Falling Off The Wagon. Again. Pt. 2
At my place, I invite Gabriel to fix himself a drink at the bar before excusing myself to slip into something a little more get-attable. When I return, waiting on the glass-topped coffee table are four neatly cut lines of blow. Hello! I can’t even recall the last time I’ve seen cocaine. Gabriel leans forward and does two lines. Smiling, he holds out the rolled-up benjamin to me. I hesitate, for just a moment, before dismissing all the alarms going off in my head. Falling to my knees, I do the remaining two. Fifteen minutes later, we’re fucking like bunnies. There goes the weekend. And 11 years of sobriety.