Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite which is not
to be ignored. But what they forget is the pleasure of it.
Otherwise we wouldn't do it. Afterall, we're not fucking stupid. Well, at least, we're not that fucking stupid. Take the best orgasm you've ever had, multiply it by 1,000, and you're still nowhere near it.
When you're on junk, you have only one worry. Scoring. When you're off it, you're suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite.
Got no money. Can't get pissed. Got money. Drinking too much. Can't get a bud. No chance of a ride. Got a bud. Too much hassle.
You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all of the things that really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit. The only drawback, or at least the principal drawback, is that you have to endure all manner of cunts telling you that,
"No way would I poison my body with that shite. All the fucking
chemicals. No fucking way."
From time to time, even I have uttered the magic words.
"Never again. I'm off the scag. No more. I'm finished with that shite. I'm going to do it
Right this time. I'm going to get it sorted out, get off it for good."
But of course I'd have another hit. After all, I've got work to do.
