Nit-tastic Tales
01-07-2016
, 03:07 AM
01-07-2016
, 06:48 PM
06-28-2016
, 06:35 PM
PART III: Love - Easy Game
Disclaimer: Meth is a dangerous, highly toxic drug, and it's ruined millions of lives, present company included. This part was originally slated to conclude with my inevitable downfall and its pathetic aftermath, but as usual the story has grown into tl;dr, and those details will have to wait for the final installment.
None of you asked for it, so here it is! Here follows the penultimate part of Nit-tastic tales.
On the Fast Track
Early one afternoon at a co-worker's house party, my manager waved me into an upstairs bathroom. Waiting for me there was a tiny bump of white powder, no longer than a pinky fingernail. I grabbled the little straw next to it and hoovered up an ungodly emetic of insect repellent, tear gas residue and powdered brake fluid. My manager had clearly been ripped off, but I felt considerate enough not to bitch about a free bump, so I kept my review of the awful goods to just a hacking wheeze and a quick wave as I stumbled past him out of the bathroom, tears streaming from my eyes.
Fourteen hours later, hunkered down on the slanted roof above the balcony of the same house, deep in conversation with a complete stranger, the both of us shielding our eyes from the sun as it rose upon the valley and into a new 110°F day, I realized that my manager hadn't been ripped off in the slightest. This was my introduction to methamphetamine.
I'd never before bothered with meth, having written it off for a trailer trash version of coke, but the differences between the two were striking: where coke made me want to talk, meth made me want to listen. A person on coke finds himself to be endlessly fascinating, but it was other people who became interesting to me when I was on meth. A switch went on somewhere and I liked people a lot. I wanted to get to know them better.
My new best friend from the night before finally called it a day and we clambered down off the roof of my co-worker's house. I had the day off so I walked over to one of the local Station casinos, where I sat down at a $5 blackjack table and proceeded to hammer out a very pleasant day chatting up the other players who sat down with me. I had the best time getting people at my table to open up and tell me their stories.
A few days later, my landlord Paul invited me out to dinner, and I girded myself for one of his gentle lectures on accepting Jesus Christ as my Personal Savior. These were worth overlooking, as I liked Paul a lot and, unlike his biblical namesake, he never laid the fire and brimstone crap on too thick.
While driving us over to the restaurant Paul said to me, "I have 27 properties now. It's not an easy thing. You know my tenants and what they can be like. I'm going to show you what helps me get through the day." Paul held up a small bottle with a complicated stopper. The bottle was half filled with white powder.
"Meth." he said. "I do a small amount every day, just a few grains at a time. It's better than coffee."
"Where do you get it from?"
"Dean sells it." Dean was Paul's maintenance guy and handyman for all of his properties. He was a shortish man in his forties with a bodybuilder's physique, though no one had ever seen or heard of him going to the gym.
My manager and my landlord were both into meth: I took that as a sign, and before long I had Dean signed up. He would sell me my bags for $100 each. I still don't know if the $100 bags were a gram, or two grams, or a 1/16 of an ounce or how many units--metric or imperial--they might have been. All I knew is that each bag was enough to last me for around 4 weeks.
And not long after that began all the arguments, the assaults, the arrests, and the crazy tweaker delusions....Yeah, not really. As usual, I was a sensible nit, and I kept my intake to very small amounts, just a few grains crushed up and snorted over the course of the day.
The first thing I noticed was that alcohol was no longer the great comfort and daily refuge of my adult life. My compunction to have a drink in hand at all times dropped to zero. I'd still nurse a cocktail at parties, but only for the look of things. In tandem with this, the food budget dwindled down. Hunger disappeared and eating became a necessary chore, something to remind myself to take care of. I'd have two Hot Pockets, or a bowl of ramen noodles, or sometimes I'd drink two diet shakes in the morning for the ease of it. Any one of these options could cover an entire day's intake.
I'd carry along like this until the bag of speed was gone. Then I'd take a week or two off the drug, during which I'd generally stuff my face with food, so overall I lost weight but I didn't manage to turn myself into a scarecrow. After a few months along this track I noticed that money was sort of piling up in my bank account. I sat down and crunched the numbers. Pre-meth, I would buy a snack or two during the day, then have a dinner out at a restaurant, which usually included 2-4 pints of decent beer. At home I would always be working on a 12-pack of good beer from the fridge. So I'd been burning through $30-$50 per day on food and drink. In contrast, Post-meth expenditures were only around $5-$7 per day. So $25 per week spent on the drug was saving me well over $200 per week in food and drink. At those prices I couldn't afford not to have a drug habit.
