Silence.

3

How do you find the right path to an old life, to youth-

when deep inside you already know there's no going back.

How do you remember something you never had?

We choose to live when it's time to die.

I am already dead.

So it will make me feel alive again.

It's a trap.

But I don't care. I will forget.

More.

More.

More.

-------------------------------------------

I was laying in the hallway for a while, emptying my Whiskey and trying hard to surpress the gagging reflex  my cramping stomach.

I couldn't throw up. It was the last fuckin' bottle, I wasn't very fond of drinking my own puke to get it back into my system, and I needed to get buzzed enough to drive.

I should maybe have tried to stop him, I should have cried or at least feel something- but I couldn't. The only thing being left in my mind was stubornness that made me crawl to my feet and pick up the phone, dialing Izzys number.

"What?", came his usual greeting.

"It's Slash. Can I come over?"

"Whatya' want?"

"I won't drive for half an hour to watch TV."

"What about your own goddamn dealer?"

"Axl flushed his number."

"N' you don't remember it?"

"Do you remember much withing the last months?"

"Bring your own syringe."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Axl threw it all away."

"Oh so you're on fresh n' homemade rehab yeah?"

"Not anymore."

"Your sweetheart gone out, hm?"

"Yes."

"Then hurry."

"I don't think he's coming back."

A soft snarl. "You're an idiot, Slash."

"Non of your fuckin' business."

"Yeah, yeah. Just come over. I'll give you that fix."

And I just hang up, searching through the kitchen for my car keys again.

--

About an hour later I found myself lying on a floor again, the tiles of Izzys bathroom feeling cold against my back, the needle still stuck in my flesh, my belt still wrapped around my upper arm.

I had done it uncontrolled.

Beside the vein at first, what hurt like a motherfucker, then corrected, but much. So much I had puked again, all over his floor, all over the toilet, all over my hands.

I started to hallucinate already, seeing moving shadows, the sour, stingingly sharp smell of vomit, mixing with old, dried sweat since I was unwashed and unshaved since nearly three days. The hard stubbles on my chin, together with the deep circles under my eyes were making me look like a homeless.

Which I kinda was. Cause' Axl was gone.

"Slash!"

A loud, hard bang against the door.