My eyes set upon an ashtray growing its own mountain of cigarette butts, from my horizontal position on the couch I could stick out my tongue and lick one of the butts if I was so inclined. Why I would be inclined to lick said butts is a thought to mull over for another day
I heard a sound; my stomach churned. He was in the bathroom, surprisingly up early for someone who had spent the better part of the night fashioning a can-crack pipe, smoking crack, losing can crack pipe, searching apartment dumpster for cans to fashion new crack pipe, smoking crack, losing pipe – you get the picture.
Bad People Were Babies Too by Joti Heir