concretekiss

I'd bought this antique wooden tray, nothing like I would normally buy at a junk store. I gravitate toward more ornate things & this was plain & rustic, what my mother (an antique dealer) would call very 'Winnie-the-Pooh-like.'
I noticed that it rattled a bit as I took it out of the bag & so while examining it I discovered a secret compartment & began cutting a hole in the back of it to find a vile of narcotics, a syringe, a whole junkie's rig stored in a pull out drawer that was somehow puzzled into the back of the tray.
I immediately called Maria, the receptionist @ my work (another unlikely story) to tell her of my discovery.
She came to the house and told me that she used to have a drug problem & therefore could show me how to do the drugs.
We then proceed to shoot up and smoke drugs! While we're all fucked up Maria tells me that she probably should not come by my apartment anymore to avoid having a relapse. That this was only a one time thing to show me how to do the drugs. I tell her I'm going to throw them away. That it was only for experimental purposes.
So Maria goes home & the next day I go back to work but all I can think about is going home to do some sweet sweet drugs.
I remember feeling a little guilty because I told Maria I wouldn't, but as soon as I get home I heat up the spoon and tie-off my arm. I begin to cry, disappointed in my failures and thought in a very heavy southern accent...
I guess I'm gettin' addicted to druuuuuuugs