As an added consequence of the drug, I started doing my job at the bookstore a lot more effectively. My customer service level jumped up considerably. I was talking customers into taking chances with certain books, subjects or writers they weren't familiar with, and then I'd have the great pleasure of seeing them come back for more. Customers began to ask for me specifically. I developed into a tireless and accurate stocker, receiver and register jockey. My attitude improved significantly across the board. Before long I was promoted to shift manager. That bump was followed by a promotion to assistant manager, and soon after that I was given my own bookstore in the city to manage.
I asked my landlord to move me out of the boarding house and into one of his nicer properties: a little guest house in a quiet back yard, perfectly sized and situated for a single guy. Now I had my own digs, I possessed a new confidence, I'd worked up to a respectable job, and I had a set of wheels and money in the bank. So it wasn't long before I started to suspect that a young woman might be interested in me.
Hades & Persephone:
Anna worked in the gift shop across the hall from my bookstore, and she would stop by to chat with me fairly often. She was in her early 20's, and had long, dark red hair, a heart-shaped face and a fantastic body. There will be no pics of Anna. Fourteen years have gone by and she's a respectable housewife now with four kids. She's someone who did nothing wrong, so there's no call for me to trainwreck her on BBV.
Anna was also a Mormon, which meant that she didn't smoke, she didn't drink, and she didn't do any drugs. The only place where she deviated from her faith was in having a normal sex life. Unmarried Mormons are not allowed to have anything like this. She had moved to Las Vegas, in fact, due to her "getting in trouble" with a boyfriend back in Utah, after which she had been made to break up with him, pull up stakes and come to here to live with relatives who could keep an eye on her. I'm trying my best not to editorialize in this piece, but I'd like to point out that I'm writing about a full-grown adult.
Asking Anna out just happened to coincide with my having a few grains left in my then-current bag of speed. After she said yes, I worried that I might not be able to kick the habit easily, but it turned out to be nothing at all. I spent most of my free time with Anna from that time on, and I can't recall an instance with her where my thoughts turned back to the meth.
On our second date I visited the relatives she stayed with, all unknowing as yet about the whole "keeping an eye on her" business. They turned out to be lovely people, and I ended up spending a lot of time over there. At first I believe they thought that Anna and I were just friends, or maybe they were just hoping that was the case. But even after it became apparent that we were sleeping together--and there was quite a blowup between her Aunt and me over that--even after that, I was never told, nor was I ever given the impression that I was not welcome at their house. They made their disapproval of our actions apparent to me, but that didn't stop them from being kind to me and from being excellent hosts in general.
The parts of relationships that go well make for boring stories, so I'll try to give just a few examples.
Anna and I were invited to a Halloween party. She asked me if I had any sort of costumes in mind. I said, "How about we go as Hades and Persephone?"
She said, "Cool, that's us. We'll dye your hair black and put white streaks in it, and I'll do your face up in white."
"Nice."
" I have a long gold chain." she said. "We'll clasp it around my neck and leave one end loose, and you can use that to lead me around on it. Plus my little cousin has a stuffed 3-headed dog."
"He has Cerberus?"
"He has a little Cerberus dog. We can borrow it from him. And I'll put Cerberus on a little staff. And that'll be the scepter you'll carry around." So, how many Americans in their twenties would not need to be reminded who Hades and Persephone were, assuming they'd ever learned the story to begin with? This was the kind of girl I was dealing with.
When I was much younger, I had pretensions of being a writer. Those didn't last long. Anna's talents were mainly in photography and layout design. When she was working on her art, I found that I could open my laptop and peck away at some stories, a few of which turned out not to be terrible. Those pieces were all lost many years later when I ran my kitchen sink faucet over one of my laptops during a blackout, but that's beside the point.
Anna also sang quite beautifully. Thanks to my being a nit, I owned very few cds. Two of them were by a great female artist who calls herself Poe. Anna would sing along with the Poe albums everywhere we went in the car. I never got tired of listening to her. That's the reason why my drunken 2+2 posting history has more than a few Poe videos in it. But that's also beside the point.
The point is that we've had entirely enough of the boring good stuff. It's enough to know that I was happy once. Now, as they say, wait for it...
Pwned by The Bishop:
Sometimes people try to convince themselves that sexual relations
outside of marriage are acceptable if the participants love one another.
This is not true.
