Welcome Back

Part 2 of OpiAudio

Read Part 1: Welcome to OpiAudio, here

“Wakie wakie eggs and bakie” Frankie shook Fred to wake him up.  There were no eggs, but there was some bakie. Not the food, but there was a loaded bong on the coffee table.  Frankie lit the bong, coughed an amount that was slightly off-putting to Fred, then handed him the bong.  Fred took a rip and coughed in a not so slightly off-putting way.  It was a wet, hacking cough that sounded like something you’d hear on anti-smoking commercial.  Frankie lit a cigarette.

              “Hey man, can I get one of those? I gave my last one to some fucking bum yesterday.” Fred asked

              “Man and that’s my fucking problem?”  Frankie looked tired, Fred should have waited for him to take a couple drags before asking.  Lack of sleep and nicotine withdrawals were a nasty mix.  Frankie continued, “Let you live here rent-fucking-free and you’re bumming cigs.”  He took a drag, then he smiled, “Nah, I’m just fucking with you man.  I ain’t giving you another though.”

              Fred took the cigarette and lit it as fast as he could.  He was at the point of nicotine withdrawals where the body begins to tingle all over and an ethereal cloud hangs behind the eyes.  Even for a morning cigarette, after a day of not smoking no less, this was a particularly good cigarette.  Not due to any actual quality in the cigarette but there seemed to be some sort of opiate after-glow effect going on from the procedure the day before.  This shit really does work, huh? Fred thought.  Within 2 minutes Frankie had finished his cigarette, and began puffing on an obnoxiously colored disposable vape.  Fred never understood he could smoke so fast, it seemed to defeat the purpose of smoking to Fred.  The only remotely enjoyable part of smoking was the actual smoking. Once you’re good and addicted to cigarettes, you don’t get much of an actual effect from it besides a sense of relief.  It was only when inhaling the toxic fumes that Fred actually felt good.  The smoke smelled and tasted worse than campfire smoke, but something about that chemical slurry they made it with felt nice in his lungs. 

              Fred finished his cigarette, “So, what are we even doing at this job?  It’s construction, but like, the fuck are we building even?”  The peppy buzz from the cigarette mixed nicely with the curtain drawing down behind Fred’s eye from the bong hit.

              “A prison or something.”

              “They’re making another one?”

              “This one is different, it’s basically just a camp, it’s where they’re putting the bums, no offense.”  Fred took no offense until he was told not to take any.

              “You got anything to eat man?  My stomach is killing me.”

              Frankie laughed, “Hungover huh? There’s some bread in there.  We don’t have much time, I’d just eat the bread straight if I were you.”  Fred shambled over to the pantry and searched for the bread.  There were only the end pieces left.

              “Is it cool if I have two pieces, there’s only the ends here.”

              “Yeah man I don’t want ‘em.”  Fred was craving some form of fat, so he looked for butter.  He found the butter dish but it was starting to grow mold.  He looked in the fridge for more but there was none.  He poured himself a glass of water, then dumped it out after Frankie told him not to use the “good glasses”, and got a cheap red plastic cup out.  Fred never saw Frankie use any of the nice cups, or the nice plates.  But he was forbidden to touch any of them.  Frankie had gotten them from his dead mother, whose house was where Frankie and now Fred were still living.  Fred ate the stale pieces of bread and gulped them down with water.

              Frankie drove them both to the job site.  Fred had never worked construction and expected there to be more clanging when he arrived. There was very little clanging, but a lot of whirring.   The whirring from the tools hurt Fred’s ears.  He had ear plugs but they seemed to not do much, except for the brief time when Fred pulled out the ear plugs to see how well they worked and his ears rang for about 20 minutes afterwards.  Within an hour of work starting Fred just wanted it to end.  He knew it would be tedious, but for some reason expected the work to be less tedious than restaurant work, which was the only job he had done up to that point.  Restaurant work had the benefit of being broken into discrete and diverse tasks, making the time pass by quickly, at least if the restaurant was busy.  Fred had the job of moving cinderblocks, and laying them down in preparation to pour concrete over.  Concrete was terrible for a place prone to earthquakes, one of the few facts that Fred had memorized from school.  He was terrified of earthquakes, even though there were very few in the Northwest.  He decided it didn’t matter, since any earthquake that did happen was likely to be so catastrophic the building material likely wouldn’t matter anyways. 

