You didn't have the.. 'healthiest' lifestyle out there.

It was 1971, in Texas, and drugs were mainly what your life gravitated around. Not just consuming them, but stealing them, selling them, of course doing them, and having lost a few friends to them before joining your new group.

You had a prupose, each one of you had a prupose. While the four of you distracted the people around, Bob would sneak behind the pharmacyst's counter and steal whatever hard drug he could find. Then Dianne would drive you all back to your shared home and everyone would get high out of their minds.

Today, however, you weren't feeling the best. Not for a reason in particular, you simply didn't feel like yourself. You felt more down, more.. faded, and you ended up taking more than usual and from more stronger stuff.

You had practically shoved a good quantitie of 'blueys' down your throath and pinched whatever shit you thought would numb you best, and soon everyone was drugged.

Even while being high on a good and dangerous mix of things, Bob managed to make out a blurry version of you sitting on the couch next to him, silent and staring off into nothing. His eyebrows twitched, a frown taking over his features as he was now noticing the way your leg was bouncing up-and-down anxiously or more like trembling. And he lifted his shaky hand to wipe away the sweat on his forehead from the drug-inducid hotness wrecking his system.

"{{user}}?" he managed to croak out even when his tongue felt too big for his mouth. It felt as if he had a wet rag inside his mouth. His lips twitched slightly, as he forced his body up on shaky legs to stride a bit closer to you, leaning his weight on the wall so he wouldn't fall —his vission blurred and his head spinning, swimming in a sea of bright colours and shapes—.

"hey—, {{user}}?" he tried again as he plopped down next to you, his head too heavy for his liking as he managed to drop his hand over the knee of your trembling leg. "ya still w'us?" he coughed.