A man visibly jonesing for a fix, stuttered his way through a telephone call, feeling slightly reassured by the girls, perhaps a receptionist, sweet voice, so sweet in fact it had played with his taste buds. A thought crossed him, and the developing infatuation was of no use to him in such a jittery state; he felt as though he had to eke out each and every droplet of sweat from his tired pores just to receive a fleeting sense of relief from his strong urge to do drugs, and he would do so with the alacrity of a thirsting vampire sticking its fangs into a victims throat. But the heated feeling he felt was quickly subdued by the intense cravings, and he could do nothing but relinquish control of his body to the pulse of his aching body. He grabbed onto his arm, squeezing tightly to gain some sense of sturdiness in his crumbling mental fortitude.
He got up the next day, watching a burnt old man in a blue shirt toiling in his backyard under the darkened sky, about to be lit by the light somewhere off in the distance, tending to his partially shaded plants.
He appeared at the office, hoping to see a councilor, who specialized in giving much needed guidance to people with personal problems, usually with drugs. He noticed a bulky girl working the front desk with a vocal tone matching the one he remembered from last night, and he moved his swollen eyes elsewhere so not to attract the cloying expression on her face. He shivered, feeling his pale skin, sometimes hunching over as he clumped his hands together on his stomach, which beat in agony.
Finally, it was his turn to see the councilor. He hesitantly walked in, watching the posters cautioning one of the perils of drug addiction gleam when he passed, as though to intentionally grab ones attention, working to a degree as it began to fill him with self-antagonistic thoughts of shame.
“Hey, broski!” the councilor shouted. He sat down, still radiating a sense of despair and nothingness even though the councilor had tried to lift his spirits.
“Look, I know this is hard for you. Heroin is a helluvah drug.” He said winking his eye, while shoving his elbow into the air. The knots in the man’s stomach tightened.
“And I’m here to help you through it. By the way, did you know that McDonalds has a 50% off deal for Chicken MkNuggets?” He said, rather curiously, while the other man tried to cock his brow to display his skepticism, but instead his gestures continued to be motivated by the overwhelming urge for a fix. Any care of appearing normal consumed.
“No…” he managed, hypnotized by the cravings.
“Well here, take these coupons.” He shoved a wad of them towards his end of the desk.
“Anyways, back to your problem. Did you know that you could save thousands, if not millions of dollars on your insurance for your balls by installing platinum plates in them? Zimmerhans’ Plat-no-balls injury kit could be something to look into!” He yelled, erupting with enthusiasm, being loud enough so that he couldn’t even hear himself think.
“I… I don’t need that…” He said, choking for air.
“So how’d you get here?” He said with a smug smile, leaning back into his chair while twirling a pencil around in his fingers, its glossed finish shining at every pass, which he followed like a pendulous amulet, a subtle distraction which swept him into the bliss of forgetfulness. But then he felt a long lost echo of the pinch he’d felt numerous times in his arm, which had come before a pleasuring surge of liquid in his veins, quickly snapping him out of it.
“My car?” He finally replied. Suddenly, the councilor slammed his upper body onto the table, and fixed his eyes onto his, nodding suspiciously.
“Yeah I hear you; would be a shame if something happened to it.” He narrowed his eyes. But then he picked himself up, squeezing a smile onto his face with his already blazing features. He began to scare the poor man, already shivering and sweating from the tight chemical binding over his brain.
“You know, car insurance is ridiculous. You could save 15% on yours by switching to Lam-as Tires.”
“No… no! I don’t need this! What will you do to help me?!” He cried out, unable to bear anymore irrelevancies.
“Oh right, your problem. Duh! Okay, so you obviously heard about the Boudini’s Authentic Italian cuisine, but do you know about the amazing deals and secret, behind the counter meals you could be getting with a top-tier membership, paid weekly!?”
“No! My addiction! I need help!” He shouted again, hoping to be heard. Finally, the man retracted his smile, looking discouraged. He withdrew a pamphlet from his desks drawer, and slid it in front of the addict.
“Alright, I think this is what you need…” He said, slowly unfolding it. The suspense drove him slightly insane.
“And bam, just what you need!” He barked, pushing the flap onto the table, revealing the hidden contents of the pamphlet.
“Here you’ll find a wide variety of sketch books, note books, printing paper, and a colorful array of heavy duty pencils for writing on them!” He said sliding his fingertip along the page, directing his eyes to each product.
