He placed the needle into his arm, pulled the plunger back, then pressed it down. Ecstatic, he fell to the floor. He’d always been afraid of needles, but the withdrawals were coming too fast; he had to have the shit, he had to take the cure. Micky’s old man would have hated him for growing up to be an itinerant junkie, but he wasn’t at the rudder to take command of his life. The admiral had left, the main frame was crashed, no one was at the controls anymore

Perhaps it could be said that the shit was at the controls, but it didn’t have a soul, it didn’t have a mind; it only robbed Micky of his. The shit had gotten to Micky, it had robbed him of his free will. Not that liberal democracy was free, but Billy didn’t want to be blameless in his quagmire; he felt he was entirely to blame for his flaws. Whatever obstacles the politicians and a broken home had put in front of him, he felt he could still overcome.

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