Drugs and Billiards

I live for a fix. A vice. A high.

My needle of choice is much different than you’d expect.

Without fear of incarceration, I take it with me everywhere I go.

I don’t conceal it. I flaunt it as I keep it over my shoulder.

Unlike most needles, mine can be used over and over and over again.

I get an itch, and it needs to be scratched.

With my needle in tow, I head to the nearest bar.

They know me here, for I’m never away very long.

Once I get started, there’s no way to stop me.

I rack them so fast, sweat beading from my forehead.

I need to hear that first crack!

Even though I’m in a hurry, I take my time.

I slowly grasp the blunt end of my needle and rest the shaft on top of my other hand.

I make sure the stroke is smooth and definitive before I unleash the massive blow.

CRACK!

I finally relax.

I can ride this high all night long.

Billiards is my drug of choice.

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