Falling Off The Wagon. Again. Pt. 9
I love cocaine. I’ll never deny that. But a steely-eyed punk rolling up and pointing a gun at me is just the bucket of ice-cold water in the face that I needed. Downey Jr. is right. There’s a multi-million dollar business with my name on the door. I can NOT go out like this. My hands are trembling as I google-search the number to Silver Hill Hospital. Knowing exactly how long it will take me to finish the shit I just bought—why waste it?—I schedule a stay at their lovely rehab facility. Check-in is next Tuesday. 12 noon.