Falling Off The Wagon. Again. Pt. 3
Gabriel returns to Panama on Monday morning. What’s left of the coke he leaves with me. I’m sure we went through an eightball since Friday night. And there’s at least another eighth of an ounce left. Maybe more. I consider flushing it. But I’ve never flushed good coke, or even bad coke, in my life. Stop playin’. Inside an old shoebox, I find the one glass vial I saved—it’s 18k gold cap and spoon still gleaming like the day I bought it. I can’t stop giggling. But I’ve got to keep calm and stay on the sneaky. Belle would kill me if she found out. And Desi? He loves blow as much as I do. He’d want in.
bootie by Jimmy Choo