After writing a suicide letter addressed to her fiancé, Sophie tooted three fat lines of heroin, then downed some pills just to make sure . . .
Tag: Drug Chronicles Series
Breathing hard, Eve unlaces her shoes. She knocks them together and watches the sand fall onto the wooden stairs. She stretches her legs and watches the black waves. Eve runs every morning before sunrise, past the jetty and all the way to the sea caves. She feels better when she’s exhausted . . .
We went to dinner at the Russian Tea Room on West 57th Street. There was a gypsy beggar in the cold with a melancholy accordion player near the door. The music made me so sad I wanted to cry, but I went inside with Sir Rudolf . . .
The first time I bought weed in Los Angeles, I listened to—and talked about—vintage synthesizers for hours. I was high . . .
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Ummm, this will work . . . I’m sure I can quit this time,” muttered Steve under his quickening breath while rapidly striking his index finger against the table before him.
“Here come the temple spasms, Steve . . .”
“Hardest thing you’ll ever do in your life. Mental equivalent of hog-tying the meanest steer this side of Odessa . . .”
Flies pepper the window of my Fort Benning barracks room. I stun them with pine-scented Glade. With each spray they drop—well, like flies . . .
We arrived around three a.m. and banged on the door, which swung open. The tiny white apartment was filled with pasty-faced, sweating people, hopping and hollering to a harrowing type of Dutch hardcore techno that thumped angrily through the speakers . . .