Drugs are a waste of time. They destroy your memory and your self-respect and everything that goes along with your self-esteem. (Kurt Cobain)

He ignored me and dipped into the physical effects, droning on and on: “anorexia, hyperactivity, restlessness, dry mouth, headache, tachycardia, bradycardia, tachypnea, hypertension, hypotension, hyperthermia, diaphoresis, diarrhea, constipation, blurred vision, dizziness, twitching, insomnia, numbness, palpitations, arrhythmias, tremors, dry and/or itchy skin, acne, pallor, and with chronic and/or high doses, convulsions, heart attack, stroke, and death. Death! Honey, I don’t know about this. We’re practically murderers if we start concocting this.”

“Anoxeria? This stuff is sounding better and better all the time. I could lose a few pounds.”

“Honey, this isn’t a joke. This is serious. Are you sure we should do this?”

“Oh please, I’m reading this stuff too. Once you cut through all the crap the only thing meth will do is get you high, skinny, and sleepy. It’s addictive as hell so once we get a client base we’ve really got ‘em. I don’t know why we didn’t start sooner!”

That afternoon we made tracks across LA. We stopped in pharmacy after pharmacy. We bought four packs of Sudafed each, pretending of course we didn’t know each other. By the time we reached the beach the trunk of Tommy’s crappy car as well as his backseat were piled with boxes of Sudafed.