I lick the tip of my finger and dip it in the pile of white powder. Rubbing it along my swollen gums, I sigh. Relief. I’m soaring, but not like a bird. I’m soaring like an unstoppable force in the universe. It isn’t enough. It never is.

The white particles are beckoning with the promise of bittersweet euphoria. My gums are numb, I can’t feel a thing. I want to be numb everywhere, gliding above the world I had come to detest. This was my only escape. I pick up a credit card to chop the snow white cocaine. The name on the front is unfamiliar to me. Most of the time faces and places become a blur, but I don’t mind. The powder keeps me satisfied in a way no person could ever manage. The plastic is cold in my hands.

Chop. How could the elegant grains become any finer? Dice. I’m salivating. Mince. Two lines, parallel to one another. Straw to nose, straw to line. Inhale deeply. Repeat. The dust is lifted up and away. “Be good to me,” I whisper. I lean back, flying in a motionless state. Delicious. Harmonious.

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