I am writing to you, C.O.T. Agents (and Spies), from the den of loneliness and despair known as the Yreka Denny's. I have now observed TWO conspicuous convoys of girls in their late teens passing me en route to the restroom, then emerge and head straight for the exit. Me thinks they're on The Nod, using the Denny's bathroom to shoot up. Of course, I could be imagining things...I have a tendency to do that. Especially when I'm sitting at the Yreka Denny's getting a nasty buzz off drinking cups of black coffee. In fact, earlier I "imagined" that the guy sitting in the booth behind me was a G-Man sent to spy on me. He was wearing a Harlem Globetrotters jersey--that much I wasn't imagining. A G-Man wearing a Harlem Globetrotters jersey! How wacked does that sound? Wacked enough, one (such as myself) could argue, that it make perfect sense. Where was I...Oh yeah, HEROIN BAD kids. Unless of course you want to lose a bunch of weight and look sexy and have everybody think you're really cool. Alright, I don't mean that. I mean that HEROIN IS BAD. Speaking of Heroin and my supposed paranoia...one time I had a guy ask me where he could buy some heroin. Right in downtown Yreka. Right in broad daylight (across from Ohlund's office supply). I've been to three rodeos and county fair...come on, do look fucking stupid. Hmmmm...fat guy with a mullet in Yreka asks me if I know where to get some heroin. Makes me think NARK or UNDERCOVER NARCOTICS OFFICER. Derrr. Sometimes Yreka frickin' kills me. Where was I? Nowhere, I guess. Just reporting to you from the front lines, comrades. As ever, your Blues From A Gun, FELIX

¶ 1:09 AM   

Corinna AKA Corinna said...
Your Denny's exploits are fucking hilarious. And sad.

I didn't think anyone in Yreka could afford herion... Weed, yes. Shrooms, yes. Crack, yes. Meth, DEFINITELY (my neighbors have a goddamn lab). But herion? Wow, I didn't realize Yreka teens had gotten so jaded.  

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