              When everybody’s ten-minute break was announced, Fred rushed to find where people were smoking.  He asked 3 separate people before one of them acquiesced, likely out of pity.  Although, after talking with him for a bit, Fred suspected it was less pity and more of a need to talk to another human being.

              The man started, “You know that lesbian chick?”

              Fred replied, “No.”

              “She got a bald head, real mean bitch you know who I’m talking about?  Ah well, well apparently that guy Jake the one with the crew-cut looking all military and shit he’s been living with her and she’s got some other bitch staying with her man, and I’m telling you he’s seen some shit he won’t tell me nothing about what he’s seen and says he hasn’t seen nothing but I tell you I know he’s seen it but that guy is such a goodie-too-shoes he won’t tell me nothing but he did tell me he got crabs and he’s saying he got it from the lesbian chicks man I told him that’s not how it works but he didn’t listen saying that they crawled up from the other bed cause they share a room too but still he won’t tell me nothing about what he’s seen man and it’s bugging me man he always bugs me man just yesterday I was complaining to him to other day about how they been cutting our hours and he acts like it ain’t a problem but I tell you man I don’t want nobody fucking with my money they say we get 55 hours a week that’s 3 grand a week with the overtime and I need that shit man my rent’s 1800 a month and I got 3 roommates!”

              “Yeah man that is crazy.” Fred tried to turn away and enjoy his cigarette, he could see Frankie in the distance who was just laughing when he saw him.

              “You even listening to me?  Anyways I told him, on God, that nobody better fuck with my money man I told him man I need every goddamn penny I don’t care if we’re getting off early or if I have more time in the day do I fucking look like I need more goddamn time in the day?  I’m fucking made of time man.”

              “I don’t know I like having more time.”

              “Psh, you don’t fucking get it man, you don’t have bills to pay?”

              “Not really.”  Fred wasn’t wrong.  He was going to have to pay for groceries at the house after his first paycheck, but besides that nothing else.  There were no plans for him to get a car.

              “Well lucky fucking you.” And then he walked off.  Fred looked over and could still see Frankie laughing. 

              Fred walked up to Frankie, “What’s so funny.”

              “You picked the worst fuckin’ guy you could’ve asked for a cigarette man.  Let me give you a tip, just avoid Kai, he’s always gonna launch into some rant like that.” Frankie just laughed again.  Then the boss came to yell at all the smokers that it was time to start work again.  Fred didn’t have time to finish his cigarette since he was too busy gaping at Kai’s tirade.  He took one last, long drag off the cigarette then threw it in a bucket already overflowing with cigarettes. 

              Fred wondered why Frankie had described the site as ‘more of a camp’ than a prison.  Moving around the ‘camp’ Fred very much felt like he was wondering around a prison.  The doors that had already been installed were solidly reinforced with several locks on them.  Another work group was constructing a large concrete wall around the perimeter of the camp, and barbed wire was being installed at the top.  It was already a crime to be addressless, but the prisons were too full to actually contain them.  As of yet, there were a series of restrictions on movement and social services, but no actual arrests other than for the usual petty and drug crimes.  There wasn’t a lot of the usual trappings of a prison though, no bars on the rooms mainly, but it certainly did not seem like a pleasant place to live.  The lack of bars, Fred thought, were likely there so that the guards would not have to look at the addressless.  Nobody looked at them out on the streets since they were usually haggard and either sad or disgusting to look at.  Why would it be any different inside these walls than outside them?  Fred could only wonder how unpleasant exactly it would be.

              The rest of the workday was rather uneventful.  Fred continued to stack cinderblocks and continued to be bored and miserable.  The work didn’t necessarily make him miserable, but it didn’t help his ambient sense of misery either.  He had never had a job where he wasn’t miserable and assumed that this was simply a precondition for any job he would have, or at least any job that he could get.  He had no degree, little experience, and no former boss insane enough to give him a reference.    He was only able to get this job thanks to Frankie putting his name on the line to swear that Fred wouldn’t make the same mistakes that every past employer the company had called had noted.  His most frequent mistake was missing work, usually because he would be nodding off in some dingy apartment or motel.  Sometimes he would miss work while in the building, passed out in the bathroom.  Other times he would leave for his break and not come back.  These were all things that Fred was now fiercely determined to avoid, not that he had much hope he would actually be able to do so.  But, he knew that Frankie risked being fired if he was not able to keep up his end of the bargain, and he had a weird sort of faith in OpiAudio to keep him off heroin, so he kept his determination, regardless of how irrational it was.

