I glance over at the clock at the bottom right corner of my screen and notice that it's 4:56, "haha," I thought to myself, it's close enough to 5 to leave for home. I tell Windows XP to shutdown and walk over to the sliding glass door in my office. It looks dreary outside, I can tell there's more bitter-cold wind that's been plaguing my valley for this past week. I walk back to the computer desk, backpack in hand and unzip the main compartment to begin methodically shoving various bits from my desk into it. The strong smell of home-grown chronic hits me like a brick. I forgot to seal the ziplock bag holding some bud I hastily threw in my bag earlier this morning. I quickly zip it shut and finish tearing down my station. Before getting ready to head out I quickly feel for the vial I carried all day. It's still in my left shirt pocket.
The commute home feels like it'll never end, as I weave through traffic I can hear the methodic 'tap tap tap' of a razor on glass in my mind. I love that sound. I've been trained to love it by every sort of crushable, snortable drug I've used. I manage to make it home in one piece, ignoring the retarded drivers, chilly wind, and the various potholes strewn throughout. I pull into the garage and dismount my motorcycle, throwing my gloves and helmet aside. After fumbling with the keys for a moment, I finally manage to unlock the only door between me and pure euphoria.
This moment has been on my mind all day long, the thought pops into my mind that I might be an addict but I cast it aside as I carefully setup my rectangular piece of glass on a black t-shirt, by the razor and crisp dollar from my wallet. I take off my backpack and throw it on the bed after taking my red Gatorade out. My hands are shaking with anticipation as I unbutton my shirt pocket to pull out my vial containing the very finest Cocaine I've ever had the privilege to rail. Grabbing a razor and a pen, I fabricate a makeshift tooter by cutting the pen's outer tube to size. For some unknown reason I always throw away my straws after each session and I refuse to snort with currency. Everything is ready now. I unscrew the cap and dump out enough for two pretty heavy lines on the pristine glass surface. I'm not sure if I can take them but oh well, "you only live once" or so they say. Slowly, I place the freshly crisped dollar over the pile and carefully run the razor over it. After lifting the dollar I start to chop chop chop the flat cake into many very fine particles. I scoop everything up into a pile and repeat this a few times until the whole lot is as fine as sea salt. The razor makes short work of the pile, and I had two enormous lines staring at me before I knew it.
My laptop is playing my favourite song from A Tribe Called Quest, the same song I play every time I get ready for some blow. My brain recognizes the typical rythmn and I notice that my mouth started watering minutes ago. "I'm fucking pathetic," I say to myself as I grab the black pen tube and kneel over the first line. I exhale, pull the straw to my nose and point it at the end of the line. I begin inhaling and slowly drag my tooter over the line. It hits me instantly and I gag, but I didn't lose any powder. The line was probably too big, but I don't wait for the onset. I repeat the process on the second, equally sized line of marching powder and fall backwards on my bed and started grinding my teeth from the temporary nasal burn. It goes away shortly when the numbing sets in and I keep snorting deeply to get it all into my throat. I can feel the rush, that elusive, subtle euphoria that I spent every waking moment thinking about today. It's fucking beautiful.
I lay back in bed enjoying what seems like the finest moment in my life, nothing could ruin this. My sinus's start acting up so I reach my backpack to pop a few Benadryl.
The euphoria wears off after I listen to a selection of music I picked out earlier today so I put on some Deltron 3030 and start racking up a couple more lines. The powder is almost reflective, and this high is only an empty reminder of my encounters with Methamphetamine last month. I think this is the last time I buy coke, the last time I experience this.
My old drug of choice no longer satisfies me like meth does. That doesn't change the pile in front of me though. I can't resist blowing another two lines, half sized this time. They felt just as powerful as the first two. The numbing drip makes me gag again, despite my affinity for it. I have more of a love for the ritual of blowing lines than I do for blow itself.
I'm left sitting in my room, alone and geeked out, there's nobody to talk to so I guess that's why I'm here, to release this to like-minded people across the world.
Thank you.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_cocaine
substancecode_stimulants
explevel_experienced
exptype_positive
exptype_addiction
roacode_nasal
The commute home feels like it'll never end, as I weave through traffic I can hear the methodic 'tap tap tap' of a razor on glass in my mind. I love that sound. I've been trained to love it by every sort of crushable, snortable drug I've used. I manage to make it home in one piece, ignoring the retarded drivers, chilly wind, and the various potholes strewn throughout. I pull into the garage and dismount my motorcycle, throwing my gloves and helmet aside. After fumbling with the keys for a moment, I finally manage to unlock the only door between me and pure euphoria.
This moment has been on my mind all day long, the thought pops into my mind that I might be an addict but I cast it aside as I carefully setup my rectangular piece of glass on a black t-shirt, by the razor and crisp dollar from my wallet. I take off my backpack and throw it on the bed after taking my red Gatorade out. My hands are shaking with anticipation as I unbutton my shirt pocket to pull out my vial containing the very finest Cocaine I've ever had the privilege to rail. Grabbing a razor and a pen, I fabricate a makeshift tooter by cutting the pen's outer tube to size. For some unknown reason I always throw away my straws after each session and I refuse to snort with currency. Everything is ready now. I unscrew the cap and dump out enough for two pretty heavy lines on the pristine glass surface. I'm not sure if I can take them but oh well, "you only live once" or so they say. Slowly, I place the freshly crisped dollar over the pile and carefully run the razor over it. After lifting the dollar I start to chop chop chop the flat cake into many very fine particles. I scoop everything up into a pile and repeat this a few times until the whole lot is as fine as sea salt. The razor makes short work of the pile, and I had two enormous lines staring at me before I knew it.
My laptop is playing my favourite song from A Tribe Called Quest, the same song I play every time I get ready for some blow. My brain recognizes the typical rythmn and I notice that my mouth started watering minutes ago. "I'm fucking pathetic," I say to myself as I grab the black pen tube and kneel over the first line. I exhale, pull the straw to my nose and point it at the end of the line. I begin inhaling and slowly drag my tooter over the line. It hits me instantly and I gag, but I didn't lose any powder. The line was probably too big, but I don't wait for the onset. I repeat the process on the second, equally sized line of marching powder and fall backwards on my bed and started grinding my teeth from the temporary nasal burn. It goes away shortly when the numbing sets in and I keep snorting deeply to get it all into my throat. I can feel the rush, that elusive, subtle euphoria that I spent every waking moment thinking about today. It's fucking beautiful.
I lay back in bed enjoying what seems like the finest moment in my life, nothing could ruin this. My sinus's start acting up so I reach my backpack to pop a few Benadryl.
The euphoria wears off after I listen to a selection of music I picked out earlier today so I put on some Deltron 3030 and start racking up a couple more lines. The powder is almost reflective, and this high is only an empty reminder of my encounters with Methamphetamine last month. I think this is the last time I buy coke, the last time I experience this.
My old drug of choice no longer satisfies me like meth does. That doesn't change the pile in front of me though. I can't resist blowing another two lines, half sized this time. They felt just as powerful as the first two. The numbing drip makes me gag again, despite my affinity for it. I have more of a love for the ritual of blowing lines than I do for blow itself.
I'm left sitting in my room, alone and geeked out, there's nobody to talk to so I guess that's why I'm here, to release this to like-minded people across the world.
Thank you.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_cocaine
substancecode_stimulants
explevel_experienced
exptype_positive
exptype_addiction
roacode_nasal
Last edited by a moderator:
