There was a time, back in the day, when my daily routine would be to head over first thing in the AM, while still dope sick, to the same cash machine, located at a bank somewhere on 8th St. between Astor Place and B'way in NYC, and slide my card in so as to withdraw enough $$$ to get enough dope to last me until the next day. After punching the PIN and the dollar amount requested, the machine would make that unmistakeable whirring sound of cash about to be dispensed. In a Pavlovian way, that whirring sound alone would be enough to quiet the bowels and lessen my anxiety level. It was truly music to my ears. I knew I was one step closer to where I needed to be.
Conversely, there were the days when I went to that same machine, only to find that the check hadn't cleared ......