"My life is ruined, man", he said, not having sipped his beer or taken an anxious sip on his cigarette in a hot second. He was a stranger to me, breathed heavily, overweight, but made of gold it seemed. My friends were wasted and we were sitting on the roof after a long night of them getting drunk. "All our lives are ruined", I replied naively. "But it's heroine man", he told me, "Nine out of ten people addicted to heroine die from it." He was right, at whatever right was. "You're going to be that one, then.", my friend chimed in. "I know, it just ***** everyone else is going to die", he continued. I laughed. "Don't laugh at that", I was reprimanded.
**** though, everyone else dies too. I can't stand this place between dying and being cripplingly apathetic about everything, and most people I know live it. That edge. I don't know a lot of people too excited about waking up and going through the motions. Most of us think about dying when we're happy; not quietly into the night but quietly. Just disappearing in a flash without light. An instant, but quicker.
Joey knocked over a lot of barrels last night, and I was sober and scared of having the police called on me in a weird turn of events, so I picked a lot of them up.