"Huh?"

"I don't know," I said. "I mean like what specifically?"

"Likethe f.u.c.king Yankees, man!"

"What?"

"Me and my brother were obsessed with the Yankees when we were little, and once a year my mother would surprise us with a trip to New York to see them play," he said as he paused for a moment and seemed to reflect fondly on his childhood. "You're a kid from New York! Didn't your mom ever take you to Yankee Stadium?"

"n.o.but she once beat me up with a Yankee batting helmet."

"That's f.u.c.ked up!"

"I know. I missed the game."

"Huh?"

"When I was eight I played softball at camp on 'The Yankees,' and I had this really cool counselor who bought each of us one of those novelty Yankee batting helmets to wear to the championship. So anyway, the night before the big game she whacked the c.r.a.p out of me with it. That stupid helmet was broken into pieces and the next day I was the only one to show up without it. I was totally humiliated and decided to spend the day hiding in the bunkhousewhich, come to think of it, is probably why I've never been much of a Yankee fan."

"Man, that's totally f.u.c.ked up."

"I knowElmer's glue can't fix everything."

13.

"Jacksonville, Florida-next stop is Jacksonville."

"Excellent, we're almost there," I said a.s.suming the journey was finally nearing an end and was about to commemorate the occasion with a celebratory toast as I hastily retrieved the meth from my backpack.

"We're not even close yet," Marlon said while looking quizzically at the orange medication swishing around a bottle of green tea. "What the f.u.c.k is that s.h.i.t?"

"Methadone," I told him as I was undeterred by his dose of regional reality and determined to celebrate my poorly perceived proximity with at least half the container's contents.

"Yo-let me have a swig of that," he said jokingly, but only half-jokingly. Part of him, perhaps all of him really wanted a sip of that s.h.i.t, and though at first I thought it odd for a c.o.ke addict to have a hankering for methadone, I would soon personally experience the same, vague, desperate craving to be high on something-anything at all.

"Sorry, my man-too late to jump on the bandwagon."

"How much more of that do you have left?"

"What you see is what you get."

"Is that gonna be enough?"

"Enough for me not to s.h.i.t my pants. But I think I'm gonna be a sad and sleepless little boy for a while."

"Hey, man-by the way," Marlon said. "I think you packing up and getting out of Dodge was a good idea. I mean, it really sucks that your mother's a c.u.n.t and you don't really have that whole family thing to fall back on, but it would still be hard for you to pull it together in the same place you've been getting high. Obviously, I'm not an expert on staying clean, but even I know you have to get away from the things that remind you of being f.u.c.ked up. So it's actually a good thing that you're completely changing your surroundings and getting away from the things that remind you of getting high and s.h.i.t. By the way, where are you gonna be staying?"

"With the guy I used to shoot-up with and his pothead granny."

The bus pulled into the Jacksonville station at around 5:30 p.m., and as I stepped off to stretch out I was surprised by the temperature outside. Of course, it was nearly the end of November and we were in the northern-most reaches of Florida, but it seemed almost as chilly as it was in Connecticut. And I liked it. I liked knowing that it wouldn't be getting much colder, and I appreciated the change of scenery. I appreciated the change.

By around 6 p.m. we left Jacksonville en route to Orlando and during a controlled nod sponsored by 80 milligrams of meth, I reminisced about a trip to Disney World which occurred not long after my dad had died. Of course, it was only for a few days before we moved on to Fort Lauderdale which was more my mother's speed, but while we were there we certainly got the royal treatment: a huge hotel suite with fresh fruit, cheese baskets, pastries and champagne for the monster-as well as cake, candy and Disney trinkets for Celine and me. But the nostalgia and sweet reflections inspired during the two-and-a-half-hour journey to the Magic Kingdom completely dissipated after spending a four-hour layover in the city's less enchanting bus station, and by the time we departed at around 1 a.m. I was ready for the fun to be over. But that was hardly the case and by the time we made it through Lakeland, endured another six-hour layover in Tampa and then arrived in St. Petersburg it was 9:30 in the morning, I was at my wit's end and about to prematurely dive into my last bit of narcotic.

"Don't turn to drugs now, dude-it's almost over; only Sarasota and Port Charlotte stand between you and a peaceful life on the farm," Marlon said but I didn't like the way it sounded.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe you should save what's left to help you come to terms with your newsurroundings," he suggested with a smile but I didn't like the way it looked.

We left St. Petersburg at around 10:20 and were in Sarasota in less than an hour.

