As expected, today began the same way, in the same robotic, ingrained, Pavlovian way, as every other day: by getting my “fix”. Awaking in the cold sweats I have grown used to, I rolled onto my left side and grabbed my glasses from the bedside cabinet. Then, I reached my arm to the floor to pick up the 6″ x 4″ piece of aluminium foil placed there for this moment. Opening the small jewellery box next to it, I observed the contents: no jewels, no rings, no heirlooms, no valuables. Just drugs. A few grams of Phenmetrazine in a vacuum-sealed bag, a few pills of Nitrazepam and Clonazepam, and below that; the packaging of my beloved Lady Fentanyl. Wearily, I placed 100mg of the Phenmetrazine onto the foil tray, placed a straw in my mouth and began to chase that dopaminergic dragon – inhaling vapour, exhaling euphoria. My eyes now wide and my mind racing along, a second tray was prepared and ~500ug of Fentanyl was placed at the distant corner. A delicate molecule, Fentanyl Citrate will combust and be thusly destroyed if excess heat is applied, therefore; chasing it requires very low heat, a level of accuracy with the flame, experience in the act itself and, above all, a complete disregard for one’s safety. With just a few inhalations, the onset of withdrawal was gone, my skin felt soft and warm, my muscles were relaxed and my cares totaled nil.