-The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
When members need to have certain blessings withheld, the Lord’s object
is to teach as well as to discipline. So probation, disfellowshipment, and
excommunication, when they become necessary, are ideally accompanied by
eventual reinstatement and restoration of blessings.
-Elder M. Russell Ballard
Of the Quorum of the Twelve
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
Anna's relatives had told the local bishop all about her sexual transgressions, and he'd scheduled a meeting to counsel her about it. The next step would be probation. After a certain time on probation, if she wouldn't toe the line, she would be disfellowshipped. Disfellowshipped church members have just enough rights and privileges taken from them as to make their punishment apparent to everyone else in the church. It is the modern day Scarlet A on the shirt.
At about the same time, Anna picked up a good job at a bank. A large part of her crew at this branch were Mormon. One of them was a young man, single, and in good standing with the church. Since I'm changing everyone's name in here, I'll call him Grrr, as that was my nickname for him. Grrr and I never exchanged more than a nod in each other's direction, but from what I could tell he was a dull, boring, stupid, fat, ugly doo-doo head. I think that's a fair assessment, based on the limited information available to me.
So everyone in her life--family, new co-workers, church authorities--was putting pressure on Anna to dump me and to take up with Grrr. And she wasn't budging. She asked me what I thought we should do. I said, "Well, looks like we're gonna have to get married. I don't see any other..."
"..........."
"Wait! Wait!" I said. "That was not an official proposal. That would be lame, wouldn't it? When I propose to you it...I'm just bringing the subject up for discussion. We're airing it out."
"..........."
I said, "Okay, let's say we get married. How important to you would it be for me to convert?"
Anna said, "I want to get married in the Temple. And I want to be sealed with my husband and with my family for eternity. That's something I've wanted for a long time. You would have to convert in order for that to happen."
"All right." I said. "Let me borrow your Book of Mormon. I'll read it, and we'll go from there." Over the next few weeks, while the pressure built on Anna, I sat down and read their book. I'm not interested in giving a lengthy critical review of the Mormon beliefs, so I'll be brief: to me they were bull****, and I couldn't abide by them. Now, I could've faked it. I gave that idea some serious thought. Smile, pay lip service and reap the benefits. That would be the nitty way to go.
Here's a fun fact: once sealed to his wife, the Mormon husband is responsible for his entire family's placement in the afterlife. Wherever he goes, they go as well. I gave it about a zero percent chance that anything I had done or would ever do would cause myself or someone else to go to some nonexistent inferno, but I also didn't think that I could hide my disbelief from Anna for the rest of my life. Think of the resentment seething underneath just from trying to grind it out with that lie in me. And once the truth worked its way out, think of Anna believing utterly that I was going to lead her and our kids into Hell.
I kept my mouth shut and pretended that things could go on the way they went before, without me converting or asking her to marry me. We started getting into little arguments, all of which stood in for the the things we were refusing to address. I knew that if I told her I wouldn't convert that it would be the whole ballgame. But the arguments got worse, and the day came when we got into some stupid tiff, and neither of us would back down, and that was it.
Anna and Grrr were married in the Mormon temple four months later.
"Where have you been, buddy boy?" Dean asked. "Dating a Mormon girl. That's all done with now." I said. "Look, I think I'm just going to do one bag and that's it. I don't know why I'm messing with this again."
Dean said "Dude, I've been doing this stuff for 20 years. So now look at me. Do I look that bad?" Dean was 42 and he was basically a fine specimen of a man. His teeth were bright white, straight and clean. His skin appeared to be clear of the tell-tale tweaker blemishes. There wasn't a grey hair on his head. He looked...just plain healthy.
Dean left and I crunched up a line for myself, a big fat one for once, to go with the glass of whiskey and the Winston burning beside me in the newly fetched-out ashtray. It had taken some time to find that ashtray, as I'd quit smoking while I was dating Anna.
I liked drinking, and I liked tweaking. I could not understand why I'd never before paired the two. That was goddamn well going to change. I just needed to take the pain away for a bit. Nothing was going to get out of hand. After all, I was a good little nit, and I would keep an eye on things, like I always did. It was time to live a little.
Disclaimer: Meth is a dangerous, highly toxic drug, and it's ruined millions of lives, present company included. This part was originally slated to conclude with my inevitable downfall and its pathetic aftermath, but as usual the story has grown into tl;dr, and those details will have to wait for the final installment.
None of you asked for it, so here it is! Here follows the penultimate part of Nit-tastic tales.
