He needed another shot. Another shot. another shot. All he needed was one more shot, then he could forget. Just another shot, another shot, another shot.
The junkie staggered around a bit, trying to walk toward the joint house. Just one more shot, just one more shot. He fell, and dragged himself up, then fell again. His vision was fogged, his brain muddled. He couldn't think straight, just one more shot, just one more shot. He finaly managed to drag himself to the door of the joint house, and began to find the handle. How could he choose? There were at least twenty to choose from, and they all looked the same. He waved his hand at them, trying to find the handle. There, turn, push, no pull, wait, push the door. In he fell. Just one more shot, just one more shot. He stood, and staggared foward, his mind slowly shutting down, so far gone infact that he didn't notice the large man grab him.
Snow, cold, mud, water, cold. He looked up, to see the door close, and then everything went black.