I had been at home all afternoon because I called work and told them I was sick and couldn't make it for my shift. They told me not to bother showing up anymore seeing as how I had missed five shifts in a row due to my illness that didn't exist. I thanked them for the vacation time and hung up.

I was going insane staring at the walls of my room so I finally got the motivation to walk into the other room, grab the phone and call my friend Kimberly. She picked up on the first ring as if she was expecting me.

"Hello." She sounded bored and yet busy at the same time.

"Kim, you feel like some coffee...or just some fresh air? My mind wants to eat itself and I can't handle the dryness of my mouth and the staleness of the air in my apartment."

She didn't say anything for a bit and then finally replied, "Yeah, I can go for some coffee." We decided we'd meet at the Starbucks down the street. Not the one on the left side of the road , but the right.

I looked at myself in the mirror and felt like a complete waste of skin. I didn't bother to comb my hair and knew my clothes smelled but wore them anyway. I didn't want to impress anybody so it was all the same to me. I flipped on the television, grabbed my keys and left.

Walking outside of my apartment, Kim was walking out of her's two doors down. It felt nice to be outside and smell fresh air. I gave her a wave and said, "You look pretty."

"You look like shit." She was wearing jeans, a button-down shirt and flip flops. She had cute feet. I don't know why I noticed that. She kissed me on the cheek and wiped her tongue with the sleeve of her shirt. "You taste like shit, too." She was smiling so I didn't take offense to it.

We began to walk down the street and the conversation didn't go much further than what we had already said. She was smoking a cigarette and I was naming trees that lined the sidewalk. When her eyes locked onto the guy in a business suit , and holding a briefcase, on the other side of the street I got kind of jealous. I couldn't explain why. She wasn't my type and we had only slept together once - it wasn't anything based on feelings. I was on an acid trip and she's a sex addict ; it just happened.

I hated not being high. The world is not as colorful when you're sober. Sounds are too loud, sun too bright, people too annoying, conversations too coherent. It was all enough to make you sick really. I longed for a drug but it had been two weeks since the last time I had touched the stuff and I was proud of that - it was the only thing I liked about myself and , ultimately , the reason I stayed off the drugs.

We finally got to Starbucks and I was longing for the rush the coffee would give me. The line wasn't too long so we got to the front pretty quick. When we got there, the employee smiled a smile I loved for one way or another and aked, " What will it be today, guys?"

"I'm not a guy, " Kimberly said. " I'm a lot better in bed." Kim's hand slid across the counter and tickled the top of the Starbucks girl's, who was still smiling, but that was now highlighted by the redness in her cheeks. I was jealous but don't ask me why. I couldn't tell you.

"Anyway," Kim said, "I'll have the Guatemala Antigua."

I didn't know what the hell that was and just said ," I'll take black."

When we got our coffee we both decided sitting outside would be better than inside...not as stuffy. Plus, nothing's more annoying than hearing all those failed writers bang on their keyboards about a story no one will ever care to read.

"You still taking drugs?" Kim asked me, not even looking at me but at some woman across the street fixing her skirt.

"You still fucking?" I asked. I drank my black coffee and she realized I didn't want to talk about it.

"You know, " she began, " You're a lot crankier when you're NOT on drugs. I think you should go back to them, you use to be fun."

"You use to not be a whore, that is before you started fucking every man, and woman, that said you had nice eyes."

"See what I mean? Besides, there have been a lot of people I haven't slept with that wanted me to really bad. I haven't slept with anyone for a week and half now, so I'm making progress. You should be congratulating me instead of tearing me down. I support you and your movement to quit drugs." She sipped her coffee whose name sounded like a title of a book that would be in Oprah's "Choice of the month" club and asked, " Why is it that a man can sleep with as many people as he wants and looked at as a hero but , if a girl sleeps with more than one person in her lifetime, she's a whore?"

"It's just the way it is," I replied, annoyed. "Guys were born with penises - that's our 'Get out of jail' free card, our excuse for being stupid , if you will. Girls don't have an excuse. You have nothing that makes your drive as strong as men's."

She laughed and almost spit her coffee out. "Are you kidding me?" she said, finally making eye contact with me for the first time since we left our apartment. "We have the G-Spot...the only girls that don't sleep around are the ones that haven't been pleasured the right way." She took another drink and then a drag of her cigarette, " Whatever happened to that girl you were seeing? What was her name, Bob? What a weird name for a girl."

"Her name was Bobbi. I called her Bob, which made me feel weird everytime but not weird enough to motivate me to tac on the 'E' sound." I watched a homeless guy ask an older woman for some change, she acted like he just tried to rape her and hurriedly walked away. "Anyway, she's fine, I'm sure. I don't know. She sent me my shit back as if I was wanting it, you know? Girls do that, they wait until you forget about them and then they find a way to remind you that they're still around."

"It's our way of making you know you never had control in the relationship," Kim responded.

"It's sadistic." I scratched my head and asked her if she wanted to leave and go back to my place and hang out - or hers, it's not like we'd have to go much further. She said we should go to her place and, when I asked her why, she said because she's more comfortable there and her place didn't smell like shit. She had a point so I didn't argue.

When we walked in, she went into the bathroom and locked the door so I took my coat off and sat on the couch. Her apartment was different everytime I saw it. She had moved her T.V. to the other side of the room and had apparently bought new furniture - I'm not sure how she afforded that on her secretary salary. The new coffee table was a nice addition though and she had popular magazines like "Time" and "Esquire" laying around as if she just got done reading them - you know she only looked at the pictures though.

When I went to move them and find the television remote, there was a syringe laying on the table and my heart stopped beating. Having it right in front of me is like putting a prostitute in front of an inmate who's in prison for life : he knows he can have what he wants, all he has to do is make his move and, if he doesn't, he doesn't know if he'll ever get the chance again.

I finally decided to reach for it but ,as I moved my hand, Kim came out of the bathroom as if she was just waiting for me to get tempted before coming back out. "Temptation's a bitch, isn't it?" She asked.

I felt horrible like a kid who got caught looking at his dad's pornography. "Yeah, it is," I said. When I finally looked over at her, I realized she was standing there naked. I quickly looked down at the ground and thought of the most disgusting things I could - murder, war, death, anything but her.

I let out a girly squeal when she touched my shoulder and I felt even more embarrassed. "Come with me," she said as she grabbed my hand and led me to her bedroom.

We ended up having sex, but I swear I didn't like it. I didn't have feelings for her. It's my penis's fault so you can't get mad at me. It was the weirdest thing though, both times we have had sex she always passes out right afterwards. I snuck into the other room and the sunlight was hitting the syringe like it was a sign from God that I should get high.

I scratched my arm, looked around to make sure no one was around and sat on the couch. Taking a deep breath, I took the syringe in my hand and got aroused. I can't even begin to describe the feelings flowing through me. I grabbed my belt that Kim had thrown onto the couch when she was seducing me and I tied it around my arm, exposing the vein and my addiction all at the same time. I tapped the vein to make it stand out and then injected the drug into my system. The feeling was better than an orgasm and I slumped against the couch as all the colors of the world came back into full view.

Kim came out from her bedroom, still naked, and looked down at me - naked as well, syringe by my side on the couch ,my belt still tied tightly around my arm, and completely high. "Looks like we both failed," she whispered. "We'll quit together."

I nodded but didn't believe her. We would never quit and that was tragic. I thought about that for a while and hated myself.