Spoiler:
On the Fast Track
Early one afternoon at a co-worker's house party, my manager waved me into an upstairs bathroom. Waiting for me there was a tiny bump of white powder, no longer than a pinky fingernail. I grabbled the little straw next to it and hoovered up an ungodly emetic of insect repellent, tear gas residue and powdered brake fluid. My manager had clearly been ripped off, but I felt considerate enough not to bitch about a free bump, so I kept my review of the awful goods to just a hacking wheeze and a quick wave as I stumbled past him out of the bathroom, tears streaming from my eyes.
Fourteen hours later, hunkered down on the slanted roof above the balcony of the same house, deep in conversation with a complete stranger, the both of us shielding our eyes from the sun as it rose upon the valley and into a new 110°F day, I realized that my manager hadn't been ripped off in the slightest. This was my introduction to methamphetamine.
Spoiler:
I'd never before bothered with meth, having written it off for a trailer trash version of coke, but the differences between the two were striking: where coke made me want to talk, meth made me want to listen. A person on coke finds himself to be endlessly fascinating, but it was other people who became interesting to me when I was on meth. A switch went on somewhere and I liked people a lot. I wanted to get to know them better.
My new best friend from the night before finally called it a day and we clambered down off the roof of my co-worker's house. I had the day off so I walked over to one of the local Station casinos, where I sat down at a $5 blackjack table and proceeded to hammer out a very pleasant day chatting up the other players who sat down with me. I had the best time getting people at my table to open up and tell me their stories.
A few days later, my landlord Paul invited me out to dinner, and I girded myself for one of his gentle lectures on accepting Jesus Christ as my Personal Savior. These were worth overlooking, as I liked Paul a lot and, unlike his biblical namesake, he never laid the fire and brimstone crap on too thick.
Spoiler:
While driving us over to the restaurant Paul said to me, "I have 27 properties now. It's not an easy thing. You know my tenants and what they can be like. I'm going to show you what helps me get through the day." Paul held up a small bottle with a complicated stopper. The bottle was half filled with white powder.
"Meth." he said. "I do a small amount every day, just a few grains at a time. It's better than coffee."
"Where do you get it from?"
"Dean sells it." Dean was Paul's maintenance guy and handyman for all of his properties. He was a shortish man in his forties with a bodybuilder's physique, though no one had ever seen or heard of him going to the gym.
My manager and my landlord were both into meth: I took that as a sign, and before long I had Dean signed up. He would sell me my bags for $100 each. I still don't know if the $100 bags were a gram, or two grams, or a 1/16 of an ounce or how many units--metric or imperial--they might have been. All I knew is that each bag was enough to last me for around 4 weeks.
And not long after that began all the arguments, the assaults, the arrests, and the crazy tweaker delusions....Yeah, not really. As usual, I was a sensible nit, and I kept my intake to very small amounts, just a few grains crushed up and snorted over the course of the day.
The first thing I noticed was that alcohol was no longer the great comfort and daily refuge of my adult life. My compunction to have a drink in hand at all times dropped to zero. I'd still nurse a cocktail at parties, but only for the look of things. In tandem with this, the food budget dwindled down. Hunger disappeared and eating became a necessary chore, something to remind myself to take care of. I'd have two Hot Pockets, or a bowl of ramen noodles, or sometimes I'd drink two diet shakes in the morning for the ease of it. Any one of these options could cover an entire day's intake.
I'd carry along like this until the bag of speed was gone. Then I'd take a week or two off the drug, during which I'd generally stuff my face with food, so overall I lost weight but I didn't manage to turn myself into a scarecrow. After a few months along this track I noticed that money was sort of piling up in my bank account. I sat down and crunched the numbers. Pre-meth, I would buy a snack or two during the day, then have a dinner out at a restaurant, which usually included 2-4 pints of decent beer. At home I would always be working on a 12-pack of good beer from the fridge. So I'd been burning through $30-$50 per day on food and drink. In contrast, Post-meth expenditures were only around $5-$7 per day. So $25 per week spent on the drug was saving me well over $200 per week in food and drink. At those prices I couldn't afford not to have a drug habit.
Spoiler:
As an added consequence of the drug, I started doing my job at the bookstore a lot more effectively. My customer service level jumped up considerably. I was talking customers into taking chances with certain books, subjects or writers they weren't familiar with, and then I'd have the great pleasure of seeing them come back for more. Customers began to ask for me specifically. I developed into a tireless and accurate stocker, receiver and register jockey. My attitude improved significantly across the board. Before long I was promoted to shift manager. That bump was followed by a promotion to assistant manager, and soon after that I was given my own bookstore in the city to manage.
