House of Sighs
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“You want me to get you more stuff?”
“What?”
“You know, stuff.” That’s what he called the powder in the white vials. Phencyclidine, ‘angel dust’, PCP. Jed bought it and cut it with ether. He would roll himself a joint, slice fifty-twenty hash and tobacco, and dip it in the solution. Jed called it ‘getting wet’. PCP numbed the senses, punctuated with fireworks of high-energy bouts. Some users, but not all, turned violent whilst high on the drug. Liz had read about it.
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