Punk's Not Dead

Sid and I slept peacefully that night. He pleaded that I sleep with him; not in the sexual way. I agreed, but only for that night. While he slept, he gripped onto me. The whole night through, he shivered and shook.

At some point, maybe around four in the morning, he got up and went downstairs.

The next morning...

I got up about three hours after Sid, and I began to cook some eggs and bacon. Sid was asleep on the couch, slightly twitching. He looked miserable.

Walking over to him, I carefully place a unzipped sleeping bag on top of Sid. Smoothing back his hair, I went back to the meal.

After it was cooked, I smoked a joint and ate. It was a lot more quiet without Sid at the table. My mind wandered to the many times Sid and I ate breakfast together. Breakfast had always been one of Sid's favorite times of the day...well, before he started doing heroin.

Suddenly, I felt sick. I rushed to the bathroom and vomited everything I had just eaten. Thinking of the past made me sick. It always made me sick.

Why didn't I stop Sid when I had the chance...