By Monica McGarry
Apprehensive and an abecedarian, I met him in the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the tub, his makeshift office. He asked me questions I didn’t know the answer to: about dabs, amphets, crank, uppers. I slipped the bill into his sweaty palm in exchange for a musty, moss filled bag.
“Be careful, that will fuck your shit up.”
A strange caution from someone that just made a profit off my impulse. I smoke until my head threatens to roll off my shoulders: a glutton for an unfamiliar feeling. Sensation dissipates. Panic, repentance present themselves.
He did something to me.
Well written and disturbing story.
pro work