              Before leaving work Fred ran into Kai again, this time with Kai being far less enthusiastic, “Hey man you got any clear?”

“No, sorry bro.” Fred replied.  He never saw much use for stimulants and especially not meth.  Sure, they would make you work hard but Fred had no real desire to work hard.  His problem was one of an overactive brain.  Not in some tragically genius sort of way, but like an overheating engine sort of way.  Downers were much more suitable for Fred’s lifestyle, namely because Fred didn’t have a lifestyle, and no urge to cultivate one.  His life was dull and miserable, and he wanted to forget that it was dull and miserable.  So he shut his brain for an hour or two at a time, and ideally constantly. 

On the drive home Frankie played the radio.  He only listened to the classic rock station, playing the hits from the 2000s and 2010s.  Fred hated that music, since most of the “rock” didn’t seem much like rock to him.  Fred remembered his parents too fondly, and could only listen to the rock that they listened to.  Like most Northwestern residents of the time, they listened to heavy metal bands, and Fred hated the slow, whiny voices of the Strokes and Arctic Monkeys.  What made the radio station even worse however, were the ads that would come on after every song.  Fred suspected that radio these days were more ads than actual music, but never had the drive to actually time it to figure out.  The ads played on. 

              “Got the blues? C’mon down to KeTreat.  Ketamine infusions have helped millions of people with feelings of depression and anxiety.  Stay for a week at our state of the art resorts fit with gyms, spas, and restaurants!  Our lovely nature retreat will help you kick those feelings of useless and despair. KeTreat is not guaranteed to cure depression, please see your doctor and psychiatrist before scheduling a visit.”

              “Out of work?  Bills up to your nose?  Facing addresslessness?  We can help.  GetBetter hiring is willing to hire people with any background.  Our agency can take on your debt in exchange for a guaranteed contract of work.  Find work in new and exciting fields such as waste management, chemical manufacturing, dockyard labor, and even public childcare! Please note, leaving a GetBetter hiring position can result in renewal of debts with increased interest rates, or even a jail sentence.  Consult with your social worker before making the decision if this is right for you.”

              “And after that word from our sponsors we have the hit single ‘Are You Mine?’  Jackie, play that stream for me will ya.”

              Frankie piped up now, “Man, those ads are getting fuckin’ annoying huh?”

              “And depressing.”  Fred replied

              “Depressing?  Man you think too much about that shit.  It’s just how things are.  You can’t get bogged down with other people’s problems.  Besides, those companies are helping out anyways, would you rather there not be anybody trying to help these people out?” Frankie smiled, “Maybe you gotta head over to KeTreat, heh.  You think they take Medicaid?”

              Fred laughed at that one, “I doubt it, I think it’s just for rich people who are bored.”

              Frankie laughed, “Yeah, they’re lucky though.  Fuck I’d love to go to some k-hole camp and just veg out for a bit.  I hear it’s alright for pain too.  God knows how fucked my back is after working this job.”

              “I don’t think it works for pain it ain’t like oxy or nothing.”

              “Ah well, you’d forget about your pain at least.”  Frankie started laughing.  Fred thought he made a good point, not feeling pain and forgetting about it were basically the same thing, at least in his eyes.

              Immediately after getting home, Fred announced he had to go to the bathroom.  Frankie told him to hurry up because he was going to take a shower first.  Fred went in and quietly opened the cabinet under the sink, then found his bag of heroin, and stuffed it in his pocket.  His body began to feel heavy, and it was hard to move.  This was slightly helpful, however, since now he was even more worried about Frankie hearing the cabinet squeaking.  Fred imagined him demanding answers, patting him down, not understanding the heroin was to be sold, kicking him out, Fred living in addresslessness, Fred dying under a bridge, Fred’s body not being found for weeks. 

              None of that happened however, Frankie was cheery as ever.  Fred said, “I’m gonna go buy cigarettes.”

              Frankie snorted, “With what fuckin’ money?”    

              “I scrounged up some money, got enough for a pack.”

              “Christ’s sake man, use that money for food tomorrow, I noticed how tiny your lunch was today.  Get some food at the gas station like a normal person next time.  A banana is not a good enough lunch for a construction shift.”  Frankie took out his wallet and handed him his debit card, “Here, take this, pay me back after you get paid.”  Fred tried to protest, “I’d rather you owe me then loan you more cigarettes.”

