“Amen,” Ace said aloud, and tooted up. His head filled with that vague banana-lemon taste that really good cocaine always seemed to have. It was mellow, but it was also powerful. He felt his heart begin to pound. At the same time, his thoughts grew sharply focused and took on a polished chromium edge. He remembered something a guy had told him not long after he fell in love with this stuff: Things have more names when you’re coked up. A lot more names. He hadn’t understood then, but he thought he did now. He offered the straw to Gaunt, but Gaunt shook his head. “Never before five,” he said,
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