‘Bro, is this for real?’ I’d tell them. Look, there’s no way you’re going to force-feed me the sexual frustrations of some old Viennese cokehead and convince me that’s my cure. What I’ve got is called life, and nothing can cure me of that but the stuff I was shooting up five minutes ago. If the old fart had been doing heroin, they’d be giving me a prize right now. They say doing drugs is no way to live, because it kills you slowly – but life kills you slowly, buddy, and I’d rather live mine like this.
