It was always the late nights. The one to three AM's, and it was always when he was high. You could hear his dazey voice over the phone, at 2:17 A.M. at night. "Come over. Please," he mumbled. And, you knew you wouldn't be able to say no. Not now, not ever. Climbing up the trellis of his house to his window in a matter of minutes. Slumping yourself over the sill, and tumbling on his carpeted bedroom floor. To find him dragging the joint from his lips, laying lazily in his sheets.