Jack woke up in the morning and his body felt healthy
and comfortable for the first time in years. It was as if his life had a renewed purpose and this helped
him feel faintly vigorous enough to try and do something about his
situation. It was not a good
picture. For someone who great
things had been predicted of at school and then college it surely shouldn’t
have ended up like this – living in a squat in one of the decaying suburbs of
south-east London with no family to speak of and a pretty bad heroin
addiction. He’d only intended,
initially, to use speed to get him through his long nights of clubbing but then
he finally found himself going clubbing every night and quite simply the pot he
was smoking – a lethal blend called white widow – just wasn’t doing the trick
in bringing him back to earth the next day. He’d been persuaded to try something a little stronger to
help with his come-downs and the next thing he knew he was mainlining the junk
right into his body and had, somewhat paradoxically, stopped clubbing. He found that all his money would
barely stretch to a few good hits a day and some vital provisions – tea, milk,
sugar and plenty of soup. Everyday
would start the same, he would wake up, take his first hit, then go out and try
and get some more. Generally he
managed to get some by early evening and then he would go home and get into
it.
This morning though it was different. He went downstairs to find some of his fellow squatters making some coffee using the generator they’d had installed to power the building. He really fancied some coffee as it might give him an edge to get out the house before taking that ubiquitous first shot of the day.
“Hey, mind if I get a mug of that?” he asked to anyone prepared to listen.
“Wow, Jack… bit early for you ain’t it?” one of them asked.
“Well yeah, hence the need…”
“Sure… it’ll only be a minute or two.”
Jack went to the cupboard where his stuff was kept and found his mug. As he waited he rolled a nice fat roll-up.
‘This will totally sort me out’ he thought to himself.
“Coffee’s ready Jack!” were the words he was waiting for.
He took his mug and roll-up and went back upstairs to his room. He began thinking… could he really just go out there and get a job. It was a thought but he lacked confidence and this coffee wasn’t having the desired effect. He was feeling too edgy, as if something had been spiked into his coffee. He began shacking uncontrollably and sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make himself feel calmer. It wasn’t working, his coffee starting slopping from his mug on to the unprotected wood floor. He began to cry as it dawned on him what it was he needed to do. It was the fix he needed and it was the fix he’d still got left-over from last night that was destined for consumption this morning. He put the coffee down and rolled another ciggie and tried and succeeded in calming his nerves after taking a few puffs.
“Aah” he sighed.
He began to fix up, neither sure why or how he’d got in such a mess. As he slammed the mixture of blood and smack into his veins he could feel his… oh god, what is it? He could feel his heart actually stop and then he collapsed. No one noticed what had happened until lunchtime when someone knocked on his door to see how he was doing.
This morning though it was different. He went downstairs to find some of his fellow squatters making some coffee using the generator they’d had installed to power the building. He really fancied some coffee as it might give him an edge to get out the house before taking that ubiquitous first shot of the day.
“Hey, mind if I get a mug of that?” he asked to anyone prepared to listen.
“Wow, Jack… bit early for you ain’t it?” one of them asked.
“Well yeah, hence the need…”
“Sure… it’ll only be a minute or two.”
Jack went to the cupboard where his stuff was kept and found his mug. As he waited he rolled a nice fat roll-up.
‘This will totally sort me out’ he thought to himself.
“Coffee’s ready Jack!” were the words he was waiting for.
He took his mug and roll-up and went back upstairs to his room. He began thinking… could he really just go out there and get a job. It was a thought but he lacked confidence and this coffee wasn’t having the desired effect. He was feeling too edgy, as if something had been spiked into his coffee. He began shacking uncontrollably and sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make himself feel calmer. It wasn’t working, his coffee starting slopping from his mug on to the unprotected wood floor. He began to cry as it dawned on him what it was he needed to do. It was the fix he needed and it was the fix he’d still got left-over from last night that was destined for consumption this morning. He put the coffee down and rolled another ciggie and tried and succeeded in calming his nerves after taking a few puffs.
“Aah” he sighed.
He began to fix up, neither sure why or how he’d got in such a mess. As he slammed the mixture of blood and smack into his veins he could feel his… oh god, what is it? He could feel his heart actually stop and then he collapsed. No one noticed what had happened until lunchtime when someone knocked on his door to see how he was doing.
