My substance needs nothing in order to complete it. Toking, in and of itself, is one of the most profound joys that a mortal can know, that I can know. But there's a
reason so many of them swear by the 'after-sesh' or 'after-toke' cigarette. It's not about completion or a cycle or them
needing anything other than that joint - although, to be fair, nicotine addicts always need - but instead, it's about that feeling that wells up in the throat and the lungs after a good, long session. Tight, clinging, the first hint of a potential anxiety attack or 'oh shit, the pigs!' paranoia. It's ritual, for so many of them, for me, to have that cigarette afterward. And today it's
not fucking working. For me, at least. The stupid fucking mortals are puffing away and even though they don't know why I'm pissed, I still think they all look so damned
smug about it.
No, Dave, I'm not reworking the schedules for you. I don't care how much you whine about not being seventeen anymore, about how
tired you are, about how you can't stay up until two on the runs and open the shop at nine like you did when you were twenty-one. No, I'm not giving up my evenings with my husband because you're exhausted all the fucking time. It's your own damned fault you're constantly tired, don't come running to me about schedules when we both know what's making you feel so drained. No, Cam, you can't have that new computer. No, Bryn, I won't listen to you whine about how your 'Cammy' likes someone else. No, both of you, I won't mediate anymore fucking screaming matches. No, Matt, I won't let you draw a cock on my face with that bright pink marker, no matter how funny you think it would look and,
damnit, Wes, no, you and Matt can't have tonight off to try out your new handcuffs.
There is a benefit, aside from the obvious, that comes from having multiple addictions, however. And if I have to empty the shop of heroin in order to make the nicotine cravings subside, so be it.
Before I shoot up, though, another few cigarettes.