I hate it when a caffeine rush passes. You feel your mind working less fast, the downpour of ideas stops; your muscles don’t respond to your every command immediately and effortlessly. The multitude of paths that lay before you just instants ago now seems uninviting; you want to sit for a while, idle and lethargic, feeling empty and meaningless. You can only think about the next time you’ll be surfing that wave of energy, possibility and might that the bitter black drink pumps through your veins, and cannot but wish to somehow render it eternal. At that moment, you rest your eyes on the white wall across you, feel a subtle tinge transform into an overwhelming realization; you brush your teeth, strap some shoes on, and leave the house to go score some cocaine.