The Irish Cocaine.

The irish brute sat before me in a stance saying, stay the fuck out. He enjoys my mau as a man with nothing to lose, nothing to gain or forget. He's the void of a shell wrapped around another void, and it just keeps on going. When turning his head, I could see the veins along his massive forehead. And he spoke:

"Fuck... last week I did shitloads of speed at this shitty bar and some geezers sent me on my way to this hotel to fuck two girls, right. And I was tripping balls, I really wished they were not fucking uggos, you know. But as I was standing in the doorway looking over this bed, two fucking hot women were looking at me, wanting to get fucked. It was fucking mental man, and they would pay me like a thousand bucks and fuck off. That my friend, was a fucking trip..."

Then he leaned over and said:

"You want some of this?"

He showed me a small bag with white contents, I smiled and said, why not? The white gold of the western world on a tiny spoon infront of my nose, I've been waiting for this moment for a long time.

And now sitting infront of my computer, living a seven year old dream, I can finally relax.