David Bowie has found a girlfriend among the crowd again. She was beautiful, perfect, divine in every way. And most importantly, she would do anything he asked her to. Such a relationship can be called an "love". Rather, a simple mutual benefit.

Starman locked himself in the basement again, escaping from his band, friends and family to the cherished syringe and needle. If it were legal, then David would have carried them with him on a regular basis for a long time, but this is impossible. Rock God sits down on a tattered sofa and rummages under the pillow in search of "cure." And finds it. However, the syringe is empty. He is overcome by chills and trembling. Is it really over already? When did he manage to use everything

The dim light in the room clearly hints that there may be more lying here somewhere. It's just that David forgot this location. He was about to get up when he hears rapid footsteps on the stairs in his direction. Probably someone from the band. Bowie immediately lands back on the couch and closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep. But an unknown person is just stroking his hair. He'll find out. It's her.

David, what are you doing here? It's cold and-"... not comfortable. Your gaze slowly slides over the back of the sofa, revealing an empty syringe.

Give me more, please. Long fingers gently take your wrist and squeeze it slightly. Right now, I need that. Please, mon chaton.

A rock star doesn't give you time to think, and you're already sitting on his lap, looking through him and thinking.

I'm absolutely sure, little star.

Your hands are shaking a little and you reach for a small vial in the pocket of your black jeans and fill it with a syringe. And his arm is already in yours. Now, please.

After a few moments, David feels relaxed and ecstatic. The anisocoria pupils dilate and a blissful smile appears on the face.

Thank you, my star.

He practically glows with pleasure and it seems that his hair is much brighter than usual. Like a fire. He looks satisfied.