Page 5 of Intoxicating Pursuit

Craving

THE USER

T he incessant noise, demanding patrons, and daily complaints of a busy staff drove him to refuge in his office. He closed the door behind him, muffling the sounds of the clanging dishes and the servers’ constant clamoring. Finally, a moment of peace.

Unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy it.

Need drove him to double check the door lock, then snatch a tiny mirror from his desk drawer. He fished the baggy from his pocket.

Why was it almost gone? Were they shorting him? He’d weigh it himself next time.

He grabbed a business card and pushed the powder into thin white lines, trying to conserve it. Then he rolled a twenty-dollar-bill into a tight straw and bent over to take quick snorts.

The drug numbed his face, and the familiar taste of turpentine trickled down his throat as a wave of relief rolled through him.

Fireworks of euphoria sizzled their way through his cells.

Soon, he vibrated with energy—an iridescent, electric joy that obliviated his worries.

His confidence skyrocketed, growing bigger than his body.

Bigger than the room. He could do anything.

“Hey, are you in there?” A voice called through the door. “Table five’s complaining, and a couple taps are frozen.”

“Coming. Coming.” He wiped his nose and tucked everything back in the drawer. He hesitated a moment to straighten his clothes and square the papers on top of his desk. Then he opened the door and reentered the fray.