Cheap Thrills

When a Rs. 5/- substance can alter reality, there’s not much of it anyway.



“My heart is broke
But I have some glue”....Cobain.





“Huh! Cheap.” She sneered openly. The other two looked away. Visibly disgusted.

“Cheap thrills. That’s not just a hobby. It’s someone’s fucking livelihood. I buy an ounce of life every time I give away my soul.” My monologue surely was a part of the bigger dialogue.

“It is actually crazy to think about the number of household items which can get you seriously high.” You remarked.

“It’s cheap doing all that. Really dangerous. Bloody bad. And how can you, I mean how can you swallow that cream smelling like fucking turpentine? I don’t even put it on my sprained ankle. My clothes stink of it for months.” She sneered openly again.

A drugged laugh escaped my hollow throat. I couldn’t help it. Just like I couldn’t help anything else either.

“And those kids. Those rag-pickers at the railway station. They do some real crazy things.” You remarked again. You sure didn’t want to conclude the conversation. You left empty spaces. She was quick to fill in.

“Pity. Pity. Tch. Tch. Tch. I feel real bad. They die real soon.”

“One of them once came right in front of my bike. I braked hard. He looked at me. Drugged eyes. Took three puffs from his plastic bag. He then raised his arms like an eagles wings. And he started to wave them. Up and down. Rhythmic motion. This time he was smiling. The kid wasn’t even 7 I’m sure. His head was the same level as my headlight. He was watching his distorted self in the crystal mirrors.” I told them the tale.

“So did you help him? What did you do?” You asked.

“I stopped at the next hardware shop with ready cash of 7 bucks in my palms. Cheap thrills I told ya.”