Sid was addicted mainly to two cheap drugs, both of which were available for less than $10 a high on the (relatively) open market. There was still fear over such issues as quality of drugs, dangers of an overdose, amount of contaminants in them, and the risk of getting caught by police. Sid’s choices centered around getting his next high in a reasonable amount of time, his dream coopting his life and shaped by his current financial situation.

Immediately after shooting up in the vein he felt worlds better, not fully understanding that the pleasurable intense reaction that would kill him in an hour was a partial illusion. Soon this deadly delusion was dooming his life to oblivion.

For now, he lived. And loved. And was loved. But that would not always be the case. As his body absorbed the heavenly narcotic, Sid not only slid sideways mentally but also punished his poor brain by overloading it with artificial stimulants. He went to dangerous crack houses, all of which were inhabited by shady characters. When he was finally dreamy, he wandered from room to room as if he was an old friend.

Sid’s life fell apart due to a passion for illegal drugs — not a new story — culminating in his death due to overdose in a bathub in a sordid ultra-cheap motel room.

During his living time in the bathtub, Sid stretched out under lukewarm water, while the drug pounded through his system, a scenario made possible by cheap illegal economics.

Immediately after drowsing off Sid had a dream in which he was a successful billionaire, not fully realizing the colossal hard difficulty of realizing such a dream. There was always worry about such people as weird-looking strangers, the guy who looked like an undercover vice cop, loose women who’d steal your drugs, and anyone else who got in the way of a genuine high.

Earlier in the month Sid had encountered a woman who would turn out to be a porn star. Her name was Galluping Gail the Cock Sucker.

Sid and Gail shared a common belief — that they were weirdly hounded not by the police but by extraterrestrials from outer space. Gail kept herself occupied with two basic hobbies, both of which were inspired by popular magazines she’d read. Sid’s cock was being serviced not by a porn star named Gail but by a sweet loner named Gail Sweeney. There was still a great awe over such relationship details as their coziness together, their ability to cum together, and their mutual love of conversation.

The risks of that activity — a throwback to Sid’s antisocial days — were clearly illustrated not only in the encounter but in the burning fuckathons that characterized their sex life. Sid always came without a condom in the ex-porn star’s vagina and his cum would dribble out of her, much of it leaking onto a dirty mattress and absorbed by the spongy material. Hundreds of cockroaches still plethorated, but it was the change in room temperature that finally reduced their numbers.

Gail used a variety of birth control devices, all of which were cheap to procure thanks to government subsidies. Sid convinced her to drop her birth control that month not only by his persistence but because he proved to be a sly bastard with a gift for connecting romantically with his chosen prey.

Immediately after meeting Sid, Gail tried to get a job housekeeping in a major hotel, not fully demonstrating the busy constant activity that would fall to her if she got the job.

Sid usually took the elevator or the escalator to the motel ground floor, both of which were powered by electricity from a nearby nuke plant. There was still unease over such fears as the escalator eating his boot, the elevator locking in mid-descent, and cops coming to meet him on his way down. Sid overcame this by reading his favorite book, The 48 Laws of Power, much of it seeming to speak to him directly and crafted by a wizard of life and mind.

Immediately after completing one chapter Sid would jump to the next, not fully understanding the subtle dramatic interplay between reader and writer that would influence his thoughts. Meanwhile, Gail was obsessed with one fear — that she was being hunted down not by cops but by invisible monsters.

The miseries of that release from reality — a breakdown of Gail’s emotional state — were sadly illustrated not only in the episode but in the following transformations that sealed her psychological doom. Hundreds of problems still dogged her, but it was the hunt for her soul that damaged her the most.

Sid managed to convince her not to kill herself not only by his suggestions but because he managed to be a charismatic lover with a knack for opening completely up his subject.

Sid and Gail used Gilette and Schick razors (him on his face, her on her legs), both of which were good products from Corporate America. There was usually pleasure over such results as smooth skin, defoliated tissue, and more. The sex play they engaged in afterward filled their otherwise boring day, much of it taking place in the motel and hemmed in by nosy neighbors.

Immediately after fucking Gail would dress in a bathrobe, not fully believing the passionate unrestrained sex that would get her following Sid like a dog in the days to come. The star-crossed lovers understood one thing — that they were being shadowed not by bad karma but by a Christian God who seemed to have it out for them. The details of that vendetta — a conspiracy against the motel’s chosen ones — were hopelessly diverted not only to the rescue of their hearts but to the sinking realizations that followed shortly thereafter.

Millions of suicide victims waiting to happen still existed, but it was the conflagration of desire between Sid and Nancy that denied that reality.

Sid took two orange vitamin pills the next morning, both of which were healthy in the extreme. There was never unease over such potential problems as scurvy, lost teeth, and generalized hopelessness.

Sid was barely aware of his compulsion to wash his face — an obsession that was being encouraged not by his subconscious but by Gail’s hissing words of hate.

Gail needed to douche regularly — a chore that was being enforced not by her self-disgust but by Sid’s always-sharp criticism of her. She laid out her skirts, her blouses, and her pantyhose on the bed, all of which were approved for daily wear by Sid. The type of relationship demanded by Gail, then, was based on mutual respect and need. It softened and compensated for the mental instability of Gail, but pushed for a conversion to more traditional dating as the lovers’ activity increased and their strangeness decreased.

There was always unease over such porn magazines as Hustler, Penthouse, and Juggs. Immediately after discovering one of them Gail stormed over to Sid, not fully understanding the incomprehending, innocent reaction that would emerge on her boyfriend’s face.

Sid held his ground with violence, much of it deriving from his isolated childhood and jacked up by the drugs he was using. The elements of that abuse — a shattering of Gail’s precious psyche — were immorally illustrated not only in the belittlement but in the ongoing reductions of her selfhood.

The style of sex demanded by Sid, then, was characterized as needy and desperate. It suffocated and preyed upon the ever-present weakness of Gail, and elevated more tyrannical behavior as the relationship grew and Gail became more dependent on Sid.

Once Sid overdosed, Gail was free to leave and live her life. She chose, however, to stay close to the body in the tub. There was still surprise on her expression over such details as his waxy face, his limp penis floating in water, his clammy hands as she held them, and the way his eyes stared out horrifically at the world in final death.

Finally Gail had to leave just to get food, her purse slung tightly over her shoulder, her hand reaching for the doorknob. Just as she was about to get it, a police battering ram knocked it in, and the door fell on her, crushing her to death. THE END