afternoon drug run

i was there to do research for a project for work, i wanted to tell the girl who sold me the stuff. i wanted to whisper, so as not to be overheard by the others in the room that do this sort of thing often:

this isn't for me. i don't normally do this. i'm just here for someone else.

she didn't care. besides, i'm sure she's heard it all before. healthy, bright, intelligent people who watch the news and therefore know the dangers of her wares lurk in the corners, feeding their addictions, head down, ashamed.

"do you have a black plastic shopping bag i can put this in?" i asked.

"no," she said.

dammit.

i grabbed my little baggie, shoved it under my arm, and made a beeline for the door, avoiding eye contact with the users scattered throughout the room. i felt such pity for them. i mean, i wonder if their families know? their doctors? some of these people have children, for chrissakes. it broke my heart.

i knew i had to escape. the room was thick with a heady redolence, a smell that recalled the freewheeling, dangerous days of my youth and was at once, both comforting and deadly. i was frighteningly close to reaching into the bag and sampling a bit of my "research," but an inner voice convinced me not to. i'd been here before - The Bottom, and if i started again, there'd be no going back.

everyone knows McDonald's french fries are a gateway drug.

a girl can dream, cain't she?