The lines Tristan snorted catapulted him over the edge of sanity. People stared when he howled at the moon and rammed his fingertips up his nostrils to get every last grain of cocaine he’d scraped from the white patterns left on the mirror. Fairly quickly, his mind became a black void of meaningless…
The young sous chef put down his book and pressed the remote for the oven. Soon, the head cook would arrive. Cutting the flour, he unconsciously emulated the star from the story tracing the same fat, strong lines for consumption.
“Pierre, what the hell are you doing?”
I Write Her 
Haha!
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🙂 Glad you liked it, Val!
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Hahaha, I can only imagine a good chef walking in to his kitchen watching a sous chef snorting lines of flour! Talk about sneezing fit.
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Yes, it would be a rather awkward sight! lol
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Ooooooo, a great piece Susi 👌
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Thank you, Bree! I do so love when they come together! 🙂
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Interesting story.
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Thanks, Sadje!
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You’re welcome
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Ha…
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“)
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