Garry James stood by the worn Formica table watching the production of crack cocaine. Although he was proud of his achievement, it was difficult for G to look at the drug drying on various trays. The urge to smoke himself into oblivion was always present. He wanted it again even moments after smoking a rock. His eyes became glazed as he watched and without realizing it he began to fantasize about the yellow nugget consumed in a flame, and then the sizzle and pop as it caught. His throat tightened as he pictured the blooms of smoke rolling across his tongue and into his lungs where he would hold it until they burned. By then the head rush would have hit and moments later perfect clarity and then sweet numbness.
G pulled himself out of his reverie when the apartment door opened and Donald
