Finally, we had arrived on the 4th floor. The soles of my shoes clicked against the dark wood as we headed toward his flat at the end of the hall. He unlocked his door and flipped the light on as we entered. Roger dead-bolted the lock behind us as I took my shoes off, leaving them beside the door. His flat smelled just like him. He pressed his body into mine, pushing me against the door. “You want a beer?” he asked. I kissed him repeatedly.

 “You get us a beer….I’ll cut ya’ a line.” I said putting my hand on the side of his face. “You got a razorblade?”

 “Uhh…maybe…go look in that top drawer in the bathroom.” He said kissing me again. I took my coat off, putting it on his kitchen table. I reached into my inner pocket of my coat and pulled out a small bag of white powder, throwing it on the table in front of the couch on my way to his bathroom. It was a rather spacious studio.

 He had a large rug underneath the table in front of the couch. The floors were original wood, it was hard telling all the stories the scratches and scuffs could tell. None of his furniture exactly matched. The table beside his couch and the table in front did. His couch, a mustard color. There was a lamp on the table nearby. It was dark blue with a large shade. There was a counter in the kitchen as well, off-white flickered with black. Obviously installed more recently than this building itself had been built. His cabinets had been painted white at some point by someone. God only knew what color they used to be. Roger always had a tea kettle sitting on the stove and the whole place was always clean. There was a closet to the right as you came inside his flat, and another on the wall where the kitchen countertop was connected.

 His kitchen table sat directly across from the couch on the opposite wall. It was small, chrome and covered in black vinyl. Some of the vinyl was ripped but it didn’t seem to matter because it seemed he rarely used it for much. His bed was in the opposite corner of the room, underneath the almost solid wall of windows. It was propped up on a box style base and there was a shelf that lined the wall beside it. He had another lamp by his bed. It was clear glass with another large shade. It was funny because it seemed to change locations from the floor to the shelf depending on what day I was here. There was a crudely hung curtain that divided the area where his bed sat from the other corner of the room.

 Here, there was a record player and another corner shelf that was quite large. Everything sat on another rug in this part of his flat.  His records were lined up, probably fifty of them. But what really defined the area was this being the spot where his drum kit sat…had it come home with him tonight, of course. I paused before going into the bathroom. Right now, it was organized. I counted seventeen unopened drumheads on the shelf...various sizes. Six busted or badly beaten heads on the floor, probably half a dozen drum keys. I saw what was left of a high-hat…all that remained was it’s skeleton. He had cymbals in a pile, some larger than others and some in bags and some not.

 I couldn’t even begin to decipher the bowl of bolts, pads, screws, clamps, and parts. There were four bass drum pedals…all serving a different purpose I’m sure…I just didn’t know what. I imagine he interchanged them. There was a floor tom sitting there and the sticks…oh there were sticks everywhere. Some broken, some partially broken, some intact, some still wrapped together. Point was, there were at least thirty pair. I simply loved all of it and normally he kept all quite orderly. I could see the indentions in the rug where there complete kit normally was.

 I turned on the light next to his couch and entered the bathroom, turning the light on in there as well. It was very small, white tile and a pedestal sink. There was a set of two drawers beside the sink. The fluorescent light in here made the whole bathroom seem more like a surgical room it was so bright. There was a small window where the bathtub was situated. I thought the bathroom rug felt bit damp for whatever reason. He had clothes piled up in a corner. It was apparent laundry day hadn’t yet arrived.  I searched the top drawer for anything resembling a razorblade. I didn’t any, but I did find a box of condoms. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had gotten more. This would work, I opened the box took three out and turned the bathroom light out. I threw two foil packages beside the bed on the floor and kept one.

 Roger had opened our beers and was sitting on the couch. I sat on my knees across from him, opposite side of the table. I reached for the baggie, pouring a small amount onto the table. Roger had already started in on his beer, watching me carefully. I started cutting the mound into a line, shaping it up as I went along. It was harder with a wrapper than it would have been with a razorblade but it worked. “I’m gonna’ cut two for you and two for me. It’s pretty pure.”

 “Okay.” He answered me, taking another drink of his beer. I continued working on this line until I got it how I liked it. I moved on to cutting the next. He kept watching me. It was obvious he hadn’t done cocaine before judging by the way watched my every move. I cut the other two lines, spaced enough apart that snorting one wouldn’t disturb the other.

 “You got a bill in your wallet?” I asked. Roger was in the middle of his beer.

 “Yeah…” he sat his beer down and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.  He went ahead and emptied his pockets of everything else he had on the table beside him. I had no idea how he got so much crap in his pockets. “Here.” He handed me a bill and I proceeded to roll it up. “You watchin’? I asked him. Roger nodded and I leaned over the table. I snorted the white power up my nose through the bill; leavin’ my head tilted back.

