JPG: Stories: Photo Essay: Hardline

Hardline

By Abby Shaffer

1 May 2009

He was eight hours late for the vigil, but it didn't matter he—never planned on going.

On a wall: Ain't no love in the heart of the city

He walked past neon signs and sleazy clubs; liquor stores and corners where hard-looking prostitutes and trannies done up like Ginger Rogers liked to hang out. Intermittent blocks of barred windows and fortified stoops left the only impression conventional life existed this far on the fringe. He checked his watch. Trains stopped along the industrial-park tracks made the best canvases—they were in a poorly lit area, protected by dummy cameras and cops who didn't give a shit. Cans clinked in his backpack. An e2e job was going to be hard to pull without a crew; he was up for a challenge.

In a tunnel: La Sociedad no puede rechazarme porque la rechacé primero

7200 seconds (give or take) was all he needed to complete it, a Kasey McGowan personal best. With paint drying over the tips of his fingers he stepped back. He had a renewed sense self-satisfaction that nothing could to shake. The way we live is killing us. It was the perfect slogan, the kind of memorial Steve would have wanted. Kasey rolled a few cans back in his bag and tossed the empties in a dumpster nearby. He checked his inventory, down to one black, he'd have to rack some more soon. He loathed having to use the crap sold at Walmart but they knew his face at the hardware store. Madi (a friend and ex-member of the crew) used to be master thief. It was amazing what that girl could get out with. But he didn't assume they'd be speaking anytime soon.

In an alley: Think apart resist together

A light snow blew on the breeze, so did the smell of dope, which kind of killed the moment. Kasey walked toward Brewer Street House. Cards, flowers, and burned-out candles now occupied a corner of the stoop. He looked up at what he used to call home. It'd been jimmied open and sacked by the junkies next door, probably before Steve even hit the coroners slab. Kasey hadn't planned a next move yet so he sat and read some of the cards. We miss you Steve, see you again one day, we love you. What was the point of leaving cards for a dead man? Even if Steve was up there wouldn't he have better things to do? Kasey laughed to himself. Madi hated him for being such a cynical bastard but he refused to feel any sympathy for Steve, who'd brought it on himself a lousy hypocrite liar in the end. But Steve was depressed she'd said You couldn't understand she'd said. Kasey understood perfectly, but there were more constructive ways to deal with stress and depression, Steve had known that. Don't defend his drinking, his chemical intake, by any account it was a cop out, pointless escapism and it killed him. Big surprise.

On a dumpster: Capitalism ain't what it used to be

Before it was tainted, Brewer Street House had offered safe haven to wayward kids; a place to go that was above the influence outside world, freedom in autonomy. It was almost ironic that Steve had sold out first considering he was the one responsible for putting everything into motion. It was Steve who had first suggested setting up a house and (being a vegan chief extraordinaire) suggested they grow their own food. He'd even set up the hydroponics in the basement (probably the only one within a fifty block radius that wasn't being used for pot). Ripping off the local junkies and robbing neighborhood drug dealers for the rent money was Steve's idea too. Kasey ran his finger along a poorly mended scar on his cheek and smiled to himself. It was crazy the kind of fight some of those cracked-out losers put up. But the effort was worth it because as far as he was concerned they were helping clean the streets.

On a library wall: Alienation is good for business

It was hard to believe now, but at one time Steve had been more cut-throat then Kasey in his beliefs, going so far as to disassociate himself from former friends who drank or used and screaming into a mic every weekend songs about keeping the faith and staying positive. He'd lightened up when they started college and maybe that's when things started going downhill. College. Kasey hated it, the whole atmosphere pissed him off, how you had to drink to have fun— he'd known that before he started, he could deal with that, but he hadn't known the other stuff, that you had to take Adderall to stay focused, drink energy drink (or coffee) to stay awake, and of course after that barrage on your system you had to take up smoking (be it cigarettes or various other readily available substances) to calm yourself down. He'd quit after first semester.

In a bathroom stall: There were no good old days

God, Steve, what the hell happened? Kasey thought back to the night his friend died. Steve had come home drunk and stoned off his ass, Madi was making all sorts of excuses for his odd behavior but Kasey knew the truth, he'd understood perfectly, Steve had given in. Kasey couldn't remember now who had started the fight, but there was a fight. He remembered tackling Steve to the floor. Kasey had stopped punching when Steve's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Something was seriously wrong. See there's a reason why they warn you not to take that shit with alcohol. Madi went into instant savior mode, Call 911, call 911, but Kasey just stared. Why? What's another dead junkie in this part of town? Even he was surprised how cruel it sounded. Madi was crying, Hold on Steve, hold on man. Kasey watched his friend convulse on the floor choking on his own tongue, thinking that this was some kind of primal justice. He was indifferent to what happening—he wasn't going to pretend to feel something when he didn't. Steve was an idiot—he'd betrayed himself and his friends and had the tables been turned he would have reacted the same way.

On a wall: Thanks for nothing hippies

Kasey squinted. Up the road money was changing hands. That life was hell, but he had to admit, the idea of escaping, even for a little while, seemed romantic. After all times were different now, things had changed, reality wasn't so grand anymore. He looked down at his hands Drug Free emblazoned his knuckles a permanent reminder of his platitudes. He walked into the shadows and the dealer smiled at him. What are you in the market for? Kasey stood his ground. What do you got? The dealer proceeded to run down a litany of new and exciting experiences, his pinpricked eyes darting, always on high alert. Kasey thought about it. What did Steve take? He couldn't remember but it must have been one hell of a trip though considering what it had cost. Kasey scratched his chin, rolled up his sleeves, and punched the dealer as hard as he could in the jaw. The man doubled over, his face met concrete and he laid in a fetal position whimpering like an injured animal, coughing up blood and broken teeth. Kasey smiled remembering better times. He adjusted his bag and walked up the street. Steve was weak.