“A black man pulled up next to me at the motel 6. Shit played out. I was watching him without my eyes from the start. So I somewhat saw his every move except even less because his front windows were up and tinted. I only know he was black because for a brief moment as I eyed up to peak at him, his friend next to him the front opened his door, and that’s when I saw 2 black faces in front. I started feeling around for my drugs because these 2 guys made me think that cops could be in works with them––and that maybe, cops could be called on me to fuck me over: what I was thinking. My eyes were now on myself as I reached around my many pockets for the missing drugs. One of the men inside the Jeep lowered his window––I looked right at him to let him know that if he was who I suspected, I wasn’t concerned. He spit out his window somewhat at me without any emotions on his face, there for me to see, because I couldn’t, because my eyes followed his spit and now couldn’t leave from where it landed. I abandoned the spit and returned to the drug search. I thought I lost some drugs because I couldn’t find them in my pockets, and there was a hole in my pocket, that I had noticed the other day but now only remembered. These two black guys in the jeep right next to me were gangstalking me. I was certain, therefore I was right, was all I could think, and all I ever will. The 2 dudes pulled up next to me in a black tinted jeep with one headlight out. It was the 3rd one-headlighted vehicle that I had seen yet on that short night of driving, and I had already become accustomed since recently to the custom of equating one-headlighted vehicles to gang stalkers. I see them all the time, and these 2 black dudes definitely were gang stalkers. He had only one headlight to tell me he was a gang stalker. But I couldn’t find my drugs and that’s all that I cared about right now. The 2 black gangstalkers were just doing their job. I was frantically searching for my drugs. Thinking that they were gonna call over gangstalker cops to this tweaker’s palace known as the motel 6, where I could get gang stalked by gang stalking pigs, and gang stalking nigs––at––the same time. The thought of getting fucked with and possibly getting arrested both did cross my mind. I don’t think I’d get arrested; neither now nor then did I think that. But I’ll tell you what, I wasn’t thinking about it. I was high on weed and 2 different uppers. I was thinking about finding my 100 dollars worth of missing drugs. It was like my mind found nothing to do with the gang stalking situation. All since the 30 seconds that had passed since they’d even been here, doing that all for me and for nothing else––but now I was treating them both with no concern. It was all about the missing 100 dollars worth of drugs. I threw open my door and started looking on the ground with my cell phone flashlight for the drugs. It was hard to discern what was what on the ground because it was covered in snow and ice; also I was looking for crystal meth; that on the former was hard to find; in result I kept picking up shavings of ice that looked like crystal meth contained in a small quarter sized baggie: what I was looking for, not what was found. What was found, time and again, was this: shavings of ice, as mentioned. So I was not searching terribly effectively. The gang stalkers got back on my mind by playing a song that I listen to. Not a new song that is popular, but an older song that was popular, granted. It struck past my defences for protection from what I don’t expect. And it started to cross my mind that they probably thought I was trying to film them. The guy lowered his window, as if to say he was not afraid to get filmed: what I thought because I thought, he thought I was filming him. It was then he stopped the music. I walked off go look for the drugs about up yonder of myself because I was pursuing the plot I made up in my truck a few moments prior. I was searching for my drugs and now retracing my steps, so I had now abandoned my 2 present gang stalkers in my now former presence. I was in the motel 6. With my eyes glued to the floor. One of the gang stalkers was right behind me walking in silence or noise that I couldn’t hear. I didn’t notice him. Now I was in the upper floor halls scanning the ground. Now walking back down the stairs still retracing my steps. I walked into the lobby and found a black man getting served but wasn’t sure if it was the gang stalker. Walked back to my truck still scanning the ground. I checked out the gangstalking jeep for a moment in time and on my path back to my truck. I noticed the music was off and so was the car. I couldn’t tell if anyone was inside it because the windows were max tinted, even in the front, and the windshield was just out of view. I looked back on the ground with desperate consumed eyes because 100 dollars worth of drugs were gone. I was right behind the jeep looking on the ground with my cell phone’s flashlight. The gang stalking nig locked his door on me. I laughed in my head as I thought that this black man was scared of me. I was like, yeah maybe you should be. This black man was scared of whitey. Also I’m a targeted individual. We sometimes have been known––to sometimes lose our shit and turn on the system. If I was gang stalking some stranger just following an assignment, not knowing anything about him, (even if he does,) I would be cautious. People snap.” -Lunch Money, by Luke Meyer
Published by Luke Meyer
Author, blogger, painter, poet, schizophrenic, vitamin salesman. There's a shadow person living in my head is something I believe. Fiction. Digital art. Smalltime jobs. I do all these things. Bad biology is a lie. God is a robot.