As It Crumbles

It all started with a line; a single thin cinnamon brown line of heroin strewn across a glass table with a rolled twenty laying beside it. I was already a veteran of drug abuse, but i hadn’t yet crossed that line and went to dope, so when the opportunity arised i at first declined; it would look bad on the resume, but turning down free narcotics from somebody is like having sex with an aids victim without strapping on a rubber, you just don’t do that shit. Now if you know heroin, you’ll know that most bags have a stamp on them with a little picture, maybe even a few words…mine happened to say 911 and had an ambulance on it. So I knew it had to be decent heroin. So up the nose it went, and to the floor directly after that went my body. Staring at a blacklit ceiling while OD’ing under the strict influence of a lot of fucking heroin is strangely and severely romantic; you’re brain isn’t functioning but is that a bad thing? And before you know it, you’re awake in the hospital.