Crook Takes Pawn Part 28
artman4444
Published
02/10/2012
Greg took the final Oxy later that night, to help him sleep (or at least he told himself.) A strange sensation filled Greg as he stared at the empty pill container. He was feeling dread at not having any further pills. He had been taking them steady for going on 3 months. He was on his second prescription when Donny swiped them. Greg was walking that blurred ground between healthy medication, and outright addiction. The pills had not grabbed hold entirely yet, but they were beginning to beckon to him. They were user-friendly. Just Pop and Play. Or shoot them up, or whatever. There were certainly a variety of ways to get high, to play with doses in your body.
From what Greg could gather from his limited street info, the 10Mg pills were the smallest quantity the pill came in. It went all the way up to 80Mg, so perhaps Donny wouldnt feel the effects of withdrawel as heavy when he eventually came down. The only question was, what would Donnie do when that happened? Would he kick the habit again, or turncoat and become a thief himself. What if Donny was the next person to be gunned down in a robbery? No. Donny wasnt like that. Donny wasnt violent. Greg had to remind himself of the whole scenario once again. Donny couldnt be viewed in just a few snapshots, or moments of error. The poor guy had traits most worthwhile. But Gregs train of thought kept plowing into the same obvious brick wall: Donny had stolen from him. Greg could not let that slide. Greg was in better financial shape, but he was far from being in the clear. Stealing $400 worth of drugs from Greg was a slap to the face. It was Gregs property, prescribed by an actual physician. How dare Donny do this? After what Greg had done for the bum, it wasnt right. It made Greg feel naïve and even that his judge of character might be off.
What was bringing on this bout of hate-thought? Was it the lack of pills? Who knows. Greg had a right to be angry, though. He was wronged. It wasnt as though Greg was trying to dwell on old issues. But from time to time there were reminders of what sets you back, and you can stop and reflect bitterly on different choices.
Fuck it, Greg says aloud, Let Donny have that shit. Better he get addicted to it than I.
Greg switched the bathroom light off and headed to bed. The tidying up in Gregs store could wait no longer. He had cleared a swath through the jungles of junk, but more progress must be made. It would be wonderful to have some space to stretch out his legs, so to speak. The claustrophobic vibe from the cluttered back room would be eliviated with such an effort, hopefully. The shop would not open tomorrow. Gregs patrons would simply have to wait to snatch up their second hand possessions.
Greg took the opportunity to sleep in. He roused at about 10:15am. Greg holds little hope that there are things of value within the surplus of boxes and storage. Apparently George had become a hoarder before his demise. Greg had witnessed such disorders on the TV from time to time.
The overabundance of tacky knick-knacks and worthless shit was astounding. Perhaps George had used his deluge of trinkets as a type of security blanket, in order to comfort him in his declining years. The thought of George holed up in this ramshackle building, with little to no outside contact tugged at Gregs heart strings. The 2nd stop on todays activities must involve cleaning out the storage garage. What other momentous pics and writings might Greg stumble across in his searches there?
Greg is readying himself to dispose of another carload of goodies when his phone rings. It is Ben. Hey Ben, Greg answers, Whats the word?Are you at your place? Ben asks. Yeah, I was just loading some boxes up. Theres someone here that would like a word with you. Ben says softly. Another expected burst of white noise transitions the phones position. A meek voice comes through after the wave of distortion subsides. Greg? Is that you. The voice asks timidly. The smile dies from Gregs face, and is replaced by a dull anger.
Donny Greg says gravely.
From what Greg could gather from his limited street info, the 10Mg pills were the smallest quantity the pill came in. It went all the way up to 80Mg, so perhaps Donny wouldnt feel the effects of withdrawel as heavy when he eventually came down. The only question was, what would Donnie do when that happened? Would he kick the habit again, or turncoat and become a thief himself. What if Donny was the next person to be gunned down in a robbery? No. Donny wasnt like that. Donny wasnt violent. Greg had to remind himself of the whole scenario once again. Donny couldnt be viewed in just a few snapshots, or moments of error. The poor guy had traits most worthwhile. But Gregs train of thought kept plowing into the same obvious brick wall: Donny had stolen from him. Greg could not let that slide. Greg was in better financial shape, but he was far from being in the clear. Stealing $400 worth of drugs from Greg was a slap to the face. It was Gregs property, prescribed by an actual physician. How dare Donny do this? After what Greg had done for the bum, it wasnt right. It made Greg feel naïve and even that his judge of character might be off.
What was bringing on this bout of hate-thought? Was it the lack of pills? Who knows. Greg had a right to be angry, though. He was wronged. It wasnt as though Greg was trying to dwell on old issues. But from time to time there were reminders of what sets you back, and you can stop and reflect bitterly on different choices.
Fuck it, Greg says aloud, Let Donny have that shit. Better he get addicted to it than I.
Greg switched the bathroom light off and headed to bed. The tidying up in Gregs store could wait no longer. He had cleared a swath through the jungles of junk, but more progress must be made. It would be wonderful to have some space to stretch out his legs, so to speak. The claustrophobic vibe from the cluttered back room would be eliviated with such an effort, hopefully. The shop would not open tomorrow. Gregs patrons would simply have to wait to snatch up their second hand possessions.
Greg took the opportunity to sleep in. He roused at about 10:15am. Greg holds little hope that there are things of value within the surplus of boxes and storage. Apparently George had become a hoarder before his demise. Greg had witnessed such disorders on the TV from time to time.
The overabundance of tacky knick-knacks and worthless shit was astounding. Perhaps George had used his deluge of trinkets as a type of security blanket, in order to comfort him in his declining years. The thought of George holed up in this ramshackle building, with little to no outside contact tugged at Gregs heart strings. The 2nd stop on todays activities must involve cleaning out the storage garage. What other momentous pics and writings might Greg stumble across in his searches there?
Greg is readying himself to dispose of another carload of goodies when his phone rings. It is Ben. Hey Ben, Greg answers, Whats the word?Are you at your place? Ben asks. Yeah, I was just loading some boxes up. Theres someone here that would like a word with you. Ben says softly. Another expected burst of white noise transitions the phones position. A meek voice comes through after the wave of distortion subsides. Greg? Is that you. The voice asks timidly. The smile dies from Gregs face, and is replaced by a dull anger.
Donny Greg says gravely.
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/user/blog/artman4444/view=82276893/
0 Comments