Cocaine shame

Despite her elegant, luxurious surroundings fit for a precious princess. She was tense and robotic in movement, avoiding creasing her designer outfit. Doused heavily in Joy by Jean Patou, gleaming at herself vainly through the looking glass her coke face beaming. Wide smiles exposing whiter than white gleaming veneers. She carefully arranged the snow white powder and began the degrading lowlife act. The nauseating way she began to inhale cocaine, through the delicate membranes of her nose was stomach churning.

The filthy spectacle sent her spiraling to the glaswegian slums, in the fine company of smackheads. A carbon copy of other desperate addicts, no different and certainly no better. Situated in a dark high rise flat, surrounded by dirty hypodermic needles. Zombies huddled closely together, nodding heads with combined narcotic eyes. The entire room filled with a overwhelming stench of stale urine. Amongst the piles of rubbish, a broken Pink Floyd Compact disc lay upon the floor strewn with litter. Gently picking up a piece, and gazing at her reflection revealed decaying, rotten broken teeth. Forboding warning that if the cocaine abuse continued, her nose would slowly rot, sinking into her smooth botox mask.

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