I asked my landlord to move me out of the boarding house and into one of his nicer properties: a little guest house in a quiet back yard, perfectly sized and situated for a single guy. Now I had my own digs, I possessed a new confidence, I'd worked up to a respectable job, and I had a set of wheels and money in the bank. So it wasn't long before I started to suspect that a young woman might be interested in me.
Hades & Persephone:
Anna worked in the gift shop across the hall from my bookstore, and she would stop by to chat with me fairly often. She was in her early 20's, and had long, dark red hair, a heart-shaped face and a fantastic body. There will be no pics of Anna. Fourteen years have gone by and she's a respectable housewife now with four kids. She's someone who did nothing wrong, so there's no call for me to trainwreck her on BBV.
Anna was also a Mormon, which meant that she didn't smoke, she didn't drink, and she didn't do any drugs. The only place where she deviated from her faith was in having a normal sex life. Unmarried Mormons are not allowed to have anything like this. She had moved to Las Vegas, in fact, due to her "getting in trouble" with a boyfriend back in Utah, after which she had been made to break up with him, pull up stakes and come to here to live with relatives who could keep an eye on her. I'm trying my best not to editorialize in this piece, but I'd like to point out that I'm writing about a full-grown adult.
Spoiler:
Asking Anna out just happened to coincide with my having a few grains left in my then-current bag of speed. After she said yes, I worried that I might not be able to kick the habit easily, but it turned out to be nothing at all. I spent most of my free time with Anna from that time on, and I can't recall an instance with her where my thoughts turned back to the meth.
On our second date I visited the relatives she stayed with, all unknowing as yet about the whole "keeping an eye on her" business. They turned out to be lovely people, and I ended up spending a lot of time over there. At first I believe they thought that Anna and I were just friends, or maybe they were just hoping that was the case. But even after it became apparent that we were sleeping together--and there was quite a blowup between her Aunt and me over that--even after that, I was never told, nor was I ever given the impression that I was not welcome at their house. They made their disapproval of our actions apparent to me, but that didn't stop them from being kind to me and from being excellent hosts in general.
Spoiler:
The parts of relationships that go well make for boring stories, so I'll try to give just a few examples.
Anna and I were invited to a Halloween party. She asked me if I had any sort of costumes in mind. I said, "How about we go as Hades and Persephone?"
Spoiler:
She said, "Cool, that's us. We'll dye your hair black and put white streaks in it, and I'll do your face up in white."
"Nice."
" I have a long gold chain." she said. "We'll clasp it around my neck and leave one end loose, and you can use that to lead me around on it. Plus my little cousin has a stuffed 3-headed dog."
"He has Cerberus?"
"He has a little Cerberus dog. We can borrow it from him. And I'll put Cerberus on a little staff. And that'll be the scepter you'll carry around." So, how many Americans in their twenties would not need to be reminded who Hades and Persephone were, assuming they'd ever learned the story to begin with? This was the kind of girl I was dealing with.
When I was much younger, I had pretensions of being a writer. Those didn't last long. Anna's talents were mainly in photography and layout design. When she was working on her art, I found that I could open my laptop and peck away at some stories, a few of which turned out not to be terrible. Those pieces were all lost many years later when I ran my kitchen sink faucet over one of my laptops during a blackout, but that's beside the point.
Anna also sang quite beautifully. Thanks to my being a nit, I owned very few cds. Two of them were by a great female artist who calls herself Poe. Anna would sing along with the Poe albums everywhere we went in the car. I never got tired of listening to her. That's the reason why my drunken 2+2 posting history has more than a few Poe videos in it. But that's also beside the point.
The point is that we've had entirely enough of the boring good stuff. It's enough to know that I was happy once. Now, as they say, wait for it...
Pwned by The Bishop:
Sometimes people try to convince themselves that sexual relations
outside of marriage are acceptable if the participants love one another.
This is not true.
-The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
When members need to have certain blessings withheld, the Lord’s object
is to teach as well as to discipline. So probation, disfellowshipment, and
excommunication, when they become necessary, are ideally accompanied by
eventual reinstatement and restoration of blessings.
-Elder M. Russell Ballard
Of the Quorum of the Twelve
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
Anna's relatives had told the local bishop all about her sexual transgressions, and he'd scheduled a meeting to counsel her about it. The next step would be probation. After a certain time on probation, if she wouldn't toe the line, she would be disfellowshipped. Disfellowshipped church members have just enough rights and privileges taken from them as to make their punishment apparent to everyone else in the church. It is the modern day Scarlet A on the shirt.