              Now that Fred had the money for cigarettes, he was faced with a dilemma.  He only wanted to go to Eddy’s to get money for cigarettes.  He had no use for the money now, he didn’t smoke much, especially when he wasn’t using, and could easily make the pack last until he got his paycheck.  The effects of the OpiAudio treatment were beginning to wear off as well.  He was not experiencing withdrawals, but he wasn’t experiencing the light, floaty sensation that had accompanied the past 24 hours.  Still, Fred did not want to use the heroin, since he was far more terrified of losing an address than going through withdrawals.  Besides, opiate withdrawals were largely just uncomfortable, nothing seriously threatening to one’s life.  Addresslessness was a serious threat to your life, and near impossible to dig yourself out of.  Fred had seen enough of the “camps” to want to stay far away from them.  Nevertheless, the tedium of sobriety was almost too much for Fred to bear, he wanted some way out of his head.  He wished for withdrawals in a way, since at least then his only thoughts would be on his pain, and not a random whirlwind of anxieties and misery.

              Fred resigned himself to getting money for a small pint of booze.  He felt bad about mooching off Frankie and wanted to have at least something that was his own.  He would have to hide it from Frankie, to be sure.  Both because Frankie would want some of the alcohol and also because then he may have to explain how he got the money for it.  He would have to beg to mooch off Frankie a bit more, too so that his alcohol breath wouldn’t seem suspect.  The length of time he would have to be gone would also need to be explained, since the convenience store was quite close, but Eddy’s place was 2 bus rides and a good deal of walking away.  Fred would worry about that on the way home.  In the meantime, he had to get rid of this burning hole in his back pocket.  Every second he held the heroin felt like it was beginning to burrow its way deeper and deeper into his skin.  It was painful, especially mentally.  It took an immense amount of will to not walk straight to the convenience store, go to the bathroom (if they would let him use it, he hadn’t nodded off in that one yet, so he thought there may be a good chance they would) and use the heroin.

              Somehow or another, he managed to find the willpower.  He meandered over to the bus stop waited for the 315 bus.  There were a few others there, mostly bored looking people either going to or from their jobs.  Fred guessed most of them were coming home, but one of them looked a bit too chipper to be returning.  Their souls would be ground down soon enough, he assumed.  The bus was dull as usual, with loud blaring ads and news reads.  Fred tried his best to tune them out, but one news read caught his attention.

              “Governor Michaelson announced the opening of 10 new OpiAudio clinics across the state.  He says that the clinics will be a bulwark against the growing addresslessness and addiction crisis gripping the state and country.  A spokesperson for OpiAudio lauded the assistance provided by the Washington state government, as well as expanding its services to treat those with treatment-resistant depression.”

              So you get it just for being depressed now, even, Fred thought.  Fine enough, life today was miserable as it is.  Fred only needed a few hours of sober, withdrawal free time to understand that much.  The fires in the West became more constant every year, the addressless lining the streets became all too visible, even with the cops clearing them out on a daily basis.  Fred wondered how anybody managed to stay off heroin at all, especially with the weather the way it was.  It was rainy, and gray, and just cold enough to chill you to your bones but not so cold it warranted a winter jacket which would heat you up far too much.  Heroin, and all opiates, helped you warm up.  So did alcohol, but only for a short time.  Fred wasn’t sure if heroin actually even made you warmer, or if you just didn’t care about the cold.  Probably the latter, but the distinction was meaningless anyways.  Not caring about something and it not existing are practically one in the same. 

              The bus speaker sounded for Fred’s stop, 17th and Baker.  He was just a block away from Eddy’s house.  The sun was beginning to come out, and birds could be heard chirping.  Not many though, lots had died off in the recent heatwave that summer.  But a pleasant amount to be chirping, nonetheless.  Too many and it became a cacophony, and too few it just sounded sad, a reminder of the world dying around Fred.  After walking a block, he noticed, for the first time somehow, a large building that looked like a run-down sort of “non-denominational” protestant evangelical church typical of that side of Everett.  No crosses, no signs, but a mishmash of services held there, by now almost entirely Spanish speaking services, since the only English speaking believers left by now tended to be the more cultish types, who stuck to the houses of the people they were exploiting.  Upon getting closer, it didn’t seem like a church, however.  There was a small crowd outside, and they seemed very much to be not the church-going kind of people.  They were all smoking cigarettes and laughing, many holding small Styrofoam cups of coffee. 

