"Rog... I'm worried about you."

His voice floats over the bed and under the pillows I have draped over my head. My voice cracks as I answer him. "What's to worry about, old pal? It isn't the first time, and it most certainly won't be the last!"

Of course we are talking about Mimi and her insane desire to fuck up our relationship along with her life. If she could just take a moment to think about anything BUT the drugs, we would be golden. But, of course, The Man always wins with his slick charms and his beautiful drug. "Got any D, man? Got any C, man," I warble from under the pillow and Mark let loose a low slow wistle.

"You're worse off than I though, Rog. You've gotta get a grip," he says to me, and I throw off the pillows and covers and jump out of bed in one swoop. I am sick of the bullshit depression I am in. I am sick of Mimi's antics and I am sick of my good friend Mark feeling sad and scared over me.

I run to the door. Mark lookes at me as if he doesn't know if he should run and hide or play along. "A grip on WHAT, Marky?" I shriek, laughing maniacally and grabbing his cheeks in my hands. "On these?" I smile. He looks up at me, and I see a flicker of something in his eyes.

"Your eyes," he starts, and I cackle and warble again. "Your eyes/the ones that stare at me in surprise/you were there all along/and before this song dieeeees/ I should tell you/Mimi is back on drugs/You can see the truth in my eyeeeees." I stop singing. I lean forward a bit as if to tell him a secret, almost touching my forehead to his. "You gotta understand, Pal... She is. And I'm really tempted to join her." and suddenly I have an insane desire to kiss him. Kiss Mark. Because he is reliable, and solid, and safe and always there. I stare him straight in the eyes.

And then, I pass out.