At about the same time, Anna picked up a good job at a bank. A large part of her crew at this branch were Mormon. One of them was a young man, single, and in good standing with the church. Since I'm changing everyone's name in here, I'll call him Grrr, as that was my nickname for him. Grrr and I never exchanged more than a nod in each other's direction, but from what I could tell he was a dull, boring, stupid, fat, ugly doo-doo head. I think that's a fair assessment, based on the limited information available to me.
So everyone in her life--family, new co-workers, church authorities--was putting pressure on Anna to dump me and to take up with Grrr. And she wasn't budging. She asked me what I thought we should do. I said, "Well, looks like we're gonna have to get married. I don't see any other..."
"..........."
"Wait! Wait!" I said. "That was not an official proposal. That would be lame, wouldn't it? When I propose to you it...I'm just bringing the subject up for discussion. We're airing it out."
"..........."
I said, "Okay, let's say we get married. How important to you would it be for me to convert?"
Anna said, "I want to get married in the Temple. And I want to be sealed with my husband and with my family for eternity. That's something I've wanted for a long time. You would have to convert in order for that to happen."
"All right." I said. "Let me borrow your Book of Mormon. I'll read it, and we'll go from there." Over the next few weeks, while the pressure built on Anna, I sat down and read their book. I'm not interested in giving a lengthy critical review of the Mormon beliefs, so I'll be brief: to me they were bull****, and I couldn't abide by them. Now, I could've faked it. I gave that idea some serious thought. Smile, pay lip service and reap the benefits. That would be the nitty way to go.
Here's a fun fact: once sealed to his wife, the Mormon husband is responsible for his entire family's placement in the afterlife. Wherever he goes, they go as well. I gave it about a zero percent chance that anything I had done or would ever do would cause myself or someone else to go to some nonexistent inferno, but I also didn't think that I could hide my disbelief from Anna for the rest of my life. Think of the resentment seething underneath just from trying to grind it out with that lie in me. And once the truth worked its way out, think of Anna believing utterly that I was going to lead her and our kids into Hell.
Spoiler:
I kept my mouth shut and pretended that things could go on the way they went before, without me converting or asking her to marry me. We started getting into little arguments, all of which stood in for the the things we were refusing to address. I knew that if I told her I wouldn't convert that it would be the whole ballgame. But the arguments got worse, and the day came when we got into some stupid tiff, and neither of us would back down, and that was it.
Anna and Grrr were married in the Mormon temple four months later.
"Where have you been, buddy boy?" Dean asked. "Dating a Mormon girl. That's all done with now." I said. "Look, I think I'm just going to do one bag and that's it. I don't know why I'm messing with this again."
Dean said "Dude, I've been doing this stuff for 20 years. So now look at me. Do I look that bad?" Dean was 42 and he was basically a fine specimen of a man. His teeth were bright white, straight and clean. His skin appeared to be clear of the tell-tale tweaker blemishes. There wasn't a grey hair on his head. He looked...just plain healthy.
Dean left and I crunched up a line for myself, a big fat one for once, to go with the glass of whiskey and the Winston burning beside me in the newly fetched-out ashtray. It had taken some time to find that ashtray, as I'd quit smoking while I was dating Anna.
I liked drinking, and I liked tweaking. I could not understand why I'd never before paired the two. That was goddamn well going to change. I just needed to take the pain away for a bit. Nothing was going to get out of hand. After all, I was a good little nit, and I would keep an eye on things, like I always did. It was time to live a little.
Spoiler:
06-28-2016
, 08:09 PM
06-29-2016
, 09:25 AM
06-29-2016
, 11:02 PM
06-29-2016
, 11:15 PM
06-30-2016
, 12:45 AM
06-30-2016
, 04:33 PM
07-04-2016
, 01:36 AM
07-04-2016
, 09:23 PM
07-06-2016
, 04:21 AM
Why had I never read this til now
And why is there not more FFS
Pull your head out of your ass and start typing SJ, the people have spoken
And why is there not more FFS
Pull your head out of your ass and start typing SJ, the people have spoken
07-06-2016
, 08:09 AM
07-06-2016
, 08:13 AM
Last edited by PasswordGotHacked; 07-06-2016 at 08:14 AM.
Reason: Also pretty sure if next is part 4 I only read part 3. Are parts 1 and 2 worth reading?
07-06-2016
, 02:35 PM
07-13-2016
, 04:55 PM
