​

Gage and I were looking for drug zombies to traffic/

broker at the NA/AA meeting in the Victims of Opioids

Recreation Center in the office plaza on Swinton & 43rd

with the AMSCOT and Great Clips. Gage wore a beanie cap

and skater jeans. He had business cards with QR codes, fake

sobriety chips, and addiction stories stolen from Reddit and

Discord. He was another Ashfield survivor and managed Sea

of Recovery the way I was about to manage Turtle Shores.

 

People in town, meaning people on drugs, off drugs,

or selling drugs, referred to us as the as the Lost Boys. Vampiric, night-hunters, solemn but insincere, dressed in black.
 

Brock and Gage had been collaborating together for months.

They taught me how to be a Zombie Broker. There was a joke

going around that Brock was dad and we were his two

(adopted) sons.

 

A girl named Carly, with sharp raven hair and an abraded nose she kept touching, was Sharing Her Context with everyone.
 

“We slept on couches, park benches, a urine-stained

recliner on the porch of a hospice in Valdosta, Georgia. Back

seats, hatchbacks, haylofts, high-school gyms. We did it for us.

I liked the community. I once slept strapped to the top of the

PunkVan, speeding down I-95 towards Richmond, Virginia,

waking with a voice like a blender but I killed that gig anyway.

We did it for the music and for each other. Bald Goran slept

with Neeko, Neeko slept with Miriam, Miriam slept with a

teenage fan in Disney World and didn’t remember until being

informed by Nallie, who slept with the fan’s sister, with Bald

Goran, with Neeko, with anyone who desired her. I didn’t

sleep with anyone. I was assaulted, I have walls. And I was sick

of the drugs. That’s probably why they kicked me out.”

​

READ MORE >>>