Chapter 12
For the first time, Tony considered getting into his own stash. He knew he really wouldn’t, but the thought of a couple of burning snorts bringing automatic oblivion had its appeal. And forgetting is what he wanted to do. He had even gone into the bedroom, to the drawer with its box of neatly organized rows of tiny baggies, color coordinated by amount. He briefly fingered them, knowing that to take a little out of a couple of them would make no difference to anyone. And all he needed was a little. Being a Tina virgin, he was well acquainted with the fact that just one or two of snorts would keep him flying for days.
The phone was ringing. His breakfast had gone cold, sodden and congealed from when he had left it on his table to answer Ethan’s insistent buzzing on his intercom.
