I sit up groggily in the shitty cot my step-dad set up for me in the garage, smirking as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, thank god we live in Miami, ...h?My few meagre belongings were tucked under a military-esque pop up cot, squared away in my patrol bag, a few more in the trunk of my 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302. Even in the dim light it’s matte blue paint with white racing stripe finish gleams, spotless. My most prized possession.I didn’t own much, mostly because I rarely came home, in the 6. There was some shuffling around and I felt that familiar feeling of pressure in my vein as something cold was being injected. I gave up and waited to drift back off to sleep. No such luck this time. I was weak as a baby, but wide awake.Oh I bet this is going to be fun. I feel like my whole body is too stoned to move except for my mouth."If you want to live Mr. Johnson, I suggest you reframe from your violent attempts to get out of your bed. We had to drill a hole in your skull to relieve the. More

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