It’s time.


It’s time to show my hand. It would have been prudent for me to look at the cards before I made my bets, but prudency robs the moment of its excitement. That last drop of excitement I can wring from this last moment.

Addiction: A maladaptive habit or repeated sequence of actions against which an organism’s own defensive mechanisms are totally powerless due a flaw in their own design.

This isn’t addiction. It would be addiction if I was every really in danger.

I’m hanging by fingertips above a highway. My heart doesn’t so much as flutter. It isn’t despair billowing through my mind- in fact, I’ve never felt clearer. All I feel now is a certain idle curiosity.

Royal Flush. I’ve won four million dollars. I throw most of the chips away in rage and cash enough for a hotel and lots of liquor.

You build up resistance to things. At first I thought I was just building up a tolerance for adrenaline, but before long I realized it was something different. I was building up a tolerance to potentially harmful events. Somehow my own biochemistry was sealing me off mathematically.

I let go of the edge and drift downward for what seems like hours. I feel the breeze from the cars below; I feel a semi slide lazily past one trowser leg. I’m perfectly safe. Cars swerve, shrieking madly. I land softly on my feet as a Jaguar skids to a halt less than a foot from me. I’m not bruised. I’m in perfect working order, and I walk with perfect calm to the drivers’ side to politely ask for the car. The young driver, a beautiful teenage blonde, is still in shock and hands me the keys before she can recoup enough brain cells to realize what she’s doing. I don’t thank her. I just push the gas pedal as far as it will go.


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