He wasn’t marrying Emma. He was marrying Lorraine. ‘Fuck! Fuck me. I’m fucked,’ he thought suddenly feeling faint. He felt sick to his stomac.... He felt as if his head was about to explode. He felt lost that he was never able to reconnect with his true love, the love of his life, Emma. ‘Emma! Emma! Emma,’ he said to himself as if calling for help from Satan by saying her name three times. ‘And do you Robert take Lorraine as your lawfully, wedded wife?’ ‘Huh? What? Lorraine? Hell no,’ he wanted. He asks if I’m ok. I am. He asks if I’m on something. I am. He seems to approve. I ask if I can do some, and he says yes. Dashboard. Powder. Mash. Lines. Sniff. Sniff. He likes what he sees and as I draw back and let my head rest against the seat his hand moves in. My heart beats, my body pulses and my eyes wobble. He talks, says a word. A trigger. Euphoria. We talk still, though move closer. My instructions are remembered but garbled. I think he understands. He lights a cigarette and I ask if. More

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