Sam sat in wait, sporting the horrendous upside-down smile of a drag queen possessed, and flesh covered in goose bumps from the winter cold which mercilessly lashed at the sleepless St. Kilda streets. In five minutes time the chemist staff would lift open the roller door and he could buy his fits.
Two holes in the arm better than one in the ground, Sam thought to himself.
The lady looked him up and down.
“One dollar.” She spat the words at him.
The acid was kicking in. It was eight degrees, Sam suddenly felt like he was stranded in the Sahara desert, and it was three whole blocks back to Benji’s place.
Twelve hours ago Sam looked like a different person. The blood red lipstick and eyeliner as fantastic as Siouxsie Sioux had done a good job in complimenting his masculine jaw line and high cheek bones. Uninhibited and bright eyed, he had let go the week behind him, and had handed himself over to the DJ who was pumping out classic tracks by Iggy Pop, Duran Duran and INXS. “Yeah baby, I got a lust for life”. This was his therapy, and it was a long time coming.
Sam sat quietly on the couch wearing a mask of vacancy. He studied Benji with a reserved hunger and a smile crept onto Sam’s face like a thousand years of unregistered expression. Benji was everything a boy should be, except his.
“I've got to be at the airport in two hours” Benji piped up.
“Then You had best get in the shower…”, Sam smirked, “…would You like some help?”
As the walls around him crumbled Sam realised it was time to hit the road. He shot the last of his powder and drove home...