You don't run into many old speed freaks. They either quit or die. I have never understood anyone who used uppers as relief from the pain of the world. It seems to me like trying to drive the Daytona 500 of Life in reverse. If I wanted solace, I'd put the damn car in D-1 and mosey down to Forgetfulness, USA, via opiate ingestion, instead of revving it up and burning brain cell-rubber on my way to screaming meanies.
We had a little incident last year, very near where I live, which will give you nightmares. You can skip the paragraph following this one if you don't want to hear the worst part. Two fine fellows, one of whom just became unincarcerated a few days previous, and both of whom sported mullets supreme, went to see their girlfriends. It was a hot summer day, and the girlfriends lived together in a house trailer. (I know. You cannot imagine a house trailer anywhere near the distinguished likes of moi. Rest assured; it was not within several miles. I can't control the whole damn countyside, can I?) Anyway, the two young gentlemen agreed to keep the two children (whom one of them had fathered with the assistance of the slightly overweight hairdresser) for the afternoon. I imagine the conversation went something like, "You worthless motherfucker! You gonna keep these fuckin' kids today or I'm callin' yore probation occifer. Me an' Charlene gots some drankin' to do, and we'll be back when we're gud an' fuckin' done. Asshole."
So the little girl, 3, and the baby boy, 1, were put into the custody of the two mullets. They put them into the Chevette and drove the tykes out to the woods at around 10 AM. They parked the car, windows rolled up and kids in car seats, and went off to "hunt for mushrooms" (they told the police later). Six hours later, they came back to the car to find the children not only dead, but dead with very tormented looks on their faces. They have been reincarcerated, for a long time. But not long enough. What can cause something like this to happen?
Methamphetamines. Crystal meth. Trailer park cocaine.
Or, you hear about kids robbing a 7-11 and the person behind the counter gives them all the money and begs for their lives, yet one of the kids kills that person for no good reason. Why would they do that, after they have what they came for?
There's a madness that comes from abuse of speed which is unlike the madness known even by those who are clinically insane. I suppose it's because the clinically insane live with it every day, and have learned to either control it or seek help. The speed freak is lost out there on that black highway to Jitterland with no recourse but a refuel.
All that being said, and now that we're speaking of highways and refueling, there is one time when a hit of speed comes in very handy. Any truckdriver will tell that there is no way in hell those log books reflect reality.
I got introduced to speed back when there were two main contenders and one wannabe. The wannabe was called white crosses. These were the speed for college kids who needed to cram for an exam or high school kids looking for a cheap thrill. You could swallow a handful of these things and still not get that rush for which the real speed freak is searching. You didn't get that teeth-grinding, non-stop talking, dry mouth of near panic.
The two forms of true speed came as Black Beauties and Desoxyn. Both were handed out like candy by licensed physicians to fat folks as recently as the early 1970s. If you knew someone with a weight problem, you didn't need to worry about making it to Miami without a layover. And, surprise surprise, Desoxyn turns out to have been the pure form of crystal meth itself.
The Black Beauties were amphetamines, like white crosses, but oh, so much more concentrated. These were slick black capsules, and I'd tell you the company that produced them, but my memory is wanting and the company itself seems to have hidden its tracks so well that even Google won't tell me the magic acronym that was emblazoned on these little truckers' friends.
Avoid this stuff. Even if they do claim that it'll put you in ecstasy these days. You're just speeding up to slow down, anyway.