It’s base, so it’s kind of dampy-wet-sludgy speed that arrived in the post this fine morning, delivered by my postman, who, coincidentally happens to attend my drink/drug addiction clinic group on a Wednesday. And yes, I bought it off the dark web, I know, I know, it’s very illegal and dangerous, but while I’m not being good, I am being careful.
I am on the train, I feel the pull.
That oh, so familiar feeling. The warm excitement and feeling giddy with how very ok everything will be soon.
I covered the baggie of drugs with my wallet to move it into the larger, main part of my backpack. Opening it quietly with both hands inside my bag, I scraped up some speed with my long metallic nails that were bought from Claire’s accessories when I still had money to my name. Using another nail I scraped the speed off from the underside of my index fingernail to the surface of my thumbnail, and quickly and subtly put it in my mouth and licked it off. I could feel the cold, near-solid mush sitting on the tip of my tongue in a ball, and it was starting to dissipate so I quickly drank water as if I were swallowing a slushy pill.
On a different train later in my journey, about 10 minutes later, the speed hit me like a fucking rhino, and I had to hold onto the yellow handrail to prevent myself from falling over.
And that, my friends, is the story of the time I took speed on a moving, very public, train.