Amanda tapped out a healthy mound of cocaine onto the cheap metal of the toilet paper dispenser in the grungy bathroom of the bowling alley, already noticing how empty her little brown vial had become despite her having filled it before her shift had begun just 5 hours earlier.
"Fuck," she cursed to herself knowing that making it the remaining few hours of her shift was going to be a lot less tolerable without a consistent supply of coke splattered on the front of her pre-frontal cortex.
Realizing that there wasn't going to be enough to get really blasted again after this 'bathroom break' Amanda decided to just tap out the rest and make the most of the moment. Pushing it further than she probably should if she were concerned at all about an overdose, which she wasn't, Amanda began snorting noisily from the obscene mountain of narcotics. Her loud suctioning noises echoed off the hard surfaces of the empty employee bathroom and she paid them no mind as she switched nostrils.
As the supply dwindled and disappeared up her nose Amanda felt her heart begin to beat rapidly and her body tingle with excitement and pleasure. God she fucking loved getting high. Aside from getting fucked, it was perhaps the best thing in the world. Combining the two, however, was the pinnacle of human experience as far as she was concerned. At a ripe 18-years of age, Amanda had already decided that she wanted to remain high and full of cock for as much of her waking life as possible for the foreseeable future.
Any potential consequences of her actions seemed so far away as not to be currently relevant and scamming some old dude into being her sugar daddy or just starting an OnlyFans seemed to erase any need to pursue a career. As far as Amanda was concerned, life was about having fun and feeling good and there was nothing that beat doing drugs and getting fucked. An understanding made even more frustrating when she was both out of drugs and stuck at work. She wished she had a work fuckbuddy, but her only co-worker was an old hag named Carole and even though she wasn't averse to lesbian play she wasn't interested.
There would always be something about getting dicked down that no woman could satisfy, especially not ugly old hags in their 60's. Amanda went back to the lanes and doled out bowling shoes, fixed shitty old scoring computers and reset thirty-year-old bowling equipment for another couple of hours before she felt the need for more drugs begin clawing at her nervous system. She wished she was 21 so she could help herself to the taps or spirits, but Carole watched her like a hawk ever since she was caught sneaking vodka a year ago.
That left with her a dwindling cocaine high and an uncomfortable physical sensation climbing its way up the back of her skull.
"Gonna take a 10," Amanda called out after helping a group of older men to their lanes.
Carole eyed Amanda and nodded, having already expressed extreme dissatisfaction at the teens smoking habit but having nothing for her to do about it other than glare.
Amanda stepped out to the back of the building to a dirty alleyway. She wished she could just smoke in front on one of the benches, but Carole was adamant that it was a bad look for her young employee to be seen smoking by customers. So, she sat on a white bucket next to a large, industrial-sized green metal garbage container in a smelly alleyway half a dozen times per shift to smoke.
Amanda shook out a Camel Crush from her pack and placed it between her puckered lips, lighting with practiced ease before collapsing her lungs and drawing a thick mouthful of smoke. Removing the orange filter from her painted pink lips she snapped the smoke down her throat noisily and held it captive within her until the warmth and nicotine washed over her.
"Fuuuuck," she moaned aloud through a long exhale of smoke cascading from her mouth.
"Can I bum one?" came an unfamiliar voice that scared the shit out of her.
She had involuntarily closed her eyes as she'd been enjoying the feeling of smoking a much-needed cigarette and hadn't even noticed a man that had ambled up to her from the other side of the garbage container.
"Um, sure," came her reply as she shook out a Camel and offered it to the man.
He took it graciously, smiling at her with a mouthful of missing teeth.
"Need a light?" she asked, holding up her lighter.
"Nope, got one," he replied, holding up a torch style lighter and lighting himself up triumphantly.
Amanda studied the man a moment while they both enjoyed their cigarettes. He was black, probably somewhere in his 40's, wearing a huge brown jacket made of canvas that stretched to just above his knees. His pants appeared to be tan khaki, but they were so dirty and stained that it was hard to tell. He was thin and his face was heavily creased with wrinkles that should have only been present on someone much older, but his faded brown eyes and overall aesthetic left little doubt that he was a slave to some substance that had been hollowing him out for a long time.
The man caught Amanda staring and smiled again, showing off matching rows of empty spaces where his front teeth ought to have been on the top and bottom. That gave Amanda an idea.
"You holding anything?" she asked the man.
His smile seemed to get even wider.
"What'chu lookin for honey?" he asked, seeming to shake in his boots at the prospect.
"I'll take anything, I've got another hour of clean up and I'll take anything to get through it," she replied, jerking her thumb in the direction of the building behind her.
The man seemed to understand what she was saying and began digging through his huge jacket pocket, pulling out a tiny glass straw and a baggy.
"You smoke rock?" he asked, holding up his offerings.
Amanda hadn't ever seen it before, but she was sure she was looking at crack and a crack pipe. It definitely didn't have the same glamorous aura that doing lines of coke did, but it was essentially the same thing, right?
