Cooks

The waiting is the worst part. The fumes singe the hairs on the inside of your nostrils, leaving your skin cracked and bleeding. Your palms sweat, and you cough your lungs out onto the floor, and that’s not the worst of it. Explosions can happen. You could blow this joint sky fucking high and end up on the Channel Ten news as just another meth lab bust. Yes, when you’re waiting on a cook, bad things can happen.

But sometimes in life, all you can do is wait. You have to wait. I have to wait for the cancer mutating inside my lungs to suck the last shred of life out of my body. I wait for some cartel thug to press the barrel of a gun to my forehead, and spray my brains across the wall like paint. I have to wait while my wife remorselessly fucks her boss. And, I have to wait for this meth to cook.

Waiting is worth it in the end, when I see Blue Sky cracked up in bags ready to hit the street at my command. Waiting is worth it when the hoards of fucked up junkies in Albuquerque make me millions. Waiting is worth it when I am the danger lurking on the streets, when I’m the absolute best at something in life.

I don’t bitch. I don’t beg - I just wait, because I know I won’t be waiting much longer. I’m a dying man. I’m a sick man. I am Heisenburg.