eff' that, i'll take fifty!
#9
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!@#$%Maybe if he had a better imagination he wouldn't need the drugs to feel good--maybe if he could just convince himself to try, to move somewhere more peaceful, maybe then he wouldn't feel the need to escape from reality. It was one of his guilty pleasures, but they all had a handful of those. This took less work then finding legitimate happiness, and so long as he kept up his guard around strangers, he knew he'd probably be fine. The chemicals themselves he'd found in a laboratory once, in mass quantity, along with the data sheets and necessary information. Nothing he took was too toxic.

!@#$%One hand dropped down, as though it were under the influence of gravity alone and not his own free will. It landed (ever so conveniently) in his bag, and he produced two separate kinds of meat--cooked venison, and raw rabbit. "This cooked deer has marijuana in it." He'd read somewhere that you needed heat to release the chemical that caused the high, which was why smoking was a popular form of ingestion. For him, though, he was too paranoid about the quality of his lungs to ever smoke it--he wanted them operating at 100%. "You can have some if you'd like."
!@#$%He now turned to the other roll of meat, which was sprinkled with a powder of some sort and secretly contained several drops of liquid. "This... use at your own risk, though. The chemicals are named with letters. They're hallucinogens.." Specifically, he was referring to MDMA and LSD. He doubted she'd recognise the names, anyway (seeing as he barely did), so it seemed useless to state them out loud. He smiled a bit as he caught her eyes, and then he held up the bottle. "And you can have some of this, too, if you want..." he said. That it was alcohol should be apparent enough--most of them here had tasted that devil water at one point, it seemed.
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