The Heroin

" . . . personality, that's what counts, that's what keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin. I mean, heroin's got f*cking great personality."

-- Sick Boy



Heroin. My first hit after a long time. During my rehab hiatus, I thought my sinews had lost their resilience to a sudden flight of aldosterone. It was time to try new drugs and I'm still suffering the ill effects of the shot I got myself into late this afternoon. It beats any meat injection.

Yes everybody, Mark Renton has finally gotten himself the low-wage, overworked-underpaid, creative job after much thought. It's too early in the game to forecast how he'll fare in this season's football game, being fresh out of the commercial shores and social circuit. He can only hope to plagiarize Archie Gemmill in 1978 against Holland. The worst part is, the pay sucks so bad, he won't be able to "proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs..." No more expensive parties and getting drunk on Crystale, no new high society-noveau riche designer clothes, no more sleeping late and waking up late. Most painfully, no chance of moving in to the penthouses of soaring city columns. This is it. This is all for the thrill of experience. After all, it's the only thing he can afford to charge it to.

The new rush is reminiscent of his old school responsibilities, like a pair of opium suppositories stuck right up the arse. It's not so bad really. "Slow release, like. Bring you down gradually. Custom f*cking designed for your needs," as Mikey Forrester would've put it simply for him. The new challenge may be difficult and he can suddenly go cold turkey without anything as much as methadone to soothe the pain. It may not be the treatment he had been briefed about and the prognosis may still lack persuasive clarity, yet he's eager to take the challenge of shooting up again with the resilient hopes of gaining worldly knowledge without losing memory of what he had been before any of this had ever happened. Sometimes, one is never really conscious even when one is awake.

If I didn't have to prepare for a major client presentation tomorrow (on my 2nd day at the job!!!) I would've spent more time writing about my Puerto weekend with La Femme Nikita and all the new stuff I got to realize during the wonderful weekend.


Sadly yet submittingly, I start tapping on my antecubitals for the insertion of the next disposable syringe.

The smack'll come any moment now. I can't wait.