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this road. Still, just my luck, tonight

will be the night one is visiting

his girlfriend out here or something.

I don’t mind getting a ticket, if that’s

the most that will happen. But any

cop trained as a DRE would definitely

know what’s up. In fact, it probably

wouldn’t take a drug recognition

expert to expertly recognize how fucked

up I am right now. I’ll be a lot less

likely to go to jail in the morning. Oops.

It is morning, somewhere close to five.

It isn’t too far, maybe a little over

a mile, but it’s dumping snow, and I

didn’t bring my coat. [Stupid.] My

feet slip and slide, and before very

long, my sweater and hair are frosted

white. The cold makes me shiver,

the meth makes me shake, and by the time

I jam my key into the lock,

my fingers barely work enough to turn it.

I tiptoe up to my room and into

a hot shower. By the time I dry

off, enveloped by warm scented

steam, a gray dawn illuminates

my window. Outside, the snow

keeps unfolding a canvas of white.

I Sit by the French Doors

Dazed and sore, sorer by the minute,

watching the relentless storm. It hasn’t