Page 217 of Crank (Crank 1)

all the jar lids popped down on row

upon row of salsa, sauce, and ketchup,

I was still grounded. But at least

Mom wasn’t as mad anymore.

Burned Out

Burning

up, coming down,

I popped three

aspirin against the

throbbing

in my skull, and

attempted a nap.

I laid in bed,

sweating

out toxins, the

last of the E

and crank,

aching

from the inside

out. Could I ever

shift into reverse?

Falling

from euphoria,

I face-planted into

depression. Hard,

somersaulting

through your own

manure. Harder yet

to get back up without

tripping

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