"My Bedside Manner is Fantastic, Thank You Very Much!"

Several more cold and dreary months passed, during this time Cooper formed a real bond with Davey. It wouldn't be unusual for them to catch up for drinks, at least twice or thrice a week. Typically followed by some minor perversions from Davey when an attractive woman walked past.

"Hey miss, you know you're the most beautiful girl on the street tonight?" Davey would say, followed by "Where's your boyfriend, you seeing anyone?" "Let us buy you a drink"

Granted, it always happened to be on Cooper's dime which while still being money, seemed rather fortuitous as Davey's success rate was NOT actually that high. Crazy, right?

However, in all fairness he did pull in a few lookers, perhaps even more than a few... and given the circumstances and resources he was working with, is that not worthy of being considered a notable achievement? I think so.

Meanwhile, Cooper had continued his job at the medical clinic, even having been promoted in the interim. Say what you want about speed, but it gets the job done, not always in the healthiest manner, or the safest, but ultimately somebody needed to meet those KPIs and Cooper was the guy for the job.

However, this didn't slow him down. Every morning he would get on his skateboard, take his medication, run some EDM through his headphones, and head to the Subway.

For a significant period of time, his route to the office involved skating through Times Square down 42nd street. He did it so frequently that the novelty of NYC which he believed would never fade, started to resemble a bubble stuck in groundhog day. The same generic, expressionless faces, the same European and Asian tourists pointing aimlessly at the Broadway billboards.

In their defence, two years back when Cooper first visited NYC, accompanied by his unreliably alcoholic buddy, Pat - they too took marvel and pointed at the concrete jungle that surrounded them - the way people at zoos flash their cameras at the sedentary lions or tigers, calmly walking around, occasionally letting out a snarl or a growl to groups of delighted giggling adults.

Most days he wouldn't even turn his head to acknowledge that he was skating past Times Square, instead, he would push on, sometimes skitching a nearby car for extra speed, satisfied with the amphetamines circulating through his Central Nervous System.

---

Davey enters the bar, dressed in his recognizable red track pants and white Nike's that looked as if they might have been cool in the 90s, and the first thing he says is, "Yo Coop', how you doing my man. Sorry, I was late, but I went to Sephora to get some more cologne. Check this shit out. It's fuckinnn beautiful. Burberry. Can you believe they just give these out for free?"

"Yeah, I believe it, Dave..."

Davey started telling Cooper about a recent sexual conquest of his. Cooper didn't know whether he was lying or not because Davey had a propensity for embellishing the truth, and sometimes even building a new truth altogether. Irrespective of Davey's hubris though, Cooper decided to humor him anyway.

"This girl was sooooo fine, man! I'm telling ya, if you saw her, you'd be like, 'how did that old fuck Davey manage to pull this piece of ass?'" exclaimed Davey clearly excited by the notion, and I quote, of "getting some sweet ass..." Cooper sighed, he was beginning to tire of Davey's seemingly unruly animalistic tendencies.

Note: There was that one time, however, when Davey managed to hook Cooper up, with Ms Universe, or... was it Ms New York? Right off the street too, with only minimal conversation necessary.

She politely accepted the offer. Albeit, this girl was probably a solid foot taller than Cooper, so needless to say the goodnight kiss felt a little awkward for both of them and ergo didn't eventuate into anything more than said uncomfortable kiss.

But I digress... In between Cooper's drinks, he hadn't noticed that Davey was discussing seeing his son during the upcoming weekend. Though, prior to their father-son playdate, Davey wanted to buy his son, Jake a present.

And please take 'buy' with a grain of salt because I believe for something to actually be classified as purchased, at least well you know, legally... then some type of monetary transaction must be exchanged.

His son adored The Walking Dead - a television show that was quite in vogue at the time. Cooper had personally never seen it himself, but he took Davey's word for it. And almost immediately, as soon as the thought of 'buying these DVDs' crossed his mind, he felt his chest tighten.

You see half the fun of being around Davey - a man in his forties, who once had 'it' whatever 'it' was relative to everyone, was that no matter what there would always be an adventure, albeit typically at the financial expense of Cooper... But Cooper managed to rationalize away the cognitive dissonance by convincing himself Davey was looking after him. And... perhaps, he was.

