“What do you have?” She sniffled before whispering, “Clonazepam.” Thank fuck. I sagged in relief. “Where?” Her face contorted in pain and she whimpered, “My handbag,” before walking over to the table and retrieving her bag that was hanging off the back of her chair. “You can have one and that’s it.” “I need more than one, Mam,” I replied, trailing after her. “Please. One won’t do shit for me.” “These are very strong.” Sniffling, she unscrewed the cap on her prescription bottle and tipped two C2s into my outstretched hand. “Don’t ever ask me to do this again.” “I won’t,” I replied, even though
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