Monday ... When did she come! ... I have no memory of Sunday .... I think I slept through it? ... I'm late for work again, and I have to get better. I stop at a tucked-away place. Heroin on a pump in the car, I don't care if anyone sees. Not that I forgot how I was caught, but ... With trembling hands I pour the packages into the lid. Blood on the seat, the car is smoky like a foxhound, and my mother will drive it in the afternoon. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. It's very dangerous to take a nap like that, and I'm already terribly late, but I don't move at all. I have to tighten up, there will still be a scolding from the boss, and the memory of the uniformed men banging on the windshield still haunts me. That's exactly how I was caught last time. I rocked in the car and smashed myself brutally, and then the cops. I have no clear memory of the event, everything is in a fog. Inspection documents, amount of material, police station, some written explanations, then in the cells. I can't go back there. I hide any traces of "illegal activity", the only thing I miss - my mother to see syringes in the car. I drive, but I can't tell a road sign from a traffic light, and I almost fall asleep at the wheel. I don't think what happens if I get stuck somewhere. Passing a patrol makes me aware, I have so much heroin in my pocket that for a moment I feel sick, numb, as if the cold of the cells pierces me again. Was it so cold there or was it from abstinence? The police are far away, but not the fear. I calm down only when I park in front of work. The work ... My salary can't cover the material for a week. I don't know what I would do if I didn't sell. I can no longer export from us, sell and bet, I can no longer drain our bank accounts, they already know very well what it is all about. And how come after the next arrest and search in our country? Two buses with policemen turned the whole house over, a police operation for a few grams. My colleagues take that look and suddenly fall silent as I pass them. Not that I care what they say about me, but aren't they tired of commenting on me? The boss greets me with a dose of horse, I prefer other doses, but it does not warm him at all. He quotes an employment contract and working hours, and I mumble something in my defense, the result - he starts to get annoyed that I'm a drug addict. Why are you talking to me like that? I know very well what I am, but I don't like to be reminded. I sit at my desk and light a cigarette. Main official duty - not to feel in what condition I come to work once again. A position that is not a dream, not that I know what it is. But at least I knew what a dream is. Do I still know? I started selling to shake, and then the mirage of heroin unfolded in front of me. And I wanted to conquer the whole city. I thought I was the biggest, but I was already shaking eight fives several times a day, I couldn't hide my condition, everyone knew what I was doing. Everything slipped away from me and I was finally caught again. Months of arrest, quarrels with ours, exhortations that I will stop, "it will not be like last time", cases, lawyers. A nightmare from which I have a feeling that I will never wake up and finally some imaginary sentence. Our people got rid of me again, but it's just like last time. And what am I standing for on this damn job? Aren't I selling? To throw dust in the eyes of ours like last time. The problem is not in the work or in the salary, nor even in ours. I am not able to go to work and this is noticed by everyone, I can no longer hide it. Soon I will be fired again like last time. Then what will I explain at home? And our people are not blind, they see what it's about, what kind of way I go home all the time. But they have raised their hands, they know there is nothing they can do. They will pretend not to notice until once again he finds himself in the kilns. Just like last time, a vicious circle. But that doesn't matter now, working hours have dropped imperceptibly. I leave the car to my mother, there is no compromising and I go to get drunk at some "friend". When they don't hang around me, they are such friends that I have no words. Does not matter. What do I care? I'm the biggest now. The spoiled son of wealthy parents, who smoked weed behind the school, became an unscrupulous drug addict whose sole purpose was to make more money than theirs for another shake-up. Arrest, quarrels in the courts, lost time in the commune. The dealer, who was selling to shake and glance over his shoulder at police officers, became a brazen bully who wanted to take over the city. Arrest again, I lay on the floor in the cells again and prayed to our people to get me out. Good thing I got rid of the commune this time. And now it's the same, I'm unlikely to ever be more than a science fiction writer who wants to conquer the world and dream of millions, but in fact is an ordinary bully who sells for a single dose and lives in a drug trance.
1 lewy4141 answered
If you haven't been to a commune yet go. It will have an effect! Success!