I’d gone mute. We were in line. It was hot. Yellow-y. She was the one who wanted to be here. I would’ve rather been in my chair, drinking beer in the cool. So, talking? No. I’d eat raw tip before that.
 

“Why are you always like this?” CC asked. Almost spat it up. “Hmm.”
I looked into the relentless, perfect-blue sky, sinking, sinking, about to crush us all. CC’s beautiful eyes licking my skin. Searching for a spot turned brittle from line-sun where an insult might punch through. 
 

To my core. 
 

But too bad. I was already hollow down there. Decided. Just mechanically-separated sandwich ham and low-rent apartments and pressed oxy crumbs and nothing, that was my soul. Time without heroin: thirteen days, six hours, ten minutes, and thirty-three, thirty- four, thirty-five seconds. 

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