              Fred leaped at the opportunity to bum another smoke and approached a worryingly skinny, toothless man who appeared to be smoking Camels, Fred’s smoke of choice.  He asked for a cigarette and the men gladly gave him one.  He began gummily speaking, “You beem here be before?  I mever seem you here.”

              “Nah, my friend lives down there.” Fred replied, pointing. “Never noticed this place somehow.”

              “Oh well, you coming to ta meetim’?”

              Fred cocked an eyebrow, “Meeting, what like a business meeting.” 

              The man just laughed, “Mo mam, it’s an AA meetim’.  You beem ta ome before?”

              Fred replied, “Nah that’s not for me I’m a heroin addict, heh.”  Fred tried to walk away, he could already sense what was going to happen.  He thought somebody would grab him and demand that he stay, just for the one time.  But nobody did.  The group smoking just glanced at each other and shrugged.

              Before he got out of earshot the man said, “We’re always here, mam.  Don’t matter what drug ya’ like ta’ do.”  Fred kept walking.  By now the heroin seemed to have burrowed its way deep into Fred’s femur.  It hurt to walk, and it hurt to stay still.  Eddy’s house wasn’t too far, luckily. 

              Fred knocked on the door.  Eddy opened it, somehow beaming and extremely aloof all at once, “My fuckin’ man, glad to see you!  Where the fuck you been?  I heard you got sent to a rehab.”

              Fred smirked, “Nah, not rehab, I’m going to OpiAudio.”

              “Ah shit, yeah man, I’ve heard about that place.  Is it true it gets you fucked up for a whole day.”

              Fred gave a beaming smile, “Oh yeah.” Eddy smacked his back and led him inside

              “So, what brings you hear?  Trying to fill the time between appointments?”

              “Nah I’m here to sell a bag.”

              Eddy snorted, “Damn they really got you huh?”

              “Gotta stay clean man, this job Frankie got me has drug tests.  Besides, I’d rather have some money for smokes.  Don’t have to worry about withdrawals anyways now.”

              Eddy cocked his head and smacked his lips, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that man, I’ve heard of the days in between being hell.  But you don’t gotta worry about that as of yet.  You’re a newbie, you don’t even have a tolerance yet! Maybe I should try it out, is it really like doing junk for the first time again?”

              Fred smiled, “Better.”

              Eddy whistled, “O-oh boy I really might just mozy on over there then.  Where’d you get this stuff from anyways?  Last I saw you, you were begging for a bag like I hadn’t already fronted you a ton.  Which reminds me, not sure I should even give you money for this.”  Eddy paused, then waved his hand, “But ah, what the hell, you got a job now.  You got me back when you get paid right?”

              “Yeah man, of course.”

              Eddy smiled, “So, where’d ya get it from.”

              “Some bum outside the clinic, he traded it to me for my last cigarette.”

              “Oh man some people are just desperate for smokes, or he makes enough money spangin’ that he doesn’t have to worry about to getting more.”

              “He said to me it’s a good living.”

              “I’ve heard the same, no clue how they do it though.  I’ve seen plenty of those bums get their shit kicked in by the cops for panhandling out on the corner.”

              “Probably just stealing, I wouldn’t go around telling people I’m robbing, better to just say panhandling I guess.”

              Eddy gave a satisfied frown, “Makes sense.  Anyways, let’s get this bag sorted out.” Fred grabbed the bag, which apparently required 0 digging into his femur, as it was still somehow laying in the fabric of his pocket.  It no longer burned, he handed over to Eddy, who weighed it.  He gave another satisfied frown and a nod and took out 20 bucks to give to Fred.  Fred was amazed it was still a full gram.  That bum must have one hell of a supply, he thought.  Eddy started loading a bong, “So you still smoke? Or you’re going full sober.  Taking the coffee, God, and cigarettes route?”

              Fred scoffed, “Fuck no, let me get some of that.”  Eddy took a hit and passed it.  Fred quickly stood up.

              “Leaving already, just wanted to smoke some of my weed?”

              “I gotta get back to Frankie’s, told him I was just buying cigs.  Already gotta think of an explanation for why I was gone.”

              Eddy waved Fred away, “Man that fuckin’ guy, think’s he’s so high and mighty ever since quitting.  Can’t do it without OpiAudio either, and drinks like a fucking fish.”

              “He is letting me stay at his house.”

              “Yeah he probably just needs another reason to feel good about himself.”

              “I’d be fucked if it wasn’t for him.”

