Karl

​Andrew and I were walking through the Fens when we came across a tall black kid a couple years older than us.  He was sitting on a park bench by himself reading a book.
 
We got talking to him.  How the conversation started, I can’t remember.  When we were drunk, we spoke to everyone.  Our conversation abilities were all inclusive in that state.
 
I told him we were going to get some coke.  Does he want to throw down?
 
He said he would, although I remember him paying for the whole lot of it, now that I think back on it.
 
His name was Karl and he lived in Dorchester, MA.  We took the train to my own town, Newton, then bought the product and hopped back on the train and headed to Dorchester.  Not only did Karl pay for the drugs, he offered up his apartment for us to do it in.  Sure, we had other options of where to go; it’s not like we were taking advantage of him or anything.
 
Off the train we walked through a dark empty parking lot.  There was only one car in the lot and there were three black teenage girls in it.  I don’t know what they were doing in that car; it could have been anything.
 
They yelled something at us.  I yelled back and told them to suck it.  One of them yelled again; they wouldn’t stop yelling at us as we passed them.
 
We sat in Karl’s apartment and I doled out the lines and gave Karl the first hit considering he was the one who paid for it--for all of it, not to mention.
 
After spinning our brains on a mental compact disc that rotated so quickly it set our minds aflame and the whole CD played exploded, we sat in Karl’s backyard.  Andrew told Karl that except for spiders, I had no fears.

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​I played in a Punk band called Lethal Erection and we needed a new drummer.  A year after meeting Karl in the Fens, Andrew and I were riding the Red Line to Quincy Center.  A tall black kid came up to us and said: Hey.
 
Andrew was like: Oh shit, hey.
 
I said: Hey, but I was wary.  Who is this guy?
 
Andrew reminded me he was Karl, the guy who brought us to his apartment in Dorchester a year earlier to blow lines.
 
Oh shit, I said.  Hey, what’s up?
 
We’re going to a party in Quincy, Andrew said.  You want to come?
 
He nodded.  Sure, he said.
 
We got off at Quincy Center and started walking to Bell’s.  It was maybe 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 in the afternoon.  It was summertime and the sun was kicking our asses.  Bell would have these barbecues in his backyard during the summer.
 
Karl told us he played drums.  Andrew and I both smiled in unisons.
 
Andrew turned to me, grinning.
 
He said: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
 
Yeah, I said.  I’m pretty hungry too.
 
No, he said.
 
I also really wish I had some beer.
 
He said: Yep, that.
 
He turned to Karl and said: Our band is looking for a new drummer.
 
At that, Karl smiled.
 
Andrew said: You interested?
 
He nodded.
 
I said: The night’s just beginning.  First, let’s see if he can keep up.
 
We went to Bell’s and we ate and we drank and then we went back into the city and the night furiously unraveled around us like tilt-a-whirl and when it drew to an end, Karl was still there and we set a time to practice with him.