The Rush

The Rush

On this Sunday afternoon, a handful of parishioners warm the pews in the North Austin Church of God. Erected on the lawn outside the church is, for some reason, a satellite disk. There is a chain-link fence around the disk, topped with barbed wire.

Somewhere across the highway from the church, is the Oasis, a typical porn shop. Near the novelty display case and cash register is a large cardboard notice, written with black marker: “Popper ½-Price Sale.” All the stock must be sold, it notes, because four days from today (which will be two days after Valentine’s Day) the sale of poppers will be illegal in Texas. Lined up on a shelf nearby are rows of small containers, with brand names such as “Rush.” When inhaled, the chemicals zap the brain’s senses with a brief but instant high—a boot used sometimes at the moment of sexual climax. To provide legitimacy, the chemicals are mixed with a fragrance and the cartridge is sold as an “aroma inhaler.”

A man in his forties, with curly hair and curly beard, has asked the clerk for five poppers of a particular brand. Restless, he finds it difficult to stand still while waiting. The clerk, who might be a student at the University of Texas downtown, starts to ring up the sale, but pauses: “Sure that’ll be enough? You know, these are gonna be illegal after the 16th.” The man toys with his wallet. “I’m sure gonna hate to have to go over the border to get ‘em.”

The clerk drapes a finger on the sign. “And they’re halfprice now.” “I wonder how long they keep? Yeah, shit, you better give me five more. Maybe that’ll last me until I have to go outta the country to get ‘em again.” He adds with a hollow chuckle, gazing at the ten containers, “If I live that long.”