 “You’re amazin’.” He told me. With my head still tilted back, I stood up and joined Roger on his couch, letting my head fall backwards against the cushion.

 “You don’t know amazin’ yet.” I assured him. “Go ahead…join me.” He examined the rolled up bill carefully before leanin’ over toward the white line of powder.

 “Wait…all in one breath or…somethin’?” he asked me. I laughed.

 “Yes. One deep breath. You know…you may be a coke virgin…but that’s clearly where your innocence ends.” He playfully punched my knee.

 “You’re one to talk!” he smiled at me again. It took him a minute, but he managed to suck up the line. Roger moved backwards to the couch again. He laid his head back against mine and reached for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine.

 “So, how long until ya’ feel this shit?” he asked me.

 “ ‘Bout fifteen minutes.” I replied.

 “What happens?”

 “I looked over sideways at Roger. Everything.” I smiled and laughed at him.

 “Got a weird taste in my throat.” He said.

 “Yeah, wash it away with the beer in a bit.” I moved in closer against him as we sat with our heads backwards. “You smell good.” I said a bit dreamily.

 “You know what that is?” he asked me.

 “No.” I answered.

 “Soap.” He raised his eyebrows. I laughed again and hit him lightly with my free hand. I finally lifted my head up. I needed a drink of beer and a cigarette. I felt numbness in my nose. I took a long drink of my beer and looked up at the ceiling, feeling a rush down my throat. I reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table. There was an ashtray on nearly every flat surface in here. Being the good girlfriend that I was, I handed him one and leaned over him to light it. I pulled him up by his shirt. I knew he’d feel a little lightheaded.

 “Whoa…I can’t feel my nose at all.” He said taking blinking several times and taking a drag on his cigarette. “And thank you…for this cigarette.” I lit mine and turned to face him.

 “Of course. We won’t do another for a bit.”  I said holding my cigarette in one hand and my beer in the other.

 “I have the coolest girlfriend ever. Do you know…that four hours ago you weren’t my girlfriend yet, it was all in my head.” He said just starin’ at me; puffin’ on his cigarette again. He looked so sexy when he exhaled that smoke in front of him.  The way he held it, the way he could fling it around and it never seemed to burn out. He had just finished his beer.

 “I know. When you told me we had to talk earlier I thought certain you were bailin’ on me. I’m gonna’ make ya’ somethin’ to eat.” I said standing up. I took my beer with me into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to get him another. “My god, you have next to nothing here.” I noticed. There was just enough variety to throw something together. “Here.” I returned to the couch and handed him another open beer.

 “Come ‘ere…” he pulled my lips down to his, his hand resting on my neck. “What you wanna’ listen to?” he asked as I pulled away from him and headed back toward the kitchen. He excitedly went over to his records and began pulling some out. He didn’t look long. "How about Led Zeppelin?" He asked me. I agreed, not that I would have disagreed with anythin' he chose. I continued looking around in his refrigerator for anythin’ else I could turn into food. A half open package of ground beef and a block of cheese that I smelled and examined it to make sure it wouldn't kill us. There was an onion in there…but considering it was growin’ other onions, I threw it out. Beside the refrigerator was some kind of chip. Okay, I could do this. I started searching his kitchen for a skillet. He had two….that was it. “What do you mean you’re gonna’ make me somethin’ to eat? Don’t get me wrong, I think that’s really sweet. Do you even know how to cook anything?” he asked me.

 “I do.” He put his record on and sat back onto the couch with his beer. He didn’t have any cooking utensils but I did manage to find a fork. This wouldn’t take me very long. Roger laid down on his couch, his head propped up on the arm near the table, still workin’ on his cigarette and his beer. It was only now that the hamburger I threw in the skillet began to sizzle. I began to break it up with a fork.

 “Lydia…you’re so sweet…just so sweet. I’m feelin’…like…like I feel like talkin’ to you. I feel like…nothin’ could ever possibly go wrong…ever!” Roger’s statement was funny to me but the hand motions he had put with it were even funnier. Not only because it sounded like him but also I could tell he was buzzin’ now. “Hey would you bring me another beer?” I sure as hell wasn’t gonna’ tell him no even though I had no idea how he finished it that quickly. As the meat continued to cook, I took him another after taking the last drink of my own. I pitched the empty bottle in the garbage can that was under the sink in a cabinet. The ashtray in the kitchen also needed emptying. I didn’t have much of my cigarette left, but took it with me as I took another beer to Roger.