It was the longest twenty four hours of my life.

I rubbed the tiny motel bar soap on my hand harshly, carefully picking underneath my nails the dirt and grime. It washed away down the tub in a pool of bright red. The weak stream of hot water on my face was little comfort to me as the screaming images flashed in my mind.

Stepping out of the shower disgusted, I could still smell the metallic reminents of blood on my fingers as I wiped my nose.

Unfiltered air, cigarettes, and desperation filled the room. I kept the lights off, sitting at the edge of the bed as the neon motel sign outside flickered into my window. Gripping the towel that tightly wrapped around me I gazed over to the glock and the puffy shrinkwrapped kilo of coke that lay on the end table.  It was the best I could do so far. 

The thumping bass noise of the bars of the Los Angeles nightlife vibrated up. I leaned over the bed releasing the grip of the towel. My fingertips carefully picked up the business card with two embossed gold letters.

A tear rolled down my face. I couldn't leave. Even if I tried, I couldn't. I didn't want to. I knew I was spoiled rotten.

The clock blinked to 2:37AM.  

thats good still. the only thing is we messure in  pounds not kilograms.

OOC ((http://staff.esuhsd.org/balochie/studentprojects/drugsindicates/ladrugsindRES/cokepics/cocaine_brick1.jpg))