On several occasions, upon seeing Cooper ingest handfuls of Adderall and whatever else he managed to purchase off Davey and his friends, Davey was pretty adamant that while it may all seem harmless at the moment, that shit can, and does catch up with you. So, instead, he kept offering Cooper synthetic, designer weed named, K2 or 'Spice' whilst repeating the same sentence, "If you do this, you're never going to want to touch dope. Seriously!"

Needless to say, Cooper was put off by the idea of ingesting some unknown chemical, especially after he witnessed how it affected Davey. Minutes after inhaling the smoke he would either freeze in the middle of the street, yell out gibberish or become unresponsive and nonsensical for minutes at a time.

The idea didn't particularly entice Cooper.

Yet, Davey repeated the same line to Cooper numerous times over the course of their relationship, so much so that it perpetually stuck with him.

"You do this, you won't ever wanna do dope bro!"

Note: For the sake of context all current and future references to 'dope' and 'junk' in this text refer to heroin. Depending on the context, 'junk' may also be used as a shortened form of junky.

The idea of trying dope was beyond Cooper's psychological and physiological reach so he found it interesting that Davey would jump to that assumption.

At the time Cooper presumed it was a mere symptom of Davey's self-projection. After all, he had been hooked on junk for close to fifteen years, and it seemed likely that the implication was that at one point or another Cooper too would fall victim to the habit.

---

Several more months passed. In this time, the lunar calendar clicked over and Cooper had flown back to London for a month to sort out some visa requirements. During that time he had met a girl, well two girls actually... in unison.

He also celebrated his birthday with his old high school and college friends, and surprisingly was relatively sober aside from his regular dose of prescription medication, and cocaine, that one night with friends.

A relationship and a story have been left yet to be explored, but please gentlemen, continue reading and perhaps you'll form your own existentialist views on what's to come...

By the time he arrived back to NYC, it was Halloween and unbeknownst to Cooper the abscess that had been developing on Davey's arm had become unmanageable. The diameter on this thing alone mirrored a tennis ball, and whether he liked it or not Davey understood that he needed to get it drained.

And by happenstance on the night Davey was scheduled for his operation, Cooper was by his side.

The night in question started like most other nights during this period of Cooper's life - wired, possibly inebriated, and somewhere in Manhattan. Though since it was Davey they would typically meet down 32nd street and 4th avenue, right near Macy's - the monolithic department store.

Davey made it a habit of demonstrating to Cooper all the ingenious ways he knew of getting free samples, whatever the sample.

Though as you would have guessed by now he was particularly keen on cologne samples, and every time the two of them were near a Sephora or a Macy's, Davey would inconspicuously waltz in, chat to one of the sales clerks and quickly depart, hands full of cologne (or if one has a propensity for pretence then, 'eau de toilette' or 'Eau de parfum' as they are also known).

As the night progressed Davey was in and out of consciousness on 'spice', to manage the pain he said. Cooper was no stranger to pain, and had, albeit short history of misusing painkillers already understood the speed at which his tolerance levels would fluctuate (and how much fuckin' fun painkillers were when combined with other sedatives like booze...)

During this time, in particular, Cooper had been temp-staying in apartments all over NYC as a result of some issues involving relevant documentation required to sign his own lease - in that he had no documentation.

So, needing to carry his suitcases in and out of apartments on a weekly, sometimes daily basis for months, combined with a declining lack of self-care, exasperated a shoulder injury he had sustained from his youth. He wouldn't find out until years later that there was a sizable tear in his rotator cuff, which ironically ended up healing itself in spite of Cooper's lacklustre stance on his health.

However, this also meant that after six months of living, working, and drinking in NYC his attending doctor had thought he was due for some Vicodin to manage his pain.

Vicodin, chemically known as 'hydrocodone' is the drug that oxycodone metabolizes into within one's body. It's considered a strong opioid-based painkiller with a high that Cooper always felt was a little too synthesized or 'unnatural', unlike the more soulful euphoria he enjoyed on oxycodone or morphine.

Regardless, as is common with opiates his tolerance began to develop.

Back to Halloween. The hospital that Davey was going to was near 52nd street and 3rd avenue - a thirty-minute walk at the best of times from their location near Macy's. Though, clearly, these weren't the best of times.

