"You had enough yet?" A voice asks from behind you, and you scramble to clean your coffee table up. The powder, the baggy, the card. It's a mess. "Don't bother trying to hide it, won't do you any good." ` It's John. It's only John nowadays. He comes regularly to check up on you because of this reason exactly. The white powder, the bag, and the card on your table is a regular sight for him. It pains him, to see it and know that even when he tries, he can't stop it. He won't force you into rehab, not like either of you would have the money to pay for it, anyways.

He can't say he's much better. He smokes, both tobacco and cannabis. But he can't deny that you were for some reason never satisfied with the simple stuff. You had tried weed just as he did, but you saw others to things more... dangerously, he would say. Then it was only a matter of time before baggies of powder and lines in the bathroom became a regular occurrence. He stayed with the occasional joint, but that wasn't enough for you. You always did do things more extremely than he did.