That was before I stuck a needle in my arm.
Here are the places I went from there: a rehab, an asylum, a jail cell where a guy named Angel told me he looked forward to catching up with me in prison. We’d celebrate my eighteenth birthday, he’d said, his lewd gesture a warning clue about why I should get myself turned around.
But as they say, the longest distance is from the head to the heart. I never got there. So I’m here, going nowhere. I hear Angel’s looking for me.