              “You can always stay with me, man, remember that.”

              “Can you get me a job too?”

              Eddy laughed, “Fair point. Alright, well get on back to daddy then.”

              Fred made the walk back to the bus station, making a detour to avoid the AA building again.  The people there seemed unpleasantly happy to him.  Too cheery, they were clearly up to something.  He had heard enough about them from other people.  They wanted to talk to you about God and surrendering and self-betterment.  They truly did think that coffee and whining would be the solution to their problems.  Fred knew better, he knew better than most people.  If there were a way to stop using, he would have taken it long ago.  But all his methods had failed, and his life was to miserable to stop now, not without OpiAudio to be sure.  Maybe before he had a job he could have suffered through the withdrawals, but that was too painful to do all the times he had tried.  It was through losing all his money that he was willing to go to even OpiAudio.

              Fred began thinking of excuses on the bus ride home.  He thought of saying that he had gotten attacked, or that maybe the cashier tried to hassle him about his ID, which was long expired and he did not have the money to replace.  None of the excuses would make sense for a 40 minute absence, however.  His heart began pounding and he began to think again of what would happen to him if Frankie suspected something.  Staring at the floor of the bus he saw a distinct vision of his own suicide, a brutal one to be sure.  He couldn’t afford a gun, or enough heroin to kill himself, surely not without a job.  He would look too haggard to buy only rope from a department store.  No, he would need to throw himself into traffic, to be brutally mangled by a car, or preferably a truck.  The driver would be horrified, and call for help.  But it would be too late, he would make sure to have the wheels run over his abdomen, and he would slowly bleed out on the road, only with a total stranger to be there to witness and even be affected by his death.

              Ding, “44th and Evergreen.” Fred had to get off.  He still had no excuse ready and started to make plans on how to cope with addresslessness, or if he could manage to stay off heroin while staying with Eddy, if he would lose his job still. He made his way to the gas station then, determined to think of an excuse while buying the booze.  He got a pint of rum, a shooter of whiskey, and a pack of Camels.  He put in his change in his pocket and made his way outside.  He stuffed the two bottles in separate pockets of his jacket so that they wouldn’t clink.  Making his way back he still wracked his brain for an excuse, and still nothing came.  He was almost certain that he would be getting kicked out today, but at least he would have some booze to make the journey better. 

              When he opened the door, Frankie was sitting on the couch, smoking and playing videogames, “Fucking Christ that took a while.  What were you doing?”

              Fred stuttered, “I-I-I was...”

              “You weren’t out scoring were you man?”

              “No, I was, uh, I was.” Finally, Fred gave up, “I was at Eddy’s”. 

              Frankie smacked his controller on the couch, his chest started heaving, and he stood up, “So you were scoring.”

              “I was going to, but I decided not to.” I guess a sort of excuse did come, Fred thought to himself.  He wished he had managed to find a better one.  At that point it would have been better to just tell the truth, but telling the truth isn’t something that comes easy to addicts, most certainly not Fred.

              “So, you went there, and just didn’t get anything?” Frankie sighed, “Man, why didn’t you just fucking talk to me?  That’s the only way to get through shit like that.  That’s why those losers have NA and AA and all that junk, they don’t have anyone to talk to.”  Frankie surprised Fred by hugging him, “I’m glad you didn’t man.  I’ve been there before.  This shit is hard man, but you made the right decision.” Frankie then forcefully grabbed Fred’s face, “Ok, your pupils look alright.  You smell like weed but not cinnamon-y, you better be telling the truth man.  I’m gonna start patting you down or some shit if you pull some shit like that again.”

              “I’m sorry man.  Can I have a drink?  I really need one.”

              “Yeah man for sure.”  Frankie walked over to the freezer and pulled out his handle of vodka.  He poured some in a glass, no mixer this time.  Fred drank it all in one gulp.  “You should really take a shower man, you smell like shit.” 

              Fred made his way to the shower, he took the shooter of whiskey and stuffed the empty in his coat pocket, at least he didn’t have to worry about smelling like booze now.  His goal at this point was to get as drunk as he possibly could. Sleeping at this stage was like Hell.  Fred was never able to sleep sober, his thoughts would be too numerous and too fast to allow for it.  By now, the effects from the OpiAudio treatment were thoroughly worn out.  He was not yet experiencing withdrawals but still trapped in the painful limbo of sobriety.  He didn’t feel bad, but he didn’t feel good either.  He felt nothing, and not in the warm, pleasant way that heroin makes you feel.  He had a gulp of rum while waiting for the shower to warm up, and another upon getting out of the shower.  After putting on his clothes he took one more gulp.  This was his preferred method of drinking, straight out of the bottle.  Putting it into a glass always felt like a waste of dishes and mixing it with something felt like a waste of time. 

