There I was, fucking Scotland. The scotts and their horrendous accents.

And here I was, the depressed french girl despising other people accents. I was nothing but a big fucking joke man.

I just recently moved there, in the smallest apartment ever. I wasn't brought up in what you would call luxury, but that doesn't mean that I had no standards when it came to living somewhere. This was shite but it would do for now.

I sighed, it was something I tend to do a lot. It comes with the depression package if you ask me. No one ever asked me anything though, not that I'd have anything interesting to say for that matter.

As I slowly began to unpack I started to already make plans on how I would get what kept me afloat. The dope. It sounds so unoriginal and it is, I'm a boring and bored person, bore people is what I do for a living. What worried me was if the people here would have what it is that I seek: Ketamine, my drug of predilection. In that stance, I wasn't too bad. It wasn't really expensive, or at least in France. It wasn't the hardest of drug. You couldn't get physically dependent to it and last but not the least: you didn't had to stick a needle in your fucking arm to get high. That was certainly a plus. I had used cocaine before, didn't quite make it for me. I used mdma from time to time, when I got out to party which wasn't a lot. Speed I didn't found interesting in the least and Heroin I never did, wasn't intending to.

I had no idea where I would find "it" here and that worried. I never had to look for drug dealers before ! They were friends of friends that became acquaintance for the sole reason that I wanted dope. In that stance I was lucky. I just went to their place and used it. They were never relunctant when I wanted to pay later because I was always true to my world and did pay them later. The day right after actually as I never enjoyed owing anyone anything.

With that in mind, I made myself a big fat line of "ké" as we called it. I enjoyed working the powder, it was something you never had with cocaine. The more you worked it, the bigger the line would get. We said the line made babies in our high state. I just thought of it as a bonus. I then managed to snort on it, there was the burn I felt in my left nostril afterwards and swallowed the mixed ketamine and mucus that went down my throat. It used to taste awful but I don't feel it anymore. Actually you're not supposed to swallow it as it is very bad for your kidneys but whatever right. We wouldn't want it to go to waste right ? And by we I mean myself of course.

I then proceeded to get out of my room, all cheerful and clumsy like the seemingly drunk person I appeared to be to the unexperienced eye. I found my way to a dreadful pub not too far from the lovely apartment where I now lived. It was to be the first time I ever set foot in a pub. As weird as it surely sounded, I'm not really the drinker. I think alcohol taste bad and that there's not use in getting drunk. I'd rather get stoned and that's what I did whenever I could. To forget the loneliness and the fact that there was no use in me being alive. I was the dullest person you could ever meet.

Got stopped by a skinny angry looking guy with a moustache not long afterwards though.

"What are you doing here lassie, this is no place for you." He said.

I raised an eyebrow at that statement, not in the least impressed by that man. Wasn't surprised though. I hardly reached 5ft tall and I had a baby face, add to that the curly brown hair that reached my shoulders and you could have easily mistaken me for a toddler.

"I'm 22 mate, now piss off." I simply stated.

That man wasn't having it though, he quickly turned a bright shade of red. I thought for a second that he was going to slap me. He threw his pint against the wall opposing me, leaving me covered with beer. I fucking reeked of beer !

"What the fuck man ! That was so uncalled for, what's your fucking problem ?!" I yelled at him.

I hated the smell of beer, reminded me of the useless piece of garbage I had to call dad.

"You're my fucking problem froggy !! You're lucky I don't hit girls or I would have smashed your fucking face with my fucking pint !" he yelled back, way louder than me.

I am of course rephrasing his words with what I understood of it. I wouldn't be able to recall the scottish slang he used for I didn't understand it at the time. I still don't get it, but I'd say it is approximately what the guy said.

We stared at each other for a really tensed 5 seconds in which I was very much afraid but tried to appear confident. His pals quickly came to his help. Or maybe mine? Probably mine. This guy's fucking psycho!

They were quite disparate. There was a bleached blond guy, let's call him Madonna. A ginger one with really short hair. Another blond one which hair was naturally so with curls. And another one, skinny, short, and dumb looking though he seemed like a nice fellow. They were trying to soothe him. The last one came to me and gave me his hand to shake.

"Hi my name is Spud." He said.

Actually he said way more than this but that's all I understood. He had the strongest accent of them all. I think he went on and on about how "the beggar" wasn't that bad when you grew to know him, he just had a short temper. See if I care man. What interested me in this Spud was that he looked like a user. As a user you tend to acquire a "drug-addict radar", with this fellow there was no use for it, it was just too obvious.

" Hi. What's your poison ?" I answered.

No useless introduction I went straight to the point. I had no intention to get to know these guys, especially with the fucking moustache man being part of their gang, if they weren't to be any of use to me.