The hand of Friendship

I showed her my appartment, a well worn couch along one wall and a TV precariously balanced the stand that held the radio and VCR on the other.

I sat down and offered her a smoke. She joined me and accepted but didn't lit up.

She asked if it was okay. She knew I didn't indulge and hadn't been offended in the past but that was a long time ago.

Of course it was, she packed the bowl of her glass pipe with green while I turned on the radio.

She told me how nice it was not have to share.

Her sweat smelled almost the same. The time apart had been hard on her emotionally and the drugs had been hard on her physically. But she was still my friend.

I lit up a smoke myself. I pointed out there was something for her in the freezer. She returned with the bottle of Crown Royal and a 2 litre of Coke. I asked if she could pour for me as well. 2 shots in a tall glass of coke instead of the old 1/2 shot.

I was pleased by this small sign of alcaholism. I had found the one true counter to crystal meth was time served in the bottle.

Better here then somewhere else. Besides I liked beer-bellies. I didn't like jib-scars.

I held out a hand and she snuggled right up with her glass in hand and her body pressed against mine. A brief stretch brought the ashtray into my lap.

She was harder then the seventeen yearold who had first crawled into my bed, her soft lines stolen by crystal, but atleast anything that happened now was legal.

I smelled her and I dared to let feelings long forgotten rise to the surface. My eyes blurred.

"I've missed you so much, kid."

She looked me in the eye and smiled.

"I haven't missed you at all."

When her glass was empty I asked her to leave and not come back.