For each block they managed to capture in this battle for Davey's self-preservation there would be a retreat that followed, lasting what felt like a lifetime, meaning two things: one, it was going to be another long night for Cooper, and two he felt the touch of sobriety tapping him on the shoulder at every impasse.

Then he remembered the Suboxone that Davey had given him months earlier...

As a matter of fact, it happened to be lodged in between the interiors of his wallet. Heeding Davey's original warnings, Cooper decided to only take one milligram.

He didn't know what to expect but Cooper felt like his recent painkiller use had warranted him sufficient tolerance to take the nauseatingly foul-tasting substance without any grievances from his biology.

So, he placed half of a two-milligram strip under his tongue and persevered running up that hill with a semi-conscious Davey by his side.

Midway to the hospital Davey suddenly collapses. It's not that late yet, perhaps ten or eleven pm, and there were plenty, even many people around, so many in fact that the presence of people felt practically palpable to Cooper. After all, they were only blocks away from Times Square.

Yet, nobody aside from Cooper directs their attention towards Davey.

"Fuckin' junk" Cooper hears someone declaring openly and then proceeding to make their way around Cooper and Davey without missing a beat. If anything, their sickening self-righteousness is probably the single and only thing... that put a pep in their step

Note: The locals had seen it before. Another junk, another day. Perhaps, the disregard and the resentment wasn't personally targeted at Davey, but rather what he represented. A counterculture.

Somebody that was out getting high, while others feel the need to break their backs day in and day out, sitting in mediocre offices, serving corporate America in menial jobs for salaries that afford them little if any downtime.

This gave Cooper pause as he could see the clear hypocrisy in what he was inferring.

He had walked all over New York City and witnessed junks fiendishly scrambling, pleading with those that crossed their path for enough funds to procure more junk.

He recalled their peculiar bodies slouched over in a similar fashion, their gait distorted by years of falling in and out of consciousness, and the distinctive stench that emerged from an individual junk lest Cooper stood nearby.

He also remembered not exhibiting much empathy, or care either as he moved on by. Regardless, it was an unnecessary comment to make. What purpose did it fulfil for the passerby? Cooper wondered.

Notwithstanding his gut reaction to engage, he pardoned the passerby and tended to Davey.

---

Cooper lifts up Davey and leans him up against a cement ball that had been welded into the ground.

"Eighth...." Davey grunts and coughs violently.

He gets up and tries to stop himself from nodding.

"I'm fine, let's go, Coop"

Several feet later Davey collapses again. Before losing consciousness, he asks Cooper to call an ambulance.

"C-coop... get me an ambulance, would ya?" says Davey, his eyes rolling backwards in his skull.

Cooper grabs his phone and dials nine one one.

"Emergency services, how may I help you?" asks a woman stoically over the phone.

"I need an ambulance to 37th and 5th. My friend needs to get to a hospital."

"Ok sir, stay calm. What is your name?"

"I am calm" responds Cooper in frustration.

"My name is Cooper. Now, can you please dispatch an ambulance?"

"What seems to be the problem with your friend, Cooper?" probes the female voice.

"He has a large abscess on his arm that is scheduled to be removed tonight. We were walking to the hospital, and suddenly he just collapsed..." Cooper's voice began to tremble.

"Ok. Thank you for that information, Cooper. I am dispatching an ambulance to your location, eta fourteen minutes"

"Thank you, you..." replied Cooper and hung up the phone.

They were in the centre of Manhattan and it was going to take fourteen minutes to receive help. Christ!

It's probably because she thinks he's junk, Cooper thought to himself.

"Davey! Come on man, wake up! The ambulance is on its way" he yelled, his voice getting drowned out by the sound of taxi cab horns enveloping the street.

Without warning, Davey's pale body sprang back to life.

"Good good" he screamed

"What?" asked Cooper, puzzled by Davey's comment.

"I'm good, let's hit it"

"You sure? Why don't you sit down? Cooper motioned at the concrete ball.

"There's an ambulance on the way..."

"No ambulances. Let's hit it!"

"Err... but you asked me to call you one"

"Thanks, pal, but I can't wait for an ambulance"

"Why not?"

