Yeah, let's start with the ants crawling on you. The ants are nice and simple. You'd expect something like that to happen, keep those tactile nerves firing non-stop for a good 36 hours (or has it been longer now?). Same thing can happen if you drink too much coffee, but this ain't the same at all. You don't scratch yourself till you bleed, not unless you've had a whole lot of coffee. But there really could be ants in here, and you've always hated bugs. Haven't you?

And the FUCKING NAZIS in the next unit over are pounding on the walls again, trying to get you to turn the stereo down. Fuck them. It's hard to deal with shit like this. You need another line. Half an a hour ago, you were a goddamn bodhisatva, and now you can't hang.

You started out smoking the shit from a vanity bulb you'd smacked the top off of, but after the first day or so, your hands started shaking so bad you didn't trust yourself. So now it's back to the ole' tried-and-true, absorbtion through the nasal mucosa, inefficient but simple. Simple is good right now.

Cutting up is real depressing, because you get to see how little's left in your stash, which ain't much at all. In a few hours, you're gonna crash and burn real hardcore, and that ain't even gonna come close to pretty. You need to be husbanding this shit now, preparing yourself some kind of a soft landing. Still, just a little bump, right now, would help. A lot.

Fuck that, one good line, and then you'll start rationing. The moments after you sniff are pure animal bliss, at least until the drip starts up. The ole' throat's a bit raw right now, like smoking four packs in a day'll do to you, and the bitter, chemical post-nasal drip is only fucking things up worse. You'd be puking, if you could remember the last time you ate, and instead, there's just a long agonizing bout of the dry heaves. 'Bout midway through, the floor starts to spin around you the floor starts spinning and you can feel the world twisting and getting heavy fucked-up up and your heart's racing and maybe you took too much and maybe you're wound up too tight

Alright. Jesus fuck. Got to calm down. Maybe turn up the stereo and have one more cigarette only the cigarette only makes you cough more and it sounds like maybe the radio-voice is calling out to you and trying to tell you something and the ants are all over you and there's some kind of pounding maybe your heart only no it's the Nazis next door and what the fuck is their problem anyway? Got to maintain some kind of control got to keep calm and a lid on this but you're out of your seat without quite realizing it and fumbling around for the drawer where you keep the combat knife just in case and somehow you're up at their door yelling and slamming the knife in their door...

And when the cops some, they have to use mace before they'll even get close enough to start slamming with the nightsticks. And of course they found your stash, you left the door open, for God's sake. And how much of this will you even remember when you wake up in the holding cell?

These things happen.

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