Traipsing Woodwards Final Sticky Blend
The crazy
woman lived in a house that could only be seen from the front. Weeds and trees and the rocky toes of some
distant, half-buried mountain obscured the rest of it. Who knows what the house originally looked
like?
The crazy
woman is in the house. We cannot say for
certain which room she is in. The room
has ugly, scarred walls, barren of ornament.
It has a single window, dirty and small.
An old table is under the window.
The crazy woman is leaning against the table looking out the window at
an overgrown backyard that no one else is privy to.
“I resent
being referred to as ‘the crazy woman,’” she says. “My name is Glora.”
“But,” she
continued, turning away from the window, “I do know this: consuming tea in
conjunction with another drugs leads to profound differences in the effects of
the drug. Take the ‘poor man’s speedball’
for example.” She gestured at a diagram
in chalk on one of the walls. “Green tea
and marijuana. As you can see, the
effects are markedly different from marijuana alone.”
The floor
was filthy. Decades of dust and potato
chip bags covered the exposed planks of wood of which it was made. Yet Glora made a place for herself there,
sitting down and removing her jewelry like a careful bather.
.
