All he could remember was the way cocaine used to taste in his mouth, that residual powder left on the twenty-dollar bill. Then there was the affair - wrong move. Lastly, that same year (why is this all coming back at the same time?), when he lost his apartment (he’d only been living there a few weeks) to a fire. That was so long ago, or was it? Those feelings were long gone, or just dormant, maybe? They just came rushing back at the same time. The loss, and the heat from the fire, an affair to misremember, and the super rush from that cocaine, draining down from his nostrils, to his throat, and giving his eager taste buds the time of their lives. All this, as he stared at the ceiling of the flat he just leased on 25th and Vissuall St, unable to sleep.

From the Summer Series “Staring at the Ceiling.” Written by Michael A. Moss for Escape Indie, 2017, All Rights Reserved.