Opening

The woman slid her nose along the slab, holding on tight with shaky fingers. Her free hand held a rolled-up hundred dollar bill to her left nostril. Then came a second line to the right one. “Fuck, that was good,” she said as she threw her head back. Her hair flew through the air as though she were Pamela Anderson in Baywatch. She scrubbed a powdered spot off her jacket—it was premium leather, sewed up and buttoned to perfection—and let the feeling take her over. She passed the slab off to the man on her right, and he swiped it all too greedily. He took off his cowboy hat before doing a line of his own, and handed it over to the next in the rotation. Time slowed. Tick.