High School Americana Pt. 1

Fridays. Fridays man. Fridays would be my shit. On a surface level. Not gettin into all the deep subliminal self hatred shit. Fridays would get me so fucked up. Weed, booze, percs, Vicodin, Xanax, klonopin, oxy (goin way back with those), coke, mushrooms, LSD, mdma, yada, yada, yada, ya’ll know how Friday’s get. Go hard and then go home. It’s fuckin America in the early 2000’s. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old, no school till Monday, fuck you gonna do? Let’s get fucked up ya’ll. Dipset, Eminem, D12, The Lox, DMX, Systems of a Down for the soundtrack. House party every weekend. Honestly, I’d have to say my high school weekend training regiment was 100 percent necessary to prepare for the world I was about to enter. College, post college, the early 2000’s pill craze, the early stages of America’s current heroin epidemic, substance abuse, addictions, overdoses, deaths, everything that comes when the weekend partying stops. Other stories for other times. I mean, shit, my generation was lucky. We were taught to play this game by the police. They used to come to our classrooms when we were just young kids. Suitcases full of drugs, daring us to take em. Come to find out, the government approved drug companies gonna be the ones helping us get the best, cheapest prescription drugs in the world. Selling em to our parents, letting em know that there’s nothing to worry about, these little pills aren’t addictive, just a good time (other stories for other times). And if your parents weren’t on the level, no worries, the pharmacies hire 16 year olds to work the drug counter. And no worries, the 16 year olds are the drug counters. Fuck a bottle, give me a bag of whatever extra you got in there. Sandwhich baggies with the tiny little blues, pinks, yellows, and whites. Bars, footballs, and little guys like that. It’s Friday y’all, and we ain’t got no homework this weekend. Time to do some research on these lil’ guys. Oooo we! We bought the ticket and we took that ride! Fast life, hazy nights, slow motion leans. Paint the town red two days at a time, meet up on sundays at the diner, make sure everyone’s fine. Make sure everyone’s fine. Everyone’s fine.

-Fresh