How Chango became the seminal porn director that he is now

I had a meeting at 2 pm. It wasn’t about anything. Assemble people in a conference room, provide free food and they will find something to talk about. The meeting was dour to say the least- learned men and women gauging and criticizing their contemporaries. The stupidity of the educated cannot be underestimated. In the middle of it, I got bored. I fantasized about naked women- naked; some were in that room, some were not. I even imagined naked celebrities. Grace Kelly in a beach, Rooney Mara in a bathtub and Chanel Iman in the wilderness. I can’t help my imagination. After almost two hours, it was concluded that we needed to meet more often. Before leaving, I made myself one last cheese and cracker sandwich and chugged my drink.

The walk home felt long but good and it sobered me up a bit. It always feels good to walk home, even after a bad day. It’s my sanctuary and Booboo is always happy to see me. Booboo is dumb as a rock but he loves me to death. I do not know what I will do with him once the lease is over. Technically, he is not my dog. I inherited him from Estevan.

Until he moved up north, Estevan was my roommate. He rescued Booboo from a shelter and I rescued Booboo from Estevan. Just kidding, not really. Estevan accrued six DUIs in two years. Four of those was for driving while rolling. He was selling everything he had and everything he could steal to pay for legal fees.

When you are happy you spend less on extras. So I was at home doing home things. You know, like changing BooBoo’s water, folding laundry that had been lying in the couch for two days and rocking to some Neil Young and all that when Agustin showed up.

See, Agustin and I needed a plan. We were waiting on a pickup and had no idea when Gonan, our dealer, was going to come through. We were employed but also had a bit of a drug habit. This implied two things:

  1. We were either doing one or the other, and
  2. We did not have very many friends.

Agustin was a reasonable fella. When he could help, he would. That is why I acquiesced when he proposed to split my last blotter of 25b between the two of us. Matter of fact, I did not just comply, I found a pair of scissors and cut the damn thing in two- one for him and one for me. We both took our share, placed it in the palm of our hands, which we drew towards our mouths. Then we picked the tiny piece of paper with the back of our tongues. Like pros.

The most anxious part about tripping is waiting for that shit to kick in. I usually like to blaze, but because we did not have any weed we went up to Munch’s pad. Munch lived on the second floor of our apartment complex and sold weed. The money he made from selling weed was spent on flying airplane tickets to marathons all over the country. Munch liked running as much as he liked drawing. He liked things that allowed him to be alone. Much was a little upset when we showed up. Not because we didn’t call but because we didn’t save any 25b for him. That stuff is craved by people like us for it is very hard to come by here. Oh, and incase you haven’t figured it out by now, Munch was a functioning druggie like Mr. E and yours truly. Anyhow, we walked in and sat on the couch. Munch being Munch made us all mokees. He divded em in three halves and put it in cups. So all three of us had our personal cups. He loaded the bowl and passed it around. The rule was to pass to the left. If you passed to the right, we knew you were not to be trusted. And whomever it lands one, when it is cashed, it is their job to empty the bowl and refill it. Having our personal cups facilitated this. If your cup was empty, you just passed the zong to the guy on the left. If you didn’t know this, you were not to be trusted.  We were passing the zong around.

[…]

What?

[…]

What is a Zong? Oh, a Zong is just a fancy bong. It neck is all zig zag and shit. It is pretty cool. But what was I saying…?

[pause]

Yea, the zong. So we were high when the 25b kicked in. We continued smoking but it didn’t make any difference at all. The 25b had already taken over. Agustin hooked Munch’s laptop to the speakers and there was music. Munch got back to playing Titan’s quest on his desktop. I sat there staring at the corners of the room. I have always been fascinated by corners. Is stuff coming out or going in?