“But wait. There’s more!” He said pulling himself back, maintaining his fiery eye contact as he reached under his table.
“COUPONS! That’s right, with these you can take advantage of the six for one deal, allowing you pick any assortment of pencils, sketch books, or note books, for only six dollars and fifty cents! Woaaahhhh!” He said showering coupons onto the table.
This was going to be a long recovery.
He got up the next day, watching a burnt old man in a blue shirt toiling in his backyard under the darkened sky, about to be lit by the light somewhere off in the distance, tending to his partially shaded plants.
He appeared at the office, hoping to see a councilor, who specialized in giving much needed guidance to people with personal problems, usually with drugs. He noticed a bulky girl working the front desk with a vocal tone matching the one he remembered from last night, and he moved his swollen eyes elsewhere so not to attract the cloying expression on her face. He shivered, feeling his pale skin, sometimes hunching over as he clumped his hands together on his stomach, which beat in agony.
Finally, it was his turn to see the councilor. He hesitantly walked in, watching the posters cautioning one of the perils of drug addiction gleam when he passed, as though to intentionally grab ones attention, working to a degree as it began to fill him with self-antagonistic thoughts of shame.
“Hey, broski!” the councilor shouted. He sat down, still radiating a sense of despair and nothingness even though the councilor had tried to lift his spirits.
“Look, I know this is hard for you. Heroin is a helluvah drug.” He said winking his eye, while shoving his elbow into the air. The knots in the man’s stomach tightened.
“And I’m here to help you through it. By the way, did you know that McDonalds has a 50% off deal for Chicken MkNuggets?” He said, rather curiously, while the other man tried to cock his brow to display his skepticism, but instead his gestures continued to be motivated by the overwhelming urge for a fix. Any care of appearing normal consumed.
“No…” he managed, hypnotized by the cravings.
“Well here, take these coupons.” He shoved a wad of them towards his end of the desk.
“Anyways, back to your problem. Did you know that you could save thousands, if not millions of dollars on your insurance for your balls by installing platinum plates in them? Zimmerhans’ Plat-no-balls injury kit could be something to look into!” He yelled, erupting with enthusiasm, being loud enough so that he couldn’t even hear himself think.
“I… I don’t need that…” He said, choking for air.
“So how’d you get here?” He said with a smug smile, leaning back into his chair while twirling a pencil around in his fingers, its glossed finish shining at every pass, which he followed like a pendulous amulet, a subtle distraction which swept him into the bliss of forgetfulness. But then he felt a long lost echo of the pinch he’d felt numerous times in his arm, which had come before a pleasuring surge of liquid in his veins, quickly snapping him out of it.
“My car?” He finally replied. Suddenly, the councilor slammed his upper body onto the table, and fixed his eyes onto his, nodding suspiciously.
“Yeah I hear you; would be a shame if something happened to it.” He narrowed his eyes. But then he picked himself up, squeezing a smile onto his face with his already blazing features. He began to scare the poor man, already shivering and sweating from the tight chemical binding over his brain.
“You know, car insurance is ridiculous. You could save 15% on yours by switching to Lam-as Tires.”
“No… no! I don’t need this! What will you do to help me?!” He cried out, unable to bear anymore irrelevancies.
“Oh right, your problem. Duh! Okay, so you obviously heard about the Boudini’s Authentic Italian cuisine, but do you know about the amazing deals and secret, behind the counter meals you could be getting with a top-tier membership, paid weekly!?”
“No! My addiction! I need help!” He shouted again, hoping to be heard. Finally, the man retracted his smile, looking discouraged. He withdrew a pamphlet from his desks drawer, and slid it in front of the addict.
“Alright, I think this is what you need…” He said, slowly unfolding it. The suspense drove him slightly insane.
“And bam, just what you need!” He barked, pushing the flap onto the table, revealing the hidden contents of the pamphlet.
“Here you’ll find a wide variety of sketch books, note books, printing paper, and a colorful array of heavy duty pencils for writing on them!” He said sliding his fingertip along the page, directing his eyes to each product.
“But wait. There’s more!” He said pulling himself back, maintaining his fiery eye contact as he reached under his table.
“COUPONS! That’s right, with these you can take advantage of the six for one deal, allowing you pick any assortment of pencils, sketch books, or note books, for only six dollars and fifty cents! Woaaahhhh!” He said showering coupons onto the table.
This was going to be a long recovery.
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