I wake up with crust in my eyes. They used to say it was "sleep" in your eyes. This is some kind of crust. It is a combination of dirt, sunburn, and dust from living in filthy place. I am sure not ever taking my contacts out does not help either. I reach for my beer. It is warm and tastes like piss. You have to be careful in places like this because you might actually drink some piss. There is no working bathroom in this squat. In most abandoned buildings, you can at least piss in the toilet. Most of them still flush if you pour water in the back. I am sleeping in a cargo elevator way in the back of the building so no one can find me though. There is a bucket outside the door I can slide open to go but I need to get out of here.I barricaded myself in here with that chick from New York. I wanted to share a sleeping bag and she wanted to share my dope. Her name is Tami or Terry or some shit. I forget. These girls all start to look the same to me. They come out to San Francisco, get strung out, and get rescued with a plane ticket home and a bed in rehab. She has only been here a few weeks. She still has freckles. She was kissing me last night but I am not that into her. That angelic face sleeping next to me. The face tells me I could have her, have everything about her. She was already asking me about turning dates. I move her head back over so she can use her backpack for a pillow.The things I used to do are lost to me. I remember when I used to get up, brush my teeth, eat breakfast while I watched the news. I always was concerned about the weather. I had to know how to style my hair. I wore lipstick and eyeliner every day. I cared what the world though of me. Now, my hair is half dreaded in the back. I am covered in dirt, the kind of dirt that penetrates layers of clothes. The only color I have on my face is various layers of sunburn. I was lucky to find this place last night. The cops might come at any time in a place like this. Jail is unthinkable as I have a dope habit. I saved myself a little wake up in a rig in my shoe. If I move this chick softly enough, I won't have to tell her no.There is another dude off in the corner, he was probably jacking off last night watching us kiss. You run into all kinds of freaks in these places. This one seemed fairly harmless. He was coming off a four day coke run. Poor guy picked up his face, his arms. His face looked like hamburger when went finally passed out. he bought us both beers and let us sleep in his squat if he could watch us. That never happened. He passed out before we even took off our shoes.I wipe off my arm. It feels so cold in this empty warehouse. I took a pen and marked the last working vein I had so I would be able to find it later. X marks the spot. I have to get out of this place before I get all fucked up today.It is Mother's Day. I need to call home. I got one of those calling cards. I need to find a pay phone. I WILL call my mom, I tell myself. She will cry. I know it. She hasn't seen me in over a year. What can I say to her really. I need to come up with a story What lie can I invent this time? She will ask me if I can come home for my brother's wedding. I will find every way possible to refuse. No one wants a junkie around- why do that to them? The only person who wants me is Tami or Terry or whatever her name is sleeping in the elevator. Would I bring dope on the plane on detox at the reception. Any possible scenario is all bad. I no longer feel comfortable in company of strangers. As sick as it is, I feel as if I belong here. I just can't go.I wipe the sleep from my eyes. It isn't sleep. It is tears. For the first time in six months, I am finally crying. People said it would happen to me. They said not to mess with dope. But here I am. I pull the needle out of my arm. That will dry up my tears. Heroin has a way of doing that. I feel the numbness creep over me. There is not warmth. There is no fear. There is no desperation anymore. I simply do not care anymore. I close my eyes as the dope washes over me. I had something to do but I forget what it was now.