We chose that motel because I couldn't go home, I was supposed to be clean, and you wanted a change of scenery. You were laying on the tacky bed spread. I had some wine on the night stand next to some novel you'd had in your car. I figured it would do. I make the strangest impulse decisions, buy some blow, fall in love with someone that's going to leave. I pulled apart the melted edges of a plastic cigarette wrapper and dumped the collection of white rocks and loose powder onto the book. Thousands of dollars in rehab and I still had a very streamlined set of skills. I still carried a razor blade on me, for emergencies requiring catharsis, and took it from my wallet to carefully breakdown the mound of white. Taping and scraping created a rhythm as my instincts returned to me. My nostrils twitched in expectant pleasure.I made a simple series of four white lines and then with equally as practiced gestures rolled a bill, tucking a folded edge into the side to keep it wrapped. "It's ready," I said, turning to you as a summons before covering my nostril and taking the first line with a deliberate inhale. I passed the bill to you. Sharing the aspect of my addictive personality you'd never truly seen spent most of the night in that room. Twitching, sitting, fidgeting in silence. You hadn't known me in my prime. I probably would have eaten you alive. Cut up your body and made lines.
Breezeway Motel by E Board

