I don’t appreciate the term “Drug Addict.” I prefer “Connoisseur.”
Thats Me, little miss Alice Taylor... The drug connoisseur, nuisance, whatever.
I had tried to stop, be "good," but it just didn't work... I couldn't give something so great up.
My parents kicked me out of their house last year, shortly after my 18th birthday. I had dropped out of school a few years before that, and having a coke stash in my room must have just been the last straw.
I don’t mind… More freedom, I guess.
The first step was figuring out my money situation. I found a part-time job at the downtown Diner, Joe’s, and found a cheap little apartment in this old run down spot called “Watershed Heights” a few miles out of town. Work is easy enough, although I could use a few days off... As far as Watershed Heights, well, I don't go out much anyway, and the cheaper the rent, the more product I can afford. It's harder when the parents aren't footing the bill anymore...
There’s not much to do around this town. Chill with the locals, some, but normally I just numb the boredom away; usually on the roof of the apartments… It's one of the more private spots in town... As far as product, Pot’s the easiest to get a hold of, and luckily the owner of the drug store down the street has no problem selling prescription stuff over the counter; As well as my coke.
Everyone's nice enough to me. Well, they're not mean...
Most just pass me off as another user. Either that, or they are, too. the guys around seem to think I’m cute, though... They’ll be disappointed when they find out I’m after their girlfriend.
I live alone on the 4th Floor of Watershed Heights… The numbers fell off my door long before I moved in, but it’s the first door off the stairwell. The old tenants left a lot of stuff; either ran off or got killed. Lucky for me, seeing as I don’t have anything…
The woman’s clothes fit decently, and the couch isn’t bad either.
Now?
I sit here, staring out of a dirty window down on a dirty fountain, in a dirty little town. I can't help but remind myself why I ended up here. The drugs... It hurts to think about... But not as bad as giving it up does.
I fill my lungs with smoke, again, from the thin joint between my fingers... My pain and my pleasure... I hold it in, with my wishes that it would make everything better. I close my eyes, and press the lit end of the joint to the window sill, I leave it there... I'll pick it up some other time.
...Work in the morning... I walk to the couch, wobbling, and collapse on it, drifting off to the blackness of my dreams.
