| Author: | Bucky Sinister | ISBN: | 9781619026322 |
| Publisher: | Counterpoint Press | Publication: | August 1, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Soft Skull Press | Language: | English |
| Author: | Bucky Sinister |
| ISBN: | 9781619026322 |
| Publisher: | Counterpoint Press |
| Publication: | August 1, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Soft Skull Press |
| Language: | English |
A “scabrously funny novel” about designer drugs, dead-end jobs, and murder set in the San Francisco of the near future (Publishers Weekly).
There are no old drug addicts. That’s what everyone says, at least. So how is Chuck forty three years old and still neck-deep in this scene? He knows he’s the creepy old guy with the drugs or the guy who’s too old to be at the party doing everyone else’s drugs, but if it ain’t broke . . . Well, he still manages to make it to work at the dwarf whale distributor. He may hate that his dearly seedy San Francisco has been overrun by Starbucks, startups, and Lululemon moms, but he makes do with a rent-controlled apartment and roommates he never sees. It’s not perfect, but it’s livable—until it’s not.
Every addict has that one vice that tips them from relatively functional to completely unhinged. For Chuck, it’s a new drug that doesn’t even have a name yet; it’s just a smokable, everlasting gobstopper of mellow high. But when chunks of time begin to disappear and rearrange themselves, he’s been smoking something straight out of a Philip K. Dick universe. When he wakes up from a blackout as the suspect in his boss’s murder, he has his answer—the party’s over, and the fight for Chuck’s life has begun.
A “scabrously funny novel” about designer drugs, dead-end jobs, and murder set in the San Francisco of the near future (Publishers Weekly).
There are no old drug addicts. That’s what everyone says, at least. So how is Chuck forty three years old and still neck-deep in this scene? He knows he’s the creepy old guy with the drugs or the guy who’s too old to be at the party doing everyone else’s drugs, but if it ain’t broke . . . Well, he still manages to make it to work at the dwarf whale distributor. He may hate that his dearly seedy San Francisco has been overrun by Starbucks, startups, and Lululemon moms, but he makes do with a rent-controlled apartment and roommates he never sees. It’s not perfect, but it’s livable—until it’s not.
Every addict has that one vice that tips them from relatively functional to completely unhinged. For Chuck, it’s a new drug that doesn’t even have a name yet; it’s just a smokable, everlasting gobstopper of mellow high. But when chunks of time begin to disappear and rearrange themselves, he’s been smoking something straight out of a Philip K. Dick universe. When he wakes up from a blackout as the suspect in his boss’s murder, he has his answer—the party’s over, and the fight for Chuck’s life has begun.
