He says he has three days clean. His eyes are rolling around in desperation; they look like they’re gonna bust out of their sockets. His entire body is tight but his jaw is tightest. He’s grinding his teeth, grimacing, jerking and twitching, and I’m not so sure he’s being honest about those three days.
He identifies, still, as a runner, and you can’t take his LA Marathon from him. He really did run it.
If he can put the pipe away again, maybe we’ll do a few miles through Griffith Park one of these days soon.
Sunday I was out in Duarte, running 13 miles on top of and around the Santa Fe dam. Much better place to be than down in Hollywood sucking on a crack pipe.