Yes, I can. The truth -- well, the truth is that I've had a long-standing problem with heroin addiction. I've been known to sniff it, smoke it, swallow it, stick it up my arse and inject it into my veins. I've been trying to combat this addiction, but unless you count social security scams and shoplifting, I haven't had a regular job in years. I feel it's important to mention this.
Young Renton noticed the haste with which the successful in the sexual sphere, as in all others, segregated themselves from the failures.
At, or around this time, Spud, Sick Boy and I made a healthy, informed, democratic decision to get back on heroin as soon as possible.
No thank you. I'll proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs please.
There was no such thing as society and even if there was, I most certainly had nothing to do with it.
We called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit.
Begbie didn't do drugs either He just did people. That's what he got off on; his own sensory addiction.
Swanney taught us to adore and respect the National Health Service, ror it was the source of much of our gear. We stole drugs. We stole prescriptions or bought them, sold them, swapped them, forged them, photocopied them. Or traded drugs with cancer victims, alcoholics, old-age pensioners, AIDS patients, epileptics, and bored housewives.
Thank you, your honor. With God's help I'll conquer this terrible affliction.
I fantasize about a massive, pristine convenience. Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of Chanel Number 5, and a flunky handing me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I'll settle for anywhere.
One thousand years from now there'll be no guys and no girls, just wankers. Sounds great to me.
The downside of coming off junk was I knew I would need to mix with my friends again in a state of full consciousness. It was awful. They reminded me so much of myself, I could hardly bear to look at them.
Living like this, is a full-time business.
Heroin makes you constipated. The heroin from my last hit was fading, and the suppositories had yet to melt. I'm no longer constipated.
Give us a shot Rents. I really need a hit.
Do you find that this approach usually works, or, let me guess, you've never tried it before. In fact, you don't normally approach girls, am I right? The truth is that you're a quiet, sensitive type, but if I'm prepared to take a chance I might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal, a little bit crazy, a little bit bad, but, hey, don't us girls just love that?