'Friendships' in Addiction

By Justin England 06/07/19
Wolf of Wall Street - Paramount Pictures

Wingy & I...

NOTE*

*A series of stories in multiple parts by Justin. Some memories may well be shot to fuck or mismatched but what do you expect when you were mixing chemicals?There'' be mistakes, swearing, debauchery, a lot of nostalgia and also this is during my 'testing the water' phase. Please don't be offended if it comes across that I am 'Glamorising' any of the drug use, behaviour etc. Because I truly am not trying to.

Just some good old nostalgia!

part one:

Meeting ‘Wingy’

I first met Karl Wing when I was leaving school. He had come down from Birmingham with my uncle and the rest of the crew to work for my dad. He was called ‘Wingy’ and I hated him. He had terrible impulse control, but I’d soon learn he was addicted to Cocaine among other things. I remember on one job we were sat eating lunch, drinking coffee and he slashed a Stanley over my arm/back and I just remember thinking, instead of the normal response which would be ‘why would you do that!?’, I thought ‘the hammer to the toes will pay that back’. So, I grab the hammer and drive it down to his foot, but he moves it. Prick. “The fuck you doin’!? Cunt!” *insanely thick accent* “What am I doing!? You just slashed at me with that blade you psycho! What the FUCK!?” “The blade was only out a millimeter! Fuckin’ Faggot!”. Over time we grew closer and wouldn’t leave each other’s sides. He looked out for me, I looked up to him and he introduced me to a world of ‘fun’ but always tried to instill in me the importance of keeping control and not letting something tell me when I was to take it, or just let it take over me in general (He was controlled by drugs and he hated it). When Wingy left for good I felt empty. Like I had lost a limb. We kept in touch here and there. Wrote to each other when he was in prison and that was when I dropped the bomb about my Heroin and Crack/Cocaine addiction to which he cried and blamed himself. After calling me a cunt. I’m using this as a platform to share my misadventures with Wingy as they’re the craziest, funniest and most human experiences I ever had during my ‘Early Stupors’, he may not be the greatest person. He makes poor choices but for someone who does these things, he certainly shaped me to be who I am. I haven’t spoken to him for well over a year, well more than that but if I were to call him or see him now, it would be as if it was just yesterday, we last spoke. Wherever he is, I hope he’s well.

‘Those guys who work alone. Together.’

We had a job, well a handful, in Brighton. This one was on the border of Hove & Brighton we referred to it as ‘Hove’ very basic. It was always busy, all trades coming in and out every day. Wingy & I were a tag team at this point. Whenever & wherever I went, he went and Vice Versa; we’d just finished a job outside of Midhurst and sent to Hove to wrap it up before the sign off. As we were unloading the tools Wingy had a joint if he was to share a joint, he’d smoke it 3 quarts and give you the rest but when I asked for a toke he sharply replied “NO! You don’t smoke at work!” “I know, I just want a toke. I’ll be cleaning it’ll be fine!?” “You deaf!? Fuck off!” Well fuck you too, Karl. “What’s with the ‘****** Lip’!?” “Tired, hungry and bored. That’s all.”, I reply just wanting some of that joint like a kid whose seen a toy for the first time in a shop that he/she needs so, so much, “I’ll go in and get started, you park this up properly come back to site we’ll sort shit out then go get a KFC, alright?” “Yeah sounds good. I’ll straighten the van up and be in!” “Try cheering up at the same time, might not ever happen!” he turns, and I jump in the van and there it is... staring right at me like a little puppy... THE JOINT! Side mirror? Wing has his back turned, seems to be texting, I grab the joint without a thought and spark it. Drag. Drag. Draaaaag! “Jesus, tastes weird!?” I hold the smoke in, lick the ends of my fingers, put it out and back to where it was asking for me to smoke it. Starting to feel light headed so I exhale. Nothing comes out. I remember thinking “I’m going to be blatantly stoned. Fuck sake!” Before I know it, I feel like I’ve had a shot of coffee, very strong coffee then the door swings open.

“Are you ... Justin fuck sake, MAN!!!! That was COKE!” “Huh!?” (he mimics my ‘huh’ like a child would to annoy another) “That joint had Coke in it you prick!” Oh, that’s why I feel so good. “Was there even weed in this??” “A sprinkle. Ya dad’s just text, he’s on his way over. Let’s go eat quick and try acting normal when he’s here. Fuck sake!”

Back at the job there’s some touching up needing doing so I jump on that and paint like a motherfucker. Wingy keeps checking on me I can see he sees it in my eyes and each time he panics just that bit more then suddenly from downstairs “Hello?” “Stay in here, look busy!” It was dad, he was popping in to see the site as it was close to handover. Even I started to worry. How bad did I look? Were my eyes bulging and red!? Am I talking? Am I shaking or just jittery!? As I thought a million thoughts dad walks into the room, greets me and says the paints ‘actually looking pretty good’. Meanwhile, behind dad, Wingy is anxiously waiting and then... “Oh, Carl. I’ve got into the corners over here...” or some other lame excuse to divert dad and as dad turns, I laugh. Not just a chuckle, oh no, a full-on belly laugh. Wings face when I catch it looks like he’s just sucked on a lemon. I’ll catch shit for this later... but dad just “I don’t even wanna know what you two have been up to!” Then chuckles himself and walks around. I’m feeling fine of course.

Night falls and we are still working when we decide enough is enough but, on our way out Wingy is cutting something up on the side. Coke. I observe very blatantly he notices “Not a chance!” I still say nothing but observe. “Fuck! You’re only gonna do it with those fucking idiot friends of yours and this is your first time, you need to be around someone who’s experienced. Keep you safe. Here ya go...” he passes me a roll and I go in...

We lock up and I’ve got this bastard taste at the back of my throat I’m sniffing and trying to get shot of it “Enjoy it, man. It’s good. But when you bump it press ya finger on the side of your nose. Trap the coke, gets to your vessels quicker.” “OK, cool. Shall we have another one on the way back?” His demeanour changes completely to ‘worried’ as we jump into the van, he’s looking for a CD mumbling to himself, face at an angle (he did that because he has a bit of cockeye, you’ll never have a boring meal with this guy. He finds a CD ‘The Prodigy Experience’ “Listen to this, fuckin’ bad man!’ (Bad, meaning ‘good’…) 

I’ve got so many of these tales to tell and although I hate going back over what I put myself and my girls through, these stories predate the girls by quite a few years. I was still a 16/17-year-old ‘don’t know what I wanna do with my life’ kid and Wingy was my Tour Guide through getting annihilated. It wasn’t all a Chemical Friendship, it was something completely different. Like I said, we would never be apart we were a tag team of idiots that had a shared love for chemicals and got on like a house on fire. I always find myself wondering what on earth he’s up to now, but I know the answer. He’ll be out there now on site somewhere working his ass off and having a good time in the evening. He is the product of the 80’s Rave Scene as he once told me. I really did look up to him like he was some fucking shaman and he looked to me like I was some ‘Daniel-San’. The amount of times people would tell me to drop him ‘He’s no good for you.’ ‘He’s leading you down a path you don’t want to go down and when you hit the end, there’s no turning back…’. But fuck am I glad I stuck with him because if it wasn’t for his insanely odd ‘Life Lessons’? I’d probably be dead. I really did learn how to moderate, until later a few years after he had left to go back up north to never be seen or heard from again except the odd letter, phone-call and ‘can you tell Wing I said hello’ messages.

Going back through these misadventures has been fun and I hope someone out there enjoys the reading. He won’t be reading this of course but if he is?

Wing, I’ve got 2 years 9 months & 27 days clean.

Until next time,

Stay Strong!

 

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