"You've gotta cut this shit out, Steve. You're gonna wreck your life."

"Thanks, Mom."

"I'm fuckin serious, man. That shit turns you into a loudmouth asshole, burns up all your money, and you never stop sniffling. People are gonna start thinking you've got mono."

"Look, here's how it is. I do this shit every other weekend, sometimes two weeks in row, but I rarely, if ever, snort two days in row, and I sure as shit never buy it two days in a row. I have it under control. It's strictly recreational. Not a habit."

"Yeah, but it seems like you're doing it more and more. You gotta slow down at least. I'll stage an intervention on your ass if you don't chuck the monkey."

"Aw go fuck yourself. I've laid down rails with you before, so get off the soapbox. You're being an asshole and a hypocrite."

"Well, I have some self-control."

"So do I! I'm not gonna let coke take me over and pull me down. I've used crack and heroin and I'm not a crackhead or a junkie, am I?"

"Yeah Steve, but you didn't like those drugs."

"True. But c'mon. Ease off. Relax."

"Nah. I don't think so. This is gonna piss you off, but I'm doing it for your own good."

Freddie grabbed my little baggy off the coffee table and raced out the front door. I followed him, screaming and furious. He beat me to the storm drain and dropped my fun through the iron grid.

"You... you.. motherfucker!" I slugged him one on the jaw, good and square. He reeled and grabbed a tree branch to keep upright.

"Needed doing, bud. One day you'll thank me." He wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

I looked down the sewer, heartbroken and twitchy. There it was, sitting atop a pile of soggy autumn leaves. Water slipped by calmy, but the leaves were taller than the current and they weren't drifting. I hatched a sad little plan in my mind. I knew how to get down there. I could walk in through the outflow over by the Des Plaines River and follow it under the street back towards my apartment. Eventually I'd have to crawl once the concrete tube narrowed, and I'd likely get slathered in nasty muck, but I wasn't about to let $150 of high grade cocaine wash away because my friend got struck with an sudden case of the goody two shoes.

"Get the fuck out of here, Freddie. Really. I'm serious. Leave. I'm gonna drown my sorrows in whiskey and I don't want your company. Fuck off and join the PTA or something. Leave me alone. Get out of here before I decide to knock your fucking block off."

I stalked inside and slammed the door behind me. Time to find a flashlight and some shitty old clothes.

I'll finish this whenever I fucking feel like it. I'm busier than a dominatrix at a rodeo clown convention. So be patient. 9:30 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm