As a kid, Donny used to watch all those saturday morning cartoon shows with his pops Ronald. The thing that always cracked up Donny was when the character in the episode had an attack of conscience, and had the little angel and devil on his shoulders bickering back and forth. 

Donny felt his mind tugging between those two forms of morality:

Don't Donny!! This is Greg's medication!! 

--Oxy, Oxy, Oxy

Greg spent a lotta cash on these pills!! He needs them for pain!!

--20 tablets, 20Mgs each

You'll die if you get back on the Ox, Donny!!! DONNY!!!

--I'm gonna die anyway. Might as well have a good time.

HE'S A HERO!!! YOU CAN'T SCREW OVER A HERO!!

--Oxy, Oxy, Oxy

Donny shook the bottle, and one of the capsules dropped into his open palm. Donny knows it's just a pill, simply a chemical that reacts in his body. But it's more than that, and he knows this as well. This drug was nirvana defined.

Donny breaks the pill into fourths on the edge of the sink, then crushes up a quarter of it. Using the Kirkwood college ID card he's had for so long, Donny chopped up the powder into a line. For a moment, he considers blowing the drug into the sink, and washing it down with water.

Then, Donny snorts the line of Oxy. It burns his nose terribly. The granules itch and chafe his inner nostril. Donny keeps snorting backward, fighting the urge to sneeze. It's his wrecked nose, it pains him something awful. It feels like--

Ooooohhhhhhhh.There it is, that old sensation. Gradually, the pain in his schnoz is overruled by pharmaceutical joy. He feels The Drip, as the drugs and mucus slide down the back of his throat. Donny's eyes glaze over as his opioid receptors get a familiar ring on the line. Donny sinks to the toilet, his head reclining ever so slowly backward. 

YES. Now, Donny feels as though he himself is the king. Everything fades into a quaint background. The opiate hits Donny hard because his tolerance is down. He nods out on the toilet. 

Awaking an unknown time later, Donny is befuddled. His brain is scrambled from the drugs, and it takes him a minute to gain his bearings. He sees the open pill bottle on the edge of the sink. Man, if that got knocked over, and the pills went down the drain, it would be a tragedy. Donny snorts another quarter pill through his other ravaged nostril, the different one then last time. It hurts, but the wave of euphoria is worth the temporary discomfort. Donny will have to smoke the rest of the pills on a piece of tinfoil. He already knew he would be taking the rest of the bottle. There was no question. Donny's weak fortitude crumbled in the presence of his old friend OC. With a light head, Donny scrounges around for a container to put the pills in. He can't very well take the bottle itself, it has all of Greg's info on it. If Donny were nabbed by the cops, he would be caught red-handed. Or red-nosed, if he did ended up snorting them anyway.

In the piles of garbage in Greg's loft, Donny located a plastic sandwich bag. It was the kind wives packed their husband's lunches in. Now, Donny was packing a bag of opiate goodness. Donny knew the drugs were taking over. Already, Donny was planning on leaving as soon as Greg unlocked the store. It was better to run while high, than to stay while sober.

Donny felt fatigued. The drugs swirled through his bloodstream, with hardly any glucose to give him energy. Sleep came easy now. He almost nodded out again as he was dispensing the pills into the bag. With a slowed thought process, Donny put the cap on the bottle again and put it away, before he forgot to do so. Greg would know something was immediately wrong if he saw the pills out in the open. It was best to be sneaky, to gain a head start on Greg's suspicions. 

Donny stumbled over to the bed and keeled over. He was asleep instantly. 

The sound of the many locks being opened awoke Donny. Greg had reinforced the door, adding several more deadbolts to the outside. Donny can hear the heavy door swing open with a creak. Donny hurriedly jumps from the bed, grabs the remaining 2 pieces of the pill and swallows them dry. Then, he jumps in the shower. The hot water feels like heaven. Any extremity that is cold is soon warmed. Donny would live in the shower if he could. 

"Donny?" Greg shouts upstairs. Already feeling distressed from the pill-snatching, Donny controls his voice in a measured tone.

"Yeah," Donny responds, with a shout of his own.

"I'm getting ready to head out" Greg says, "I'll be downstairs when you're ready."

Donny lowers his head beneath the shower flow. If only this were a baptism, to negate Donny's troubled past. It wasn't, though.

With a pounding heart, Donny puts the loaned clothes back on and heads downstairs. The bag of pills is twisted at the top for closure, and is stuffed in Donny's right front jeans pocket. It was really Greg's jeans pocket, but Donny was currently inhabiting them. Being for the frame of a larger man, Greg's pants hang off Donny drastically. Greg laughs, and even throws a few jokes that poke fun at his own excessive weight. Donny smiles politely at the ribbing, but inside he is ashamed. Greg was debasing himself, while Donny was all the while robbing from him.

Donny wished he was dead. But the Oxy made the culpability distant, and therefore, bearable.

Greg's errand was dropping off several shit-box TV's that were junk. The sets had amassed in the shop like a hoarder's hobby. Donny helped load them into a van, which Greg borrowed from a pal of his. Donny felt weak with hunger. He didn't bring up the two sandwhiches he made, nor the stolen pills.

Donny was brooding as they stopped at a gas station. The plastic bag was still in Donny's jeans. Greg didn't pop any Oxy before they left. Unlike Donny, Greg wasn't addicted. With every virtuous act Greg performed, it made Donny feel worse. Greg bought Donny a slice of breakfast pizza, and a soda. Donny wanted to blurt out that he nabbed the meds right then. Instead, all he said was "Thank you."

Greg brought along a joint from the weed purchased from Eugene. Donny is impressed that Greg has had the bag this long. Truly, Greg was using the pot for medicinal purposes, not to simply get high. If it were Donny, the weed would've been gone in the span of a few days. Donny felt unable to regulate himself anymore. Already, he wanted another Oxy dose. A thought lingered in back of Donny's mind: what would he do this time when the supply of drugs ran out? Donny didn't address the idea of withdrawel. Instead, Donny puffed the reefer Greg had provided. THe mix of Oxy and marijuana wrecked Donny's consciousness. He passed out for a stretch of about 15 minutes. 

The ride continued when Donny awoke. Greg was feeling chatty, and goofy from the fat joint they had smoked. Greg began singing along to the radio, smiling dopily and bobbing his head. They conversed again about what happened the night of the Occupy raid. Greg was having difficulty believing the cops would do such a thing. 

Donny was vague on the details, but assured Greg that the cop (Whyzinger, although Donny didn't voice his name) had stepped over the line before. 

"This country isdifferent now," Donny says forlornly,"I see on the news, all these protestors in the USA. And I see all these cops, pushing them around, hitting them, cracking heads"

Greg keeps driving, and says nothing. A rush of snow was covering everything. Flakes clung to the glass before sliding downward, leaving a watery trail. Greg flips on the wipers to clear the windshield. 

"It used to be, Police were here to help us," Donny says, deep in thought,"and now the cops are run like a business. Its about how they can slap fines on you, or what they can bust you with. They aren't working for the people anymore. They're pretty much hired goons."

Later, Donny could hardly recall anything they discussed. Between the Oxy, weed, and strain of keeping things hidden from Greg, Donny was forgetful. The greater point was lost, but Donny meant what he said. 

The world was fucked. The United States was becoming like Germany, pre World War 2. Fascism was running amuck, with the bankers giving the orders. The current system was butting its nose in places where it didn't belong, while those in their own country went hungry. Perhaps the people really running the government wanted all their citizens to wind up like Donny: homeless, hungry, and desperate. Then, the population couldn't fight back if they couldn't rely on a home to shelter them, or clothes to warm them. If that was their aim, it was on-target. Donny wouldn't wish his own life's woes on his worst enemy. Well, maybe on Whynzinger.  

Donny kept hearing  in the news about record guns sales in America. Apparently, Donny wasn't the only one having reservations about the current state of things. As if in retaliation, it was rumored that the Social Security administration and other government entities were ordering millions of rounds of hollow-point bullets. MILLIONS. Donny had seen what regular bullets could do, at the Pawn and Payday massacre. He could only imagine the havoc that hollow point bullets could do to a human body.

Rather than making him uneasy, the tearing of the social fabric was comforting to Donny. He constantly wished he was dead, and the more he read about the conflicts brewing around the seven continents, the more Donny felt that the end would meet him, without having to search for it.

"Yeah, its a crazy world we live in now," Greg says, shaking his head,"It's like we forgot how to talk to each other, and it's all about violence now."

"Yeah," Donny agrees,"One day you're minding your own business, and the next thing you know, you're having a shootout with a crackhead and meth junkie."

"Yeah, it's funny how that works," Greg says sarcastically. 

Greg continued to be cheery, without knowledge of Donny's demented inner dialogue. Upon arriving at their destination, Greg got out to greet the owner. Donny greedily pulls out the plastic bag and swallows another Oxy. All that contemplating of the global scheme made Donny want to mellow himself out. The effects were not as immediate when swallowed, but the high would lost longer than snorting. 

The proprieter of the Computer Shack, as it was called on the sign, was a huge man named Bill. Bill was a real go-getter, and wasted no time in helping them unload their crappy cargo. Greg had lent a pair of sunglasses to Donny, to cover up the bruising and swelling. Donny didn't think it was particularly important, especially since Donny had already made plans to stay away from Greg after this trip. But, it looked as though Bill and Greg were starting some sort of agreement here. Unlike Bill, Donny planned on never seeing Greg again.