“What?”
“Opioids.” He says again, and still she looks at him confused. “I smoke opioids, not weed,” he says, his arms animated with frustration.
“Shouldn’t that mean the chances of you suffering from hallucinations is considerably higher?”
He scoffs, “I’ve been taking the same cocktail for the last twelve years….”
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The Road Doesn’t End Here.
There is always another story waiting beyond the fog.

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