Gerd looked up from the rotten mattress, his eyes ratlike and wild. “Well?”
I shook my head. “Not until tomorrow.”
“Goddamnit. I told you we should’ve–”
“Should’ve what? Not smoked everything? As I recall, you were the one with the pipe in your mouth.”
He looked ready to fight, but then the rage drained out him. He slumped against the wall, beaten.
“Jesus, Gerd. You’re not crying, are you? We’ll get more. Just not today.”
“That’s not it,” he sobbed. “I just can’t do this anymore.” He raised his head, eyes shining. “This is not living. This is not life.”