Do I really want a new job, I remember one from a while ago...
The day was long, too long, many hours sat numbing my mind at the office. Maybe the week was too long, maybe I needed out of this shit. Forty Five pounds rested in my pocket, a gram of coke in my colleagues. The tension had built throughout the day, how do we do the exchange under the gaze of straight colleagues and bosses. Subtle e-mail correspondence. Under the pretense of work, slipped between files, passed between hands. Cash for good times, same old same old.
A gram of coke rested in my pocket. Now understand I’m not an addict, but I really wanted a hit. Sitting down at the computer, devoid of interest and wanting more, I felt the wrap burn my leg, begging me, just a cheeky one, a bump to see off the day, a spark of something else, something better than a customer account, or a flashing cursor and an easily irascible boss.
Off to the cubical I marched with familiar apprehension swelling. You try to be subtle, but how subtle can inhaling a line be. I racked it up on the toilet role dispenser, sharply breathing in the good times. A bitter taste of solid but sordid friendship Splashed cold water on the face, shuck the drips, grinned in the mirror and strutted back to a slightly less mundane job. Life can be fun I thought, life was fun I felt.