              When Fred made his way back to the living room Frankie’s girlfriend, Cassie, was there.  Cassie was rarely at the house when Fred was.  She worked as a waitress at a rundown restaurant in Lynnwood, usually at night.  This meant she rarely saw Frankie as well.  It was painful for them to be apart so much, but possibly healthy for them to be so.  They fought, as all couples do, but also fought as few couples do.  Their fights would be loud and harsh.  The two had been together long enough to know each other’s deepest insecurities and how to truly dig the knife in.  Yet, neither could imagine life without the other.  They had gotten sober together, supported each other dearly through it, and of course fought and yelled at each other when one had relapsed.  But now, they had both been sober a year, thanks to the wondrous treatment available through OpiAudio. 

              Cassie greeted Fred, “Hey man, heard you had a hard day today.”

              Fred tried to smile, “Yeah, had an incident heh.  All good now though.”

              “Just remember to try to talk to Frankie about it next time, you’re gonna have lots of cravings.  I still have ‘em every day.  That’s why I’m lucky I got this guy here to talk to.”  She leaned over and kissed Frankie. “I just wish we were able to use OpiAudio every day, I don’t think the people there get that it can be hell the last day before another treatment.”

              “Is it really that bad?”

              “Depends on the week really, but especially after a while it starts losing its effectiveness.  Oh well, better than being on the junk, right?”

              “You got that right.” Fred didn’t really think that.  Being off the junk was only worth it in so far as he was able to keep an address and have some money in his pocket.  Outside of that, he saw little use in being sober.  Not that he was sober as it is, but he didn’t like alcohol much.  It could never match the feeling he got from opiates, and it did nothing to relieve withdrawals.  If anything, it seemed to exacerbate it.  Still, it was better than being sober.

              The three of them sat there for the rest of the night, smoking weed, drinking Frankie’s booze (although Fred went to the bathroom just too frequently to take nips off his pint as well) and playing video games.  They shared a lot of laughs, though Fred faked most of his.  Neither of them were particularly funny in Fred’s mind, but he had no desire to seem rude, especially not to someone who was letting him keep his rights.  The two were dull people, without much real desires, interests, or hobbies.  Of course, so was Fred, which is why he didn’t judge them much.  He just wished that there were someone in his life who didn’t seem to be just existing, with some actual desire to live.  Not that he got the impression Frankie and Cassie didn’t want to live, they seemed happy enough.  But he wasn’t exactly sure why they wanted to live, what they wanted to live for.  Perhaps there was no reason at all, but that only baffled Fred further.  His lack of desire and purpose made him miserable, why didn’t it do the same to so many others?

              The next two days at work were increasingly dull and boring.  Fred continued to stack cinderblocks, others dug large holes, what Fred presumed was a sort of moat surrounding the perimeter of the building.  Oddly enough, the holes seemed to be on the inside of the perimeter.  Fred thought that the holes were to keep people far away from the large walls slowly being constructed around the facility.  He hope they were.  He did not like to think about what large holes for a facility housing deeply despised people could be for.  At the end of the second day though, Fred began to feel a glimmer of hope.  Not for his life prospects, or his future, or anything really, but for the fact that he would be receiving his dose of OpiAudio after work that day.  He would not have to take the bus either, Frankie would drive him there and back.  Frankie also found an old aux cord in his car, which meant that Fred would finally be able to listen to music without advertisements, and in particular to be freed from the universally dreary news segments played on the bus’s speakers. 

              The drive there was pleasant, Fred and Frankie traded turns on the aux playing their music.  They had radically different music tastes, and indeed radically different tastes in most everything.  Fred wondered what led to them being friends in the first place.  He thought back to how they met, and it was in a smoky dope den, where Fred had met practically everyone he still was allowed to keep contact with.  He didn’t know much about Frankie, other than his mom had died, he liked video games, and liked drugs.  Now that there were no more drugs (save for alcohol and weed) Fred was worried about how they would maintain any semblance of friendship.   But Frankie wasn’t the least bit worried about that.  He was a hopelessly happy and friendly man, no lack of connection would keep him from staying loyal to his friend. 

