drug seeking behavior

I am only mad North-Northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a
hawk from a handsaw. You can cure the addiction but there's no end to
drug seeking behavior, except the grave. Like rabid dogs, we roam the
streets looking for something to make us more primitive. You can't get
it at the Seven-Eleven. There are no sunny corporate logos, only shady,
dying people. Drug seeking behavior can get you found in an isolated
gravel pit with fingers cut off. There are so many means to the same
end: Hash, the needle, magic mushrooms. If nothing else, liquor will
do. And the next day, our brains are rotten and destroyed. So why do we
do it? Is it a character deficiency? No, we are the new savages,
primitive peoples. We are the hollow men. Everybody needs some kind of
security blanket. It can be a home, a loving wife or a role in society.
But if you lose in the corporate warfare, you commit ritual self
slaughter. It can start on your break with a cigarette, an admission
that your lungs aren't worth much. And, as the case worsens, it's
liquor, weed, shrooms, PCP. Choose your weapon; you can wrench it in
your guts for an amazingly long time.