I am sitting in this bathroom searching for a vein. I paid $5 to get into the hotel. They let me up without ID. This is the only place I can go and take my shoes and pants completely off of me. I wonder what the workers think when they catch my bare legs out of the corner of their eye. Do they think I am picking at myself? Do they think I am insane? Do they wish that they had the type of freedom I enjoy as a homeless junkie living in an open air sewer known as the Tenderloin. Do they cover their child's eyes and silently pray that this will never happen to them.
The blood, blood! A register is a welcome addition to my miserable morning. FUCK. I can see the miss as it happens. The pain in the foot. These veins are just too damn small for the size hit I need to make me feel better. It is clogging- the rig the rig is clogging up with my precious drugs frozen in 50 units of purgatory. I am going to have to switch rigs again. CHRIST! Can not catch a break.
People are pounding on the door. They have the verve to want to get in here to take a bath. Ha. I am in here now motherfucker. I paid to get in here. I have blown through almost a whole ten pack and I still have twenty bloody units. How long have I been in here? I lean back against the bathtub. The porcelain is cool and inviting to my weary head. Maybe I can just sit here for a few minutes. Maybe I can rest here. The dope was good this time. The floor is covered in bloody alcohol wipes, my pants, my socks, eight syringes, my shoes, two cookers, and a the not so sterile water. Ah, let me just rest here.
I open my eyes. SOMEONE is banging on the door. Fuck. It is dark outside. How long have I been asleep. What that fuck is going on here? Look at this! I still have the rest of this hit. And I paid five dollars to get in here. I might actually take a shower.