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| "I tolled you drugs iz the ruination of this nation!" |
“Hey, Gramps, ‘gratulate me,” my gud fur nuthin’gransun sez to me who I aint sean in a munth of mondaze.
“Gratulate you? Wat fur?” I sez.”
“I’m a client,” he sez.
“Yur a wat?” I sez.
“A client,” he sez, like sumbuddy impotent.
“Wat’s a client?” I sez.
“Sumbuddy who gits sum respeck,” he sez.
“You meen you aint a drug addick enymore?”
“I’m not sayin that,” he sez, “but I dun turned over a new leef.”
“A knew leef? You aint started ‘nuther marywanna plantasion haf you?” I sez. He surved six munths in the hoosegow fur growin’ weed in one of the hollers hearabouts fore the revenooers swooped in like a flock of crows and burnt the hole crop and hawled him away in hancufs.
“Nuthin’ like that,” he sez. “I’m a residint in a hafway howse at the Counsling Senter.”
“The wat?”
“The Counsling Senter hafway howse,” he sez.
“Wat’s that?” I sez.
“Thats wear the clients live,” he sez.
“The clients?”
“That’s rite,” he sez.
“Acrost the rivur?” I sez.
“That’s rite,” he sez. “They take care of ev’rythin’ crosst the river. Grub, cloase, medsin . . .”
“Medsin?” I sez spitious cuz I think medsins bin the ruination of this country.
“Yes medsin,” he sez.
"Yore gramma Daisy Mae wuz fine till sum docktor bak in the nineteen-sixtees give hur a medcin called Vallyum fur hur ressless leg sindrome and she wuz addickted fur the rest of hur life, God rest hur soul.
“The medsin’s free,” he sez.
“It aint Vallyum, is it?” I sez.
“No,” he sez.
“Watz it called I sez,” seein’ heez hidin’ sumpin’.
Not lookin’ me in the eye, he sez, “Suboxycotton.”
“Aint that wat you waz busted fur sellin’ last summer?” I sez.
“No, that waz full strenth Oxycotton,” he sez. “This is wartered down Oxycotton.”
“Wartered down? Why’re they givin’ you watered down addicktin’ drugs?” I sez.
“You don’t think anybuddy can quit cold turkey, do you?” he sez.
“Your unkle Zeke qwit moonshine cold turkey plenty of times,” I sez. “I never seed anywon who cud qwit easier than Zeke.”
“Sure, Gramps, but drugs iz diffurint.”
“Diffurint! I donut no wat this kuntrys cummin’ to. Moonshine was gud enuf fur yore father and it waz gud enuff fur my father, and we maid it our selfs, and yore granma pitched in, stompin' grapes restless leg and all. We didn’t wate for govinmnet handowts in some hafass howse.”
“Hafway, Gramps,” he sez.
“Watever,” I sez.
“Life aint that simple anymore, Gramps.”
“Yore sure rite it aint,” I tells him. “And just wat govinment ajensee iz payin’ for all this?”
“The Department of Health and Human Services,” he says proud as a peecock, as tho he had a skulorship to Shawnee State.”
“Then how cum yore not at the hafway house now?” I sez. “Iz this yore semister brake?” I sez sarkastick.
“Coarse not,” he sez.
“Then why’re you hear?”
“Cuz the FBI raided the hafway house.”
“Wat in tarnasion for?” I sez.
“They ‘cused the owner of cookin’ the books makin’ funny muney on Medicare and ‘rested him.”
“You meen won govinment ajency supplies the halfass howse with drugs and muney and anuther govinment ajency raids the hafway howse for breakin’ the law?”
“I gess that’s pritty much it,” he sez.
“I hope you aint hear looking for a handout?”
“No, I aint,” he sez. “I just wanted to show you I ‘mounted to somethin’.”
“’Mounted to a client you meen?” I sez.
“That’s rite,” he sez.
“Then wat you goin’ to do? Go back to cookin’ meth?”
“No, there’s plenty of Counsling Senters and Ive been ‘cepted in another one.”
“So the Deportment of Hell and Hellish Servises, or whatever itz called, pays the bills till the Justiss Deportment or some other govinment ajency raids the hafass howse and 'rests the owner?”
“I gess that’s how it works,” he sez, like a client who duzn’t care who pays the bills as long as it aint him.
“Well, I’m glad you aint no client of mine,” I sez as he gows off and I waves to him and he waves bak and I sez to myself, “Wat’s this country comin’ too anyway?”
