Love at First High

The smell hit me before my eyes could adjust to the immediate surroundings. The stench was putrid, haunting me in a way I didn't think was possible that early in life.
As my eyes adjusted to the images presented before them, the stench became even worse. All I knew was that I needed a quick fix for this aching, deep within the core of my being. I didn't know how it got there, all I knew was that it was there, buried beneath layers of sheetrock I had put up to keep the things within locked away.

The stench, I realized was not a single scent but a multitude of rotten odors all swirled into a melting pot of bacterium. Piss, sweat, shit, vomit, and various other perfumes littered the air, clinging to the fabrics around it. It was the smell of nearly thirty methamphetamine junkies sweltering inside this nasty cubicle of a house. The walls were aged and brown with the grime of dirty clothes and skin. I think they were once red, or maybe even a mellow orange shade. This place, could have been a cozy little home at one point. Not now, and I hardly doubt ever again.
There was a single lonely couch forgotten here. Tossed aside, it rested on it's back against one of the dirty walls. Twelve inches above the headrest of the torn loveseat was a gaping hole the size of a large fist. Anyone who felt like it could see clearly through to the bedroom on the other side. I could hear hesitant voices coming from the dark hallway beyond the archway. Nervously, I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, scuffing my boots on the dirty floorboards in the process, creating a resounding thud.

"Baby Sketch? That you?" boomed a shaky voice from an unknown corridor. "Can I do ya fer?" I heard his footsteps shuffle closer to the front entrance where I stood warily, waiting for the mystery man to appear. As he came into the light of the broken window in front of me I almost didn't recognise him. He was completely shaven bald, right down to his eyebrows and lashes.

"Jimmy? Is that actually you? What the fuck happened?" I almost screeched. He was so pale, and he had deep purple crescents beneath his sunken eyes. "What, what happened to you? Did someone fuck you up?" Jimmy just shook his head and smiled at me in that vacant way. The way all meth users do.

"Naaaaaaah, I juss' hadda' baaaad hit maaan," he slurred in my general direction. If I didn't know he was smacked up before, I did now. "Shaved all my hair off. Haven't had no sleep in 'bout three days now. What kinna do ye fer Baby Sketch?" He's been calling me Baby Sketch since the day we met. The very same day I first scored from him and his dealer. "You want summa this good shit? Or maybe summa dat weak crap dem kids be doin'?" His jaw was slack as the words tumbled out of his mouth like vomit spewing from the mouth of a drunk. He walked over to the overturned couch and perched himself atop its backside. Jimmy was all gangly arms and legs, pock marks and greasy hair. His eyes searched me up and down, side to side, and back again.

"Yeah, the stuff you're on is just too much for me. I don't want to turn out like you, Jim. No offense or anything," I jittered. "I got," I searched the pockets of my silver duct tape pants. Yeah, I made them myself. "I got twenty five bucks. Gimme a deal here, Jimbo". He always hated it what I called him that. He gave me a sly smirk and tossed a clear sandwich baggie at me. I fumbled it, but managed to catch it between my sweat slicked fingers before it fell to the floor. I shoved the bills of money at him as I crammed the small bag into the same pocket the cash had been just moments before. It was the last of my paycheque, but completely worth every penny. I needed this. Craved it. Couldn't go on without it. I started to tremble knowing that my salvation was well hidden in the left pocket of my pants. I'll manage to pay my rent some other way. Maybe I'll skip a month, and pay double next time. Maybe I could find a second job. I don't know, all I know is that this is here and now. No time to think about the future.