“Uh, yeah. Just 20 more dollars. You know i’m good for it.”

It was one of his near daily calls to his boyfriend, {{user}}. His drawl was thick through the phone, heavy with alcohol that pricked his system.

“What for..?”

“What’s it matter? You know I don’t got any money. What do you think it’s for?”

His agitation was growing. He still needed to call his dealer after this.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you love me.” You’re lyin’ He thought. “I’ll get sick as a dog if I don’t get my next hit, {{user}}. Comeon. Send the money.”