"Hey man, it's been a pleasure," Marlon said to me after we exchanged contact information and he held out his hand and readied himself for the first phase of his own recovery, just as I finished the last of my methadone. "If you ever find yourself on the east coast give me a buzz."

"Will do-definitely."

With that I wished him luck as he stepped off the bus and I continued on my own journey alone. Within an hour I arrived in Port Charlotte, Florida and called Perry from the station to prepare him for my arrival in Fort Myers.

"When do you get here?" he asked.

"In about an hour."

"All right, then-we'll leave in a few minutes."

"I said an hour."

"I know. We're about 40 minutes away."

"Then why'd you have Randy get me a ticket to Fort Myers?"

"Because that's the closest stop to Lehigh."

"You're 40 minutes away from the closest bus station? What the f.u.c.k did you get me into, Perry?!"

"Oh, you're gonna find out soon enough," he said and then immediately hung up.

What an a.s.shole.

So, on November 24th at 1 p.m. on a sunny Sunday afternoon in 1996, I arrived in Fort Myers, Florida with no idea of what to expector how long to expect it.

"Hey, man-glad you made it," Perry said as he and his grandmother were there to greet me as soon as I stepped off the bus.

"So am I."

"How was the trip?"

"Miserable. Four transfers, twenty stops-ten of them in Florida."

"It's a brutal ride," Perry agreed and then suddenly remembered. "Hey, Grandma-this is Craig."

"Hi Craig," said Granny. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Granny."

"Guess what I'm making for Thanksgiving Dinner."

"Pot brownies?" I asked as Perry suddenly looked at me with fear in his eyes as if I'd just said something I shouldn't have.

"Nope," Granny said while staring at me suspiciously for a moment. "I'm frying a turkey. Did you ever fry a turkey, Craig?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not too handy in the kitchen."

"That's okay. Ever shoot one?"

"By the way, Craig," Perry suddenly interrupted. "That was a joke."

"Sure as h.e.l.l was," confirmed Granny. "I'll shoot the d.a.m.n thing myself."

"I mean about the weed," Perry inconspicuously whispered in my ear while gritting his teeth in an obvious display of discomfort. "Grandma doesn't really smoke weed."

"'Doesn't really' as in she doesn't smoke a lot of weed-or 'doesn't really' as in she doesn't smoke weed at all?" I felt the need to clarify as I not-so-inconspicuously whispered in his own ear.

"The second one-definitely."

That turned out to be true. In fact, Granny was basically what you'd expect for a 70-year-old, gray-haired granny, and was one of those people who-like Casey the Cop-seemed to have a specific animosity toward the ganj. Certainly though, Casey was damaged goods from the Just Say No Generation who believed that marijuana was the devil himself and though he witnessed me boot at rehearsals on many occasions without ever saying a word, I knew from his rhetoric that if he ever caught me dragging on a joint he'd pull out his gun and shoot me. With Casey, it was almost as if on some level he understood and almost made an exception for the deadly and addictive nature of heroin, but as far as he was concerned it was stupid marijuana that left the gate open and was ultimately the real culprit. He never once considered the educational shortcomings that factored into everything and as a result it wouldn't take much for him to become unhinged if somebody even mentioned weed. Thankfully, Granny didn't have quite the hard-on for pot that Casey had, but she still harbored a healthy animosity for the drug that was not to be toyed with and besides-she had a rifle. But one thing Granny and I did share in common was a hearty animosity for her daughter, Felicia-who always believed I was in some way the cause of her son's drug problem. Of course, it was Granny who for all intents and purposes was Perry's real mother as she'd raised him from infancy and had always resented her daughter for overlooking the responsibilities of motherhood in order to chase a dream. And needless to say, she really loved Perry.

14.

Lehigh Acres, Florida.

At around 27 feet above sea level it's the highest point in Lee County and was named as such. There's no cement, no sidewalks and no buildings and the snakes, lizards and alligators swimming around the ca.n.a.ls-not to mention the wild rumble of panthers growling in the thicket-are things you'd only expect to find in a jungle on the other side of theroad. Now, add to that a porch, a rocking chair, a shotgun by the door and the Hatfields and McCoys by the river. Indeed, not everything is Miami, Orlando or Palm Beach.

When I first arrived in late November I have to admit I was really quite taken in by it all. The weather was impeccable, and Southwest Florida didn't seem real. As a matter of fact, it isn't-because six months out of the year it would be uninhabitable if it wasn't for air conditioning and mosquito repellent. But thanks to technological and scientific advancements you could sense the excitement in the air. In thick-wooded, unsettled areas of Lehigh with no signs of civilization beyond five-foot-wide dirt roads and small, informal street signs attached to trees-plans were being made to make lots and lots of money in lots. Here, in addition to nothing but nature, you would see official and unofficial demarcations noting where one property line began and the other ended, and within ten years some of these small parcels of dirt and trees would fetch 30 to 40 times their present value.

