Wonderful Things

         Ben started to feel twitchy, which wasn't exactly right, but that was his word for it. Twitchy.
         His last hit wore off an hour ago and the pain was creeping in. It began with the legs, but was tolerable until the cold-sweat stage. Tonguing the chancre sore at the corner of his mouth, he plunged into deliberation. He always came up with a plan, some far more desperate than others. But, no matter the plan, he always got what he needed. His mother had chastised him relentlessly, if you would put the effort into school that you do into scoring heroin, you wouldn't be a mindless maladroit!
         That's why he enjoyed it, nevertheless. When he was numb, he was allowed to be mindless. Worries didn't exist with tar in your veins. Unfortunately, he was far from numb. He was twitchy goddammit.
         He was certain he couldn't sell himself that night, not with the chancre sore. People were disinclined, when they could actually see the herpes. Was Moe's pawn shop still open? He checked his watch: nine-thirty. Yes, he was open until eleven.
         He crept into his mother's room. He could hear her softly snoring off the arduous day. After working ten hour nurse shifts, (cleaning asses and changing diapers) she slept like a rock. Tediously, he slid the drawer of her jewelry box open. Each scrape of the wood on its way out of the slot--exaggerated in his guilty mind--screeched in defiance. Every couple inches, he paused to verify Sarah's slumber. He scissored her bracelet between his first two fingers, then shut the drawer and hurried out. It was Sarah's last anniversary gift from his father, before he died of a stroke. White gold, with two carats of diamonds across the band.