Cocaine Addiction

I’m walking up the steps to the second floor of a seedy motel located in one of the darker parts of town.  You are almost certain of the clientele whom are staying in the rooms of this motel.  Not much lighting surrounds me and there is a grungy smell in the humid air; it has been a hot summer and I am sure this place has seen good business. The motel clerk asks no questions, as you can rent rooms by the hour, and for him this is a regular occurrence seeing a broke down man trailed by a strung out whore.

I opened the door to the room and was pushed back by the smell of body odor, knowing that the room as not seen a thorough cleaning and was likely rented multiple times today.  The prostitute followed behind me keeping a safe distance, but she knew I had the cash and the drugs to get us through the weekend, so instinctively she would follow me in.  This girl was no different, she needed to support her drug habit and her regular ‘johns’ would be guys like me; family men with money and jobs, no longer caring what happens to me.  I hadn’t seen my wife and kids in over a week and I was barley running my business, or what was left of it.

There was nothing to the room, one twin bed up against the wall, a broken television, and one lamp on a small table with a chair next to it.  Fortunately in this room the air conditioner was working, but that wouldn’t take care of the smell lingering in the room.  Everything in the room was a dark brown color, mainly due from all the cigarette smoke, which masked a lot of the smells coming from the carpet and the bed. The hooker took a seat on the bed and started fiddling in her purse.  She made it look like she was looking for smokes, but was giving herself reassurance the mace was within reaching distance.

I made my way into the bathroom, there was no shower curtain, and that bathroom had not been cleaned since the last occupants, there were used condoms floating in the toilette, along with cigarette butts.  No syringes, tinfoil, brillo, or drug residues anywhere; the room was likely used by a man getting his lunchtime fix with one of the local hookers in the area.  These girls had their regulars and this would be the spot to meet, as it was temporary place to disappear that ironically enough everybody knew about.  I lit up my first hit of crack in the bathroom and I could hear the woman prepping lines on the table.  I got the rush I needed and then prepped my next hit and walked back into the other room.  The hooker was sucking back lines on the table, and I knew at this rate, I would be making another call to my dealer before the night was out.