posh

Teeth chattering, words spitting out of my mouth a mile a minute, I walked into the washroom past the obviously drunk bouncer. Let me rephrase though, it wasn't really a washroom, more of a place that had all the amenities of a washroom but hadn't really been washed itself. A putrid stench of unflushed shit, piss and vomit rose from the dank inner sanctum of this 'room'- so much so that there was steam coming out of it into the rest of the club. Fever, that was the club's name. The yellow fever being cntracted from either this 'room' or the close counters with sleazy whores walking around dancing to the latest ludacris song. A cold reminder that this was a bad idea in the first place. There was no light in the washroom, one had to fend for himself. Not that hard to do really when you've visited the washroom a million times, but extremely tricky when there is shit on the commode and the door doesn't close to your stall. Nevertheless, I was determined. I needed the hit. I took a cloth out of my pocket that I had brought in advance aware that this situation would arise. Cleaning the top of the commode off, I took out my little mirror. Then, the real test. The shit I was here for. I slowly opened the little package I had so painstaking retrieved from my shoes. Slowly, I poured the snowy powder onto the mirror. I was sweating, profusely, it was hot in the club, it smelt something nasty in there and I was about to powder my nose just metres away from a bouncer who would not hesitate to turn me in to the cops. This was a bad idea. I contemplated packing up and leaving.. but then i took a bit of that sweet coke and dabbed my gums with it. Fuck. I needed this hit. Screw everyone else, including my friends who probably thought I was lost somewhere in the club. I used my blade to carefully line it all, took out a twenty and rolled it up. knelt down, fully aware that the dirty water on the floor was seeping into my khakis.. but waiting for this shit to pass through my nose. I went for it, one nostril all the way, the whole line. It hurt. It was fucking good shit. fucking posh- the whole nine yeards.I saw stars for a few minutes..I wish I had more. I found my legs.. stashed my shit into my pants and walked out of that smellhole. fuckin' right. That was barry. Its what Irvine Welsh would say anyway. I need a cig. Maybe two.