As 1996 became 1997 the weather was splendid, though Perry and I spent most of our time indoors watching television, being depressed, popping Nyquil, eating like pigs but wanting nothing other than to be high...on anything. It was a longing and a void that would remain empty and open and incapable of being shut so the best you could hope for was to fill it with something that wouldn't kill youor at least not right away. Of course, there was no dope or any real drugs in the area to be tempted by-but there was some weed. The driest, brownest, most awful low-grade s.h.i.t you could ever imagine-homegrown, Florida s.h.i.t-which Perry said was always subpar because it's too hot in the summer and too dry in the winter for anything decent to grow. I suppose there was better stuff available that was grown indoors or smuggled in from other places, but we didn't know of any specifically and would have been unable to afford it even if we did while living off of Randy's generosity-which was being doled out by Granny in frustratingly small and measured amounts. So I suppose I should have been thankful for the continuous crop of c.r.a.p that was being cultivated about a half-mile down the road from Granny's house in the backyard of Lehigh's redneck bar, and marketed and sold by Lehigh's redneck bartender.

"You know, I can also get you boys some p.u.s.s.y if you like," said Nate the redneck barkeep as I finished my beer and he handed Perry a bag of schwag, but was apparently hoping to become our one-stop-shop for liquor, weed and women.

"Nah, that's all right, I reckon," I said as Perry pored over the pot he'd just purchased. "But just for the h.e.l.l of it, Nate-how much would a piece a p.u.s.s.y go for in these here parts?"

"Twenty bucks."

"Same as the weed!"

"And just as dried-upI reckon," said Perry in his own faux-billy accent.

"None of that kinda talk now-ya' here!" barked Nate, though I'm not sure if he was defending the weed or the women.

"Just funnin' around some," Perry said. We then paid the $2 tab for two drafts and quietly removed ourselves from the wooden stools at a wooden bar in a wooden dive with sawdust on the floor that at one point might have played a greater role in creating the motif.

As s.h.i.tty as the weed was, along with a lot of Nyquil it satiated me for the time being, though we were careful not to get caught smoking by Granny. And though we were constantly grappling with a longing to be high on heroin there could be none of that-so we never discussed it much like we never discussed the music which wasn't too difficult because my heart just wasn't in it anymore and quite frankly, I don't think Perry's was either. Besides, we'd always believed the music and the dope were two sides of the same coin and history had proven us right, so any musical aspirations would now have to seriously be put to bed. However, toward the end of January-probably because I'd been completely dope-free for eight weeks-my libido was seriously about to rise and shine and one afternoon while Gwen Stefani was lighting up MTV just being a girl, I thought about taking advantage of the other $20 product Nate was peddling.

"f.u.c.k that s.h.i.t," Perry said. "Trust me-you don't realize what's lurking around out there in the bushes and besides, Grandma's got a s.h.i.tload of liver in the fridge."

"So?"

"So forget about Nate's hookers. Just grab two pieces from the refrigerator, put'em in the microwave and then stick'em between the mattress and the box spring. When you get on your knees it's the perfect height."

"The perfect height for what?!"

"Whaddaya think? After you heat it up it gets nice and warm and greasy-and it's much safer than banging white trash."

"No way," I said-at this point still obviously in disbelief.

"Well, you know, you have to apply a little pressure to the mattress but-"

"You can't really be serious, Perry. With liver?"

"Well not normally but the vacuum's all f.u.c.ked up."

"Do you eat it afterwards?"

"Eat the liver? After having s.e.x with it??? What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you?"

Just then Granny returned from Publix with more groceries for us to eat and fornicate with before b.i.t.c.hing about having to do all the shopping.

"Chill out Granny and take a toke."

"And you boys are eating me out of house and home-you know," she added. "Somebody better get a job around here and QUICK. Your friend's money is just about spent."

"Oh, don't worry about it-Grandma," Perry told her. "The s...o...b..rds are coming. Soon we'll both be working and making lots of money. I promise."

Between the middle of January and the end of April, the population in certain areas of Florida more than doubles and in coastal cities likes Fort Myers-it practically triples. As a result there's always a seasonal hiring boom, and though it can be profitable to work in some establishments each season, it hardly makes up for the rest of the year when much of the state is a relative ghost town.