Yeah, sometimes. [he nods a little and shifts on the bed to make himself as small as possible— leaned back against the pillows, knees drawn toward his chest, ankles crossed, arms looped around his legs.
He wants more than weed. He wants coke, if he’s honest. Something to keep him awake but without legs long enough to last for days at a time. Meth has its place for some people, but it always lasted much longer than he liked much of anything to last. He’s sure it’s just old habits and muscle memory, but it’s a hard instinct to ignore.]
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He wants more than weed. He wants coke, if he’s honest. Something to keep him awake but without legs long enough to last for days at a time. Meth has its place for some people, but it always lasted much longer than he liked much of anything to last. He’s sure it’s just old habits and muscle memory, but it’s a hard instinct to ignore.]