"Ahh, Coop. Because that means the cops are on their way..."

Davey was referring to the fact that if an overdose is suspected, then emergency services are required to dispatch both an ambulance and a backup police car.

Typically, the police act only as chaperones providing support to the EMTs in the event that the patient becomes violent, or needs to be restrained.

However, Davey didn't want to risk them suddenly discovering the drugs he had stashed on himself so, as far as he was concerned it was time to go.

"Coop, can I have a cigarette?" requested Davey while starting to walk back in the direction of the hospital.

Cooper reached into the pocket of his denim blazer and plucked two cigarettes out of a white Marlboro packet.

They marched onwards and upwards in tandem. 39th street, 40th street, 41st and so forth.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Cooper began noticing the effects of the Suboxone.

His vision proceeded to blur, and his vestibular system felt severely impaired. He tried to steer himself back on course, walking in tandem with Davey but alas, it was to no avail.

"You ok bud?" asked Davey when Cooper inadvertently knocked into him.

From the outside looking in, it wasn't clear who was helping whom as the two men walked through the doors of the E.R, demonstrating that they were indeed the real space cadets.

Fast forward an hour and Davey has been admitted into a ward while Cooper stands bedside, gripping onto the bed's metal edges like a drowning cat.

By this point, Cooper's vision had decided to suspend itself in a one hundred and eighty-degree spin, which was edging him closer to throwing up. And to top it all off when his head wasn't spinning, Cooper was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open.

It was time to operate.

A young black nurse walks into the ward and overhears Cooper nervously saying, "You're going to be alright buddy..." to Davey.

She quickly acquainted herself with the situation and realized that both Cooper and Davey seemed worse for wear than when she met them earlier in the night.

"Hey Davey! Your friend has a fantastic bedside manner, staying so close to you like that. Good job!" she cracked a smile and let out a chuckle.

"Unfortunately, it's not optional" retorted Cooper as his body swung across the side of the bed and his arms exhibited extraordinary, monkey-like manoeuvrability with an explicit refusal to release his grasp under any circumstances.

He felt like a leaf being propelled in opposite directions by the force of an Autumn wind.

In the commotion, Cooper felt like he was required to follow Davey into the operating room. Perhaps, it was a symptom of his altered state of mindor a deeper pathology but Cooper did indeed walk into the operating room obviously and obliviously unannounced.

Ever seen an abscess get drained? It's not a pleasant sight. One might even say it's even revolting. Vile. Godless.

It took fifteen minutes for anyone to notice that Cooper was standing, unwashed, unhinged and uncouth in the operating room.

"Hey! You can't be in here! yelled a young, Polynesian nurse.

"Sorry, I was just err... following the crowd.." Cooper replied while pointing to a random and imaginary group of people that weren't surrounding him.

"Err..." he staggered back at the image of the entire operating room gazing at him.

Cooper began to feel overwhelmed with the situation unfolding in front of him, and with that feeling, he could no longer resist the temptation to eviscerate the contents of his stomach.

Failing to make a swift exit, he proceeded to puke right on the floor of the operating room, mid-operation.

He managed to bid farewell to Davey before a pair of heavy-handed security guards introduced his limp torso to the concrete outside.

"Sorry guys..." he said, grabbing at the closest counterweight to lift himself off the ground.

Alas, it was too late. He turned around, only to throw up again at the entrance of the ER.

In all his drug and alcohol-induced states he had come to appreciate the limits of his ability to maintain his composure. Yet this time he could feel himself quickly coming undone.

He stumbled back towards midtown in the hope of catching a train to his cousin's Brooklyn based apartment, lest he overdosed on the street and be treated like another junk by Manhattanites.

By midnight, Cooper was nodding on the train, eventually losing consciousness on the shoulder of a burly woman seated next to him.

He was momentarily jolted awake by the train's turbulence as it crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and in his semi-lucid state, he noticed the displeased face of the woman he was resting on. Cooper quickly collected himself and shuffled aside.

"Sorry, sorry" he muttered, while promptly leaving his existence slumped away in the corner of a subway cart.

"End of the line. Last stop, Coney Island" spoke the conductor over the PA.

"Fuck! I just missed my stop..."