Karma's Happenstance (Guns n Roses - Izzy Stradlin/OC/Nikki Sixx - Mötley Crüe)

Do Anything

Izzy's POV

A light misty rain drifts from the black sky over my head. Fucking dreary. It's one of those nights.
Those you try to escape by getting hammered or high as shit. I'm not even close enough to any
of it and it sucks ass. There seems to be no wind. It's chilly enough to see my breath steaming as
I pant. The streets are worn and filthy. Kinda like me and Slash at this very second, lurking under
a safe veil of shadows in a dark dirty alley.

We have to come up with some cash to score. We both need a fucking fix like yesterday. We're
both sick as hell. We're pale. Even Slash, who is half black, looks like this Vampire in need of a
feeding. A light oily sweat coats our skin. But in these current weather conditions we just look as
though we've been standing in the mist, which we have. It somewhat helped to disguise our
conditions. The way our noses are running we just look like we're coming down with colds or
something.

I, unlike my counterpart this evening, prefer to keep my heroin habit as this illusive mystery. See
there's this certain red headed singer that is always breathing down my fucking throat about
these things. So I tend to hide shit as much as possible just to keep the drama down. I don't care
for bullshit.

Slash, on the other hand, could give a fuck less what anyone thinks. He's more the 'Hey this is
me, and fuck you if you don't like it' type. Slash was going to do exactly what the hell Slash wanted to do. No questions. No thought at all to anyone else. But I guess we get along out of mutual need.

Our number one mutual need is heroin. There is no middle ground with this drug. You either hate it or love it. Or in my case, hate to fucking love it. When I came out here to LA I had no intention of becoming some junkie while I worked my ass off at becoming a rock star. It's just sort of something I can't explain.

After about a year of being on smack I decided to start selling it. I had originally had the best of
intentions in mind. I was gonna sell it for extra cash to help out with living situations and studio time and shit. It was also my genius idea of how to stay high for free. That much of my plan worked out to a fucking T. But as the months of use lingered into years...I just sort of fell into it harder than ever.

I hear sirens wailing and instinctively pull back further into the dark, pulling Slash with me. This is a good spot to score dope. I can tell. I used to sell dope here a lot. Back when I sold it in the first place. Nowadays I use more than I sell. And I always provide it for Slash. That puts us back here on the street, looking out to find a way to come up with some cash.

It seems like I'm always down to my last fold of smack and having to share it with Slash and Stevie. I've turned into your basic photo copied junkie. Life has become about nothing more than scoring that next fix. Sure getting GNR to take off is top priority too, but not getting a gig on a Friday night was not nearly as painful as being dope sick. Just trust me on this.

Slash is hammered. I envy him. At least he's trashed enough to slow down the signs of withdrawal.
'So how are we gonna come up with some cash, man?' He slurs.
I have no fucking clue what to say. The only thing I was ever good at is selling dope. And I even fucked up my income by using it all for myself. No, tonight slinging drugs was out of the question.

Tonight I'm just another criminal junkie hiding out in the shadows of a foreboding 'Lost' Angeles night.
'Maybe I should call Sixx, man. He'll help us out.' He says.

I flinch. God, where the fuck is that coming from? Even if that rat bastard could help me out I
wouldn't fucking ask. Nikki Sixx consumed more drugs for breakfast than me and Slash combined could polish off in a whole day and extended night. You think me and Slash are junkies? You obviously ain't had the displeasure of meeting the one and only Nikki Sixx.

'You're not calling that insane motherfucker. Last time he shared his stash, I almost jumped off a roof, totally out of my fucking mind. I don't trust that fucker. He's evil, man.'
I say, taking a last drag and flicking the cigarette butt out onto the street.

'Any other great ideas then? Enlighten me, Stradlin.' He says.
I know he's fucking sick. I am feeling it too. But as long as I'm in my right mind, I'm not gonna call that crazy son of a bitch. Hell no!

'We could sweet talk some chick to get us a few bottles of Night Train.' Yeah, I know. It's lame
and it's probably not gonna help but I'm desperate.

Slash replies with nothing but a snort. 'I could beg Crystal to help me out with some cash.'

'That stripper? She your girlfriend now?' I ask in wonder at how he managed to get to know that
chick. He's always even more trashed than Duff is. When did he find the time to establish some
bond with a stripper? Better yet, why hadn't I done that?

Slash shrugs, 'Hey, I probably financed her car or something with all of my tips. She's into me.
Maybe I can get some money out of her in exchange for eating her out.'He says with a drunken smirk.

Does he really mean that shit? 'So you're a hooker now?' I can't help laughing. Seriously, sometimes I think he might have been dropped on the head a few times, when he was a kid.

'I should think about that actually. I'd get paid for getting laid. Sounds like the perfect job for me.' He replies seriously.

I shake my head, laughing. 'You're aware you're probably just gonna get fucked in the ass by some dudes, right?' I say, but I don't think he really gets it. 'Anyway, we need a serious plan to get some cash, man.'

'You have your gun right?' He looks at me.

His question is downright fucking ridiculous. When was the last time I did go out without a gun? It had been fucking years! You can't sling drugs in the fucking streets without being strapped, it would be a fucking death sentence! I roll my eyes and nod.

'We could hit up some old lady,' he suggests.

'What old lady is gonna be in West Hollywood at 11:30 on a Tuesday night?' I ask him hoping he sees how stupid his suggestion is.

'Hey we could rob a dealer,' his eyebrows shoot up.

I roll the thought around in my fried brain. It wasn't completely stupid. I give a shrug in some weird form of approval and we continue out into this dark depressing night. The need is beginning to outweigh the risks. We are heroin's slaves. We will do just about anything for it.