NUMBNESS

October 14, 2006, 6:51pm: After leaving the Missing Digits crew at Caesar's Palace, I decided to take the scenic route back to Palace Station and check out the location of Cooler Lounge in the northern part of Las Vegas.

As I drove, I decided to take a toot of some powder. My cellophane satchel was within reach. I prepared a dollar bill, stuck it in my nose and placed the other end in the satchel. But there was no more powder in the satchel-- I'd sniffed it all.

The coke was in the main stash bag, which I promptly removed from its hiding place. As I waited interminably at a stoplight, I had time to put my fingers into the bag, feel around for a chunk or a nug, and place it into the satchel. Then, after putting the main stash away, I pressed the cellophane between my fingers to break it down.

I tooted and kept driving.

I suddenly got confused-- the address numbers on the street rapidly changed within the span of one minute. I was in the 1800 block but before I knew it was in the 2200s, and I was supposed to be in the 1900s.

I didn't know if I should keep driving or if perhaps I'd gone the wrong way. I kept moving forward but wondered if I should turn around.

I picked up Wolf Man's cel phone and called the Missing Digits. Two of their cels did not pick up due to bad reception; finally, Buddha's phone picked up.

"Yo James!" Buddha was always glad to hear from me.

"Hey man, what the fuck? I'm on Decatur but there's no 1901 here."

"What was that?"

"I said, the address you gave me doesn't exist. Do I have to keep driving or am I going the wrong way?"

"I... I don't know... I didn't drive when we went there last night so..."

"Aw come on man," I exclaimed, my infamous impatience flaring. "You guys went there just last night and you can't even remember how you got there?"

"Well, let's see, uh, hold on, lemme find JJ..."

"Can you at least recall a cross street?"

Before Buddha could answer, JJ got on the phone, and I repeated the same exercise in futility as I did with Buddha. No one seemed to remember how they got there last night. JJ reassured me, however, that the address was correct.

"Let me call you back and see if I can find it on my laptop," JJ said.

At that very instant, as I put the phone down and commenced to driving aimlessly, I suddenly felt my left hand tense up. I tried to open my hand and stretch my fingers but they seemed to be... stuck. Then I noticed my right hand was doing the same thing. I felt a numbness in my arms. It was as if my fingers were incapable of moving anymore. They were stuck on the steering wheel, and this alarmed me.

Oh my God, I thought, I did too much coke and I'm having a heart attack!

I was genuinely frightened for about five minutes. Then I remembered that my fingers had been shuffling around in the main stash bag for longer than necessary when I was refilling my cellophane satchel. That, coupled with Lord knows what amount I snorted from the satchel, made my hands and arms go numb.

Damn, I thought, This is better coke than I thought! I'd better be careful...

I pulled into the nearest gas station and got out of the car. My hands were clutched like talons, and I felt like I was transforming into some sort of horror movie creature. I walked into the gas station and felt ridiculous asking for directions while my hands were clenched tightly, like I was still holding on to the wheel. Of course, no one noticed that, or if they did they thought little of it.

No one in the gas station could help me, so I walked for half a block to see if I could find the exact spot where the address numbers changed. I thought that maybe it was a hole in the wall so tiny that I'd passed it.

Then I remembered JJ's description: strip mall, next to a Food 4 Less... there was nothing like that around. All I saw was a U-Haul rental facility where the 1900 block should've been.

"I bet it's further up," I said to myself. And with that, I got back to the car and decided to go back to Palace Station to meet the bachelor party and get dinner before the show. By now it was almost 7:30, and I figured my time was running out if traffic was going to be a concern.

When I got to the car, the cel phone was ringing. It was Wolf, wondering where I was. I told him I was on my way and if I was later than 7:45 to go on without me and let me know where they decided to go eat. Wolfie said they'd wait for me anyway, since they had no idea where to dine.

I told him about my hands. He seemed a bit shocked, but I could also hear that he was dead tired and also wired on coke himself. He admitted that he hadn't gotten any sleep since we got into town. I told him I'd be there soon and got off the phone, paranoid that I would get into an accident or get pulled over by Vegas cops wondering why my rental car had an expired registration tag.

I also felt bad for yelling at Buddha over the phone. It wasn't his fault that Decatur Street was mixed up, like so many streets in so many cities in America. I resolved to apologize to him as soon as I saw him later on.

By the time I got to Palace Station, the numbness started to wear off. My heart stopped racing at supersonic speed, and I entered the lobby feeling OK.


*/*


October 14, 2006, 8:35pm: At the buffet, the guys and I feasted on a semi-decent all-you-can-eat spread. As long as Down Low was satisfied, I didn't care. I could eat anything, and even though I was coked beyond belief I still forced myself to eat some salad and antipasta in preparation for the show. My stomach was empty and churning, and I knew I would do more coke and drink beer before, during, and after the show.

Down Low, a finicky eater if there ever was one, gave the buffet his blessing. I aasked him if he was having fun.

"Yeah, man," Low said, weak and frazzled. "I already won $100 at craps so far. It's all good."

Wolf Man chimed in. "How are you feeling, bro? Heartbeat back to normal?"

Low then commented on the state of his heart. It seems that while I was gone, Wolf chopped up some gaggers for Low to sniff out of his own stash back at the hotel. Low immediately had a panic attack and started to freak out, thinking that he was going to drop dead. Apparently, this passed just as quickly as my own little episode in the car earlier.

"I'm going to lay off the llello until we go to the show later," Low said, grubbing on a forkful of processed mashed potatoes.

"You guys still down to hit up a strip club?" I asked aloud. No one seemed to be interested-- they were already beat from partying in the hotel and hanging out in casinos all day.

"Maybe," Low said. "We'll see how I feel later on."

"It's all up to you, Low," I said. "This weekend is all about you." In the back of my mind I knew that Low was going to be more interested in gambling than seeing tits and ass, even if it wasn't on his dime.

"Okay, fellas," I announced as I finished my plate and stepped away from the table. "I gotta go load in for the gig. I gave you directions on this receipt." I handed the receipt to Low's brother A-Team, whom I assumed was the most sober-- and therefore the most responsible --person in the party.

I'd finally gotten the directions to Cooler Lounge back at Palace Station. JJ called me back when I'd arrived and gave me the cross street, and then I looked through a map of Las Vegas in the hotel room's phone pages. The gig was actually not that far away from where we were, and I also discovered that some high-class strip joints were even closer to the hotel than I'd thought.

"I'll see y'all later tonight," I said, and bid the party adieu. As I left, I was afraid that they would not show up, and then I began to wonder if my constant departures and arrivals were sapping the morale from the men. But then I figured that, with this lot, they would've expressed their indignation if they had any.

As I drove to the gig, I also figured that they were all still a little anxious about the incident with the security guard outside the hotel room. It had cast a pall over their good time, which was something I couldn't do anything about. I reasoned to myself that it was a good thing that I made two separate plans for the weekend, as it allowed me to not get bogged down by other people's collective neuroses.

I did a lot of figuring that weekend.