The door opens on my approach with a friendly “ding” of welcome. I’d like the Chips even if this was the only cool thing they did. But they do a lot more, my arm hurting like hell being one of these extras. The syntomorphin’s effect has completely worn off by now. In the semi-darkness, I’m able to see the half-empty syringe on the table and eagerly I get another shot. As my arm goes numb, my anxiety and sorrow start to fade as well.
Era cald; cald tare; cald ca in “La tiganci” de Mircea Eliade. Cald cat sa te pocneasca caldura in crestetul capului, ca un varf de sabie. Cald cat sa se lipeasca cearceafurile pe tine. Cald.