She doesn't really like drugs anymore. Not the way she did when she was still a kid and every night around 9:30 when she got off of work she'd drive the 10 minutes to Owen's and they'd blaze. Savor the exhalation of chemicals into their vital organs. Shoot. Quiet the madness living just underneath the surfaces of their skin. Drop. She's tried to forget all the reasons to fuck things up. The smell of rhododendrons and broken bones. Moved by their smoke. Those nights they burned it down to the ground. And most nights, now, she only just drinks too much. Sometimes, smokes cigarettes until she wants to wretch into the flowerbeds next to the front porch. Mostly, life isn't so bad.

Last night she gets really stoned. For old times. Sits on the floor of her living room watching the slow dance pattern of the falling Christmas lights. Her smile full of teeth and memory.