25b is one hell of a psychedelic, it’s like dropping mescaline and rolling at the same time. It’s awesome but not for everyone. For one, you have no concept of time. Well, what I mean is that time is not this cumulative and chronological entity anymore. All of it can be seen at once. Time is already there and you just need to find a version of yourself to be, in that time. I do not know how else to explain it. You get to see yourselves is so many different ways. You try being different versions until you fit in that time period. And you can communicate really well with the person who is tripping with you; without the use of sound or signals.

We were having the trip of our life but poor Munch was feeling left out. Tripping was the one thing he always wanted to be a part of. Munch liked to be alone but he disliked feeling alone. I think, to him, we seemed happy. We must have. Anyhow, Munch being Munch offered to take us with him to Jack-in-the-Box, and Agustin being Ugg-gustin, rejected the offer even before Munch finished talking. I, myself, had never been on an automobile while on a psychedelic and this was the perfect situation, y’know. Munch would drive me there and back and all I had to do was give him my debit card if I wanted to buy something. He was willing to do the ordering too. I hate talking to strangers and acquaintances when I am under the influence.

As we were walking down the garage, I mentioned to Munch that I’d like to get a drink. When we got into the car, it all changed. Everything. It changed so quickly that I couldn’t perceive anything. All five of my senses were hyperactive which overwhelmed me. Maybe ‘twas the fact that we were driving so fast. I was too overwhelmed too speak, even when Munch asked me if I wanted something. Nada.

Munch was a sweet kid. He was the best pot dealer I have ever had. He always hooked me up and treated me like a friend. We’d kick it at his place often. I have bought pot from Munch at 5 in the morning and sometimes I just write him a check. Something tells me that he hasn’t many friends. Well, doing what he does, he can’t allow himself to. But he has a soft spot for me. I knew and everyone could tell. Knowing this is important for what I am going to say next.

Munch bought me jalapeno poppers and orange soda. The two things I always get at Jack-in-the-box. I get those two and then a sandwich or a burger. Well, back to the story. Munch got all that for me and didn’t ask for a penny. That was the kind of person Munch was, well, most times. What Munch and I didn’t know was that back in Munch’s apartment, Agustin was going crazy. He’d somehow gotten hold of Chango but couldn’t quite communicate with him.

Chango lived at the apartment next door and made commercials. He also designed t-shirts and painted. He disliked fine arts and always dressed reservedly. That day Chango had just ingested some shroom chocolate. But he wasn’t tripping yet. He called Munch because that was all he could make out from the noises Jaime made. So when arrived back at the apartment, we went straight to Chango’s.

Chango was brewing mushroom tea and I gladly helped myself to a cup. Chango didn’t mind sharing anything, except his girlfriend of course. But he had the reputation of being a schemer, and very good one at that. He was the kind of nigga you would hate to be on the other team. So we was sipping on some mushroom tea and slowly coming down. That does sound a bit ironic does it not? Well, regardless, I shared my jalapeno poppers with the rest of them. ‘twas four of us now: Chango, me, Agustin and Munch and we were out of buttermilk sauce. Those fuckers at Jack-in-the-box are always stingy about that shi. They have this uncanny ability of giving you just enough for all that you have minus one. Fuck them. Well, that was the bad news, but there was some good news too.

Gonan was coming through with the coke. He was already on his way. Gonan, at the time was hanging out with this kid named Alexis a lot. Alexis was really a kid. Nigga was sixteen but he would try to kick it with us. I never appreciated the idea but Gonan liked having someone follow him around. Plus, Alexis was always down to throw down for bud or booze. What a surprise, right? Fucking sixteen-year-old. You got another one of these?

[cracks open a beer] So I was saying. What was I saying?

[…]

Yeah. Sorry man, it’s the weed smoking. It does your short-term memory. But yeah. Gonan came through with the five grams. And just so you know, this wasn’t some wack ass blow. ‘twas good and expensive. We paid eighty a g for that shit. The guy probably ripped us a bit but no one complained. The stuff was that good. And even before Gonan came through, we’d already found a mirror and started cleaning it. We were desperate.

 

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