I see the glow has returned in his eyes. He has that look, that swagger. That pep in his step like fuck yeah my dick works AND I can take a shit every fucking day. Feel me? I haven't seen him in awhile. I assumed he was in jail. When people come around after rehab, they have this bloated look on their face. Like a fucking chipmunk storing up for a relapse. Their food reserves hang off their cheeks.





The first week after getting off dope is spent masterbating, showering, and marveling that a needle is no longer hanging out of your arm. The first month is depression alternating with boredom. Suddenly you are sober to realize OH GOD I FUCKED UP MY LIFE. There are parents to deal with, bills to pay. If you duck off to treatment, these will be waiting for you when you come home. It is amazing how fast collection agents get your new addy.





By the second month, the connection is no longer on speed dial. Fuck, they may start calling you. They sound like a jilted lover "hey bro- what's up? It's been awhile." Fuck you dude. Remember when you gave me one fucking bag for my play station, the one I got for Christmas. Eat a dick. Or at least you WOULD say that if you were not so scared you would need them again.





By 90 days, you think you are solid enough to come around scumbags like me. Yeah man, let's chill- you, me, and this monkey on my back. You look like shiny new money to me. Should I ask you to get high? No. Too obvious. Should I ask you for some money. Negative. You will say no.





"Hey man. You look good. You know I am going to see my boy. He has that fire man. But I know you don't do that anymore. Much respect."





I can practically see the money fly out of your pockets! You got 90 days bro? You got some money. Well, once I get you back on that horse, I got 99 problems and a fix ain't one. You are about to hook it up.





That is this life.

What comes around goes around.









"Hey Tracey I have 90 days clean " he says.