              Upon arriving at the OpiAudio parking lot, Fred noticed that there were no preachers that day.  Preachers had become a more and more common sight over the years, with some specializing in preaching in front of large forest fires, or holding e-sermons in the eye of a hurricane.  More people felt that the world was slowly ending around them, and that the abrupt, merciful end would come soon enough.  Fred didn’t think that.  He saw the world playing out the same way as his life; a slow, miserable decline into oblivion.  Without any sort of great cathartic end to anything, just a series of increasing crises until everything began to fizzle away.  So he didn’t see any reason to latch onto spiritual hope, or perhaps it is better called spiritual dread.  Whatever God there was had clearly forgotten about Fred and, he suspected, the world at large. 

              Walking up to the facility, however, he saw the skinny Indian man sitting patiently outside.  As Fred approached, the man smiled, “Wonderful to see you again sir.”  He had a lilting, heavily accented voice.  Fred suspected the man was Indian but knew far too little about the world to make a reasonable guess other than foreign.

              Fred continued walking and scoffed, “You really remember me?  I figured with how many people you see it’d be too hard to keep track.”

              The man smiled even wider, “I do my best to remember everyone.  Of course, I make mistakes.  But I remember you well.  I could tell you are in great need of guidance.”

              Fred opened the door, “I need a fix, not guidance.”  Then he walked in.  He did not have time to be chatting with strange men today.  After checking in, Fred noticed that Jack was there again.  He was hoping that he would be able to avoid him that day.

              He began beaming when he saw Fred, “Hey, hey!  Back again?  Fuckin’ awesome man.  How’d you hold up those 3 days?  It’s pretty easy at first, so I hope not too bad.”

              “Fine.”  Fred replied, he was trying to avoid a conversation.

              “That’s good that’s good.”  Jack leaned over to whisper, “Hey man, so what did you do with that bag, I’ll buy it back from ya for 20, even if it ain’t full.” 

              Fred whispered back, “I sold it already, I’m amazed you don’t have any more.”

              Jack laughed, and started talking at full volume, which worried Fred, “Oh I got plenty, just trying to resupply is all.  Never know when you’ll need more insulin.” Then he nudged Fred with his elbow in such an obnoxious way Fred worried about if he would be arrested at that very moment.

              Thankfully, Fred didn’t have to wait long for the nurse to call him in.  As he was getting settled in the OpiAudio chair, his head began whirling with questions.  Now that he was not in withdrawals but stuck in the doldrum of sobriety, he had some sort of curiosity about this supposedly life-saving procedure.  He asked the doctor, “What would happen if I kept taking this procedure, like over and over?  Can you overdose on this thing?”

              The doctor quietly sighed, “There is an abuse-prevention mechanism in the device that prevents overstimulation.  It detects your opioid levels, matched to your body’s level of tolerance and prevents the levels from exceeding a point at which respiratory depression can occur.”  He sighed, louder this time, “So no, you wouldn’t die, but you would develop a higher and higher tolerance, straining the effectiveness of the device. Are there any more questions?”  Fred had several to ask, but before he could the doctor said, “Alright, the nurse will come in and administer the procedure now.”

              The procedure went like last time, but with less urine.  Not that there was no urine, but considerably less than Fred’s first time.  He had even remembered to bring an extra pair of pants of that time.  He could have gone without it even, there were only a few trickles of piss on his jeans.  But he thought it would be rude to Frankie to not change his pants.  It’s easy to not care about something as trivial as a few streaks of piss on your pants when you are in opiate-induced bliss. 

              But Fred found the next 3 days were far more intolerable than his first three days after OpiAudio.  The boredom and tedium of his job was too much to bear.  The hours passed by slower, and his body hurt more.  Still more, after his 3rd treatment.  Finally, after his 4th treatment, Fred decided that the pain was too much to bear.  But he knew Frankie was on the lookout for any misbehavior from him, that Frankie knew all too well the signs of a relapse, signs Frankie had so many times before exhibited himself.  Furthermore, Fred wanted to work.  He had enjoyed his first paycheck, the feeling of usefulness he got from buying groceries for the house.  He knew he would not be able to keep his job on heroin, so he had a better idea.  On his smoke-break one day, he carefully avoided the corner of the smoking area that Frankie frequented, and found Kai.  He offered him a cigarette, and leaned over to whisper, “Hey, man, you got any clear?”