Two hours pass and I can feel the words trying to slip off the page and smear their inky stains over me. A battle I can win, I think, sees me standing over the sink trying to set fire to the corners of the page with the glowing end of my cigarette. Ten left means I could be here for the afternoon. Paragraphs go up in smoke, covering the drain hole with ashes as strong as our commitment. One drop is all it took to wreak havoc.paris
"You can't fake heroin withdrawal," she said. "It's a bit more than red eyes and itchy fingers."
"I quit smoking. How hard can it be?"
He'd been buying from Brightsides almost eight years now. She wheeled the streets with a backpack stuffed with pot and speed and MDMA and the occasional downer for when he needed to be especially morose. She'd once sold him a double-hit of LSD that he tongued while touring the Detroit Sweeps. That was killer; Sylvia had called him a "post-societal neo-anarchic hero," and squirreled into his bed not once but twice, as if his neo-anarchic power would spread to her via shared fluids.the king
But then it’s different for boys, epecially boys like Mike - tall boys, not that bright but fast runners, broad-shouldered boys with normal looks and mall clothes. What would it be like to live in his body? Would she feel invincible? When they’re naked she likes to lie behind him sometimes and line her arms up with his, warm skin of his back against her front, and half-circle his wrists with her little hands, and jostle him like a puppet. ‘You are mine,’ she’ll murmur, in a Dracula voice, trying not to giggle. ‘All mine.’
'I'm yours,' he’ll say, smiling, complacent.detour