Liam was so intense when he took a shot of dope. He pulled his kit out, as a serious look came over his face. He carefully opened the tattered eyeglass container, lifting the lid back to reveal its precious contents. He always pulled out the little pink cloth first, with the zig-zag cut edges, that was intended to be used to clean the lenses of a pair of glasses. The cloth was stained with soot on one side. Liam carefully laid the cloth of the table, soot side up. Then, he took out his spoon, bent slightly so that the cup would sit flat, never allowing any dope to fall out. He would take out the lighter, setting it next to the charred spoon on the cloth. He then would put his little orange cap full of water right next to the whole setup. He usually extracted a tiny little square folded piece of tin foil from his pocket, holding it up in the air, as if to watch it sparkle. Then, he carefully pulled it down. Slowly unfolding each side of the intricately folded square, careful not to spill a single granule. He always looked over, into the bag, inspecting its contents before dumping it into the spoon. Then he took his needle out of the eyeglass kit, pulling back on the plunger to make sure it slid easily. If it did not slide easily, he would take the white plunger out of the back end of the syringe, sticking it in his ear to lubricate the rubber. He would check it again, making sure the rubber glides easily against the plastic sheath. He slowly filled the syringe with water, careful not to put too much. Then, he would squirt it in the spoon, moving the tiny spray of water in small circles, so as to cover all of the dope. He would pull the plunger out of the syringe again, swirling the dope around in the water before he carefully lifted it up. Steadily, he reached for the lighter, watching intensely as the flame scarred the bottom of the spoon. Pulling it back just as it begins to bubble and smoke. He would set the lighter down, not looking at it as he focused on holding the spoon steady, so as not to spill any of the precious solution held within. Then, he carefully set the spoon down. He would take out a cigarette, extracting a tiny piece of the cotton filter, rolling it in his fingers to make it perfectly round. Dropping it into the solution, his eyes stared unwavering as it expanded with the sweet, brown liquid. Eyebrows furrowed, he lifted the syringe, carefully steadying it into the cotton, and slowly drawing back. Watching the brown dope fill the syringe, his eyes widened. When he heard the hissing of air through the tip of the needle, he stopped drawing back. He would hold the spike up to the light, tapping the bubbles out meticulously. He would then put the sheath syringe in his mouth, undoing his belt. He tightened the worn, leather belt against his bicep, pumping his hand a few times as his already bulging veins looked like they would burst with his life force. Then, he would switch the needle and the end of his belt in his teeth’s grips, and before I realized it he was holding the syringe in his hand and the belt, taut in his mouth. Holding the needle slightly in the air, he pushed at these throbbing big veins, until he found the perfect spot. Then, he carefully slid the needle in. Drawing slowly back, the blood would come bursting forth. His hair hung down over his eyes, as a smile of satisfaction spread across his face before he pushed…releasing the shot quickly into his veins. Then, he would sit back, staring up at the sky, slowly pulling the needle out, letting the belt slowly open up, clattering to the floor.