MDA in foil to sell that night at the Hong Kong Cafe where the Germs were playing they talked about who’d do it first. And Darby of course was the usual suspect, and after he shot it he all-fell-down on the bed beside me and cried out like a kid whose chocolate milk got jacked from his lunch tray on the first day of elementary school, “It’s angel dust! It’s angel dust!”
    Everyone laughed but me, if you want the whole and nothing but I solemnly swear I think hard drugs are worse than Darwin and Communism combined. I got schooled in slamming Vitamin S way past hard living at Skinhead Manor after the PCP, everyone tweaked like Speedy Gonzalez on fast forward, talking nonstop and bleeding from scratching itches that weren’t really there, going crazy paranoid thinking it was the SWAT team when the mailman dropped the
Pennysaver
through the door slot. And I don’t know much about my parents except both of them were junkies, before and after I was born, they like to rewind-repeat shit like that in group homes so you don’t start convincing yourself there’s been some terrible mistake, you’re the soon-to-be-acknowledged love child of Schwarzenegger and Cher.
    I don’t even know if they’re still alive.
    My parents, I mean.
    But Darby isn’t, and I know this, heroin took him down. Leaving the Masque one night I remember he had a rig and he was trying to get water out of a puddle and Kickboy saw us and went off on Darby with all these cusswords in French, then said, “I’m not knocking you, guy, I’m into shooting, too, but people have pissed and shit in this!”
    And he made Darby hand over the syringe and they went into Boardner’s across the street and got some clean water. That’s when I think I knew for sure that Darby hardly cared at all about what you might call the basics.
    Like for example he never even talked about Bowie anymore.
    So I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, and I mean peeled like bananas, watching out for Mr. Monkey. I tell Siouxsie maybe later on the Major Drug Activity, but I hope she forgets it.
    “Later when you’ve got company, you mean?”
    “I’ve got company now.”
    “Not the kind of company you want for the Love Drug, darlin’.”
    Squid says I know the kind of company.
    With sharp, sharp sideburns.
    Muscled legs.
    Eyelashes that aren’t even fair, out to there.
    And that belly button too.
    “It’s