the Kaufman Unit.one

The night before, Hayden had emptied the contents of her pockets onto her own bed. The rings she had meant to put on that morning, her keys, a pack of Camel Frost’s, a lighter, and a small blue dime bag lay scattered on her black sheets. The dime bag was empty, even though she had bought it that morning. “This is my life,” she thought as she began to sway. The effect of the drugs in her system begun to sink in. Too many hits, too many mg’s, too many bottles- and she was out.

But today, when she emptied the pockets of her Nike sweatpants, drawstring so kindly removed by the “murses”, all that lay on the white stiff bed of the Kaufman Unit was a pencil. “This is my life.”