She fingered the baggie in her pocket and smiled at the score. It was a quick hustle to get back to the shop and her closet in the back. To tell you the truth, she was lucky to have it. For two weeks, she was chasing the dragon out front of an old Chinese man’s antique shop before he finally half-drug her scrawny ass inside and out of the rain. He gave her a room. Or a large broom closet, but either way, it came with a pillow and a blanket. Sometimes, if he was feeling generous, a meal. But it was set outside her door as if she were a cat.
It also came with an extreme amount of Chinese yelling. He wanted help at the shop. She didn’t mind until he got to the point where he was shaking his fist. He’d shake his fist when she’d bang on the door at ungodly hours. He’d shake his fist if she was getting dope sick. He shook his fist when she called him “Mr. Miyagi.” He was funny, this guy.
It was just him. No family. He had a small little set-up, you just had to walk up the stairs from the shop. He was able to keep an eye on almost everything. Mr. Miyagi knew she took the spoon. It was the one from under the counter. Obviously it’s replacement didn’t fool him. He shook his fist at that, too. But at least he didn’t put her out. Anyone else would have.
She opened her worn box, all taped up with stickers, its soiled surface a sad reminder of it’s continued use. The only new addition was that silver spoon. The end had a beautifully scrolled “R,” on it. She did feel bad about taking it. But, the initial….
She had her needles. She didn’t share. She’d set her little box up and got to work. After a quick chop, she’d set flame to spoon and suck up that precious golden fluid. Once it was in the rig, she reminded herself to breathe. Everything was set aside, and out came her belt. Loop by loop and her tongue was salty with the taste of the dirty material. Her teeth dug in for a good pull, looking for her new mistress. It was always… just the newest one. Soon, it’d collapse and be a sad reminder of what she couldn’t do. Just like the others.
She only had to pull back once before she hit it. The perfect pull, the rosy swirl of her blood, she gave the plunger a nice, slow push. It was always at this moment that she remembered how much she hated needles when she was a kid.
Mr. Miyagi would be so mad if he knew what she was using that spoon for. She was able to feel the world again. So much clearer. A hard clear. For time that seemed like hours, but were really only moments. And she wasn’t all that clear. That spoon. It was in her head until nothing else was. He’d find out about the spoon the next morning, when the Coroner left and he had to clean out Rocky’s room.