i sat with the doctor and a student nurse, which always embarrasses me. i just must seem like a textbook case of a nutter. i wasnt really using, not like i did when i didnt have a methadone script, and i told him this. he was very pleased and smiled. drinking? he smiled, seemed pleased. obviously, if you read the below post you will realise i lied and wangled my way through it.
i hadnt seen any of the old group so when i came out the first thing i done was go over and speak to them. i had a lot of money on me so i done 3 beer runs, which ended up costing me altogether £36.11. when id run out of money, nobody got me one back! how about that! i should of remembered all i was to these people was a meal ticket. while we were standing chatting under the bus stop (how hip and cool!) this little short black fellar comes over or rather, swaggers over with little bits of paper in his hand. “Here we are everybody, Dean is back in town man. Dean is back in town. Ya’ll take the number, call us and we will hook ya up, aiiiiight?” I had to laugh. It was if somebody came over leafleting for a concert or band. Oh well, they are leafleting for our best interest in life, I suppose. Still… I nearly pissed myself laughing.
Everybody said how well I looked, and I think I did. Owed to the shit load of slap and the tight figure hugging outfit I’m sure. As soon as I was back standing with everybody, the people I had been ignoring for so long, I actually missed them. Or rather the lifestyle. Not of them, the lifestyle that meant I got to hang around with them. The lifestyle that is heroin. I miss not giving a damn. I miss not giving a damn at all. I miss how good it makes me feel.
Well, I don’t have to miss it for that long. And I ain’t, I’m grabbing my coat and I’m going out trudging for some gear. I’ll never stop this, will I?
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