Johnny was a Teenage Junkie

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Johnny was a teenage junkie. He was Scottish too. I apologize to any Scottish I may offend by putting them two ideas together, but see, when I think Scottish, I think of that movie Trainpotting you know with all dem "skags" reeking havoc in the bowels of Scotland. It was just about the only thing outta Scotland that made any sorta wave or whatever on our pure shores, pure my skag befriending ass. But Johnny was one of them skags but he was a good skag. Respectful as a skag can be he never pulled bad shit on us. Least we don’t think he did, cause see, he was a Scottie and all, so it took us all a real long time to figure out what the hell that he was saying all the time. "Mind the wee bairn," he once said when we was driving on Post through Hartford. " What the hell are ye talkin' aboot." said Sam mid-mock accent. "What the hell are ye talkin' bout ya wanker, this isn't goddamned Canada, ken? I’m tellin' ye to mind the wee bairn that ye almost run over ya radge." Sam threw his head back so hard I thought it was going to roll right off his neck, like he had thrown it over his shoulder or some shit. "What the hell was that man!" he said. "That Scottish shite of yours, nobody ever knows what the hell yer saying, yer like friggin ricki ticki tembo er some shit."
That kinda stuff never bothered our friend Johnny though. He always said that it was 'shite' be Scottish anyway. So we drove, Sam was driving, fuckin’ control freak and when we stopped, we went to smoke up in Bushnell park. They smoked up anyway, I ain’t no fuckin’ straight-edger er nothin’ but I prefer to keep my blood clean and all. So, they was just sittin’ there and I remember lookin’ round and seeing all these scary looking types. I’d been here during the day, but not at night, when the monsters come out. But I wasn’t just seeing scary monster dope fiends and prostitutes and this poor homeless folk getting harassed by rich white kid from Trinity College. Johnny started freaking out a little too, started looking kinda like that dead baby Dawn from Trainspotting. But he wasn’t a monster, he was just junk sick. I mean the punk was really freaking out here, I thought he was gonna start spanking right there, so we dragged him to the car and I swear he was about to rip the flesh from our car tire for a tourniquet. He passed out in the backseat. Sam wanted to leave him there, but I said that I didn’t want our ginger headed friend to fall asleep on the side of the road and end up being interrogated by the local pigs in some piss smelling hospital bed, so we drove his carcass to my pad. Like two friggin' days later, we got had him upstairs and we tossed his rotten Scottish flesh on the bed and we got him a hit.
He was all kinds of sweaty when we cleared his head with junk. Panting and twisting and mumbling in Scottish speak. He started crying and all that, but we couldn't figure out what the hell he was trying to spit out. He said some nasty stuff though, that we heard. Sam whispered something about a dirty junkie Scot and took the junk to go shoot up himself. He was a teenage junkie too. Our stupid doped up friend moved and twitched in sharp spurts like a snake on a hibachi. So what I did, I sorta lay down next to him and I was getting all kinds of strange looks from Sam, but I lay down there and kinda put his sweaty head on my shoulder and a kinda talked him down. He was like, in exorcism or some shit, but he chilled. I could tell cuz his mumbling fell and I could feel him breathing hard against my neck, making my peach fuzz stand on end like it had just gone rotten. He just sorta lay there all breathing hard and sweaty and sucking back his saliva. I patted his chest lightly and he just rolled outta my bed like he had just woken up. Looked around all deadpan, threw up. "Damn," said Sam. Just walked out. Johnny didn't say nothin much niether, just looked up still bent over. Smiled outta the corner of his mouth like he always does, staightened and hugged me. He was still sweaty like he had just come outta a shower. He ruffled my hair and said, “Fuck radge, I still feel sick, just sick and all ken? Shite, ye Americans, yer no better gaffer. Ye gave us shite too, we don’t just bring it to ye ya ken? Ye coulda just stayed yankees er cavemen and all. Woulda been a lot safer, saved ye a wee bit of trouble. Not ye fault though, yer one of the good ones as I see it.” Then he left me there with an omelet puddle of vomit. Was it the junk that had chilled him out? Or was it me? Whatever, yeah it’s shite being scottish, but right now, I’m no prouder of being and American. I feel a little sick myself sometimes. Not junk sick, just …sick. But Sometimes I feel real real strong too and I bet Johnny feels okay too sometimes, I bet sometimes he knows there’s a future for his doped up ass. Anyway, with whatever’s going on Johnny boy, I just hope for one thing…feel good always my friend.