Personal Track Record.

"Well, i just don't think that your perspective enters in here. I mean, yeah, with other shit maybe. Your experience defines your perspective, but until you try this then you have no idea the whole spectrum of human limits when it comes to pleasure, so your perspective in this matter is one of a child marveling at adult activity. Fuckin...ants looking at cathedrals"
She watched him cough and smiled meekly. His beard negligent, inactively bread. His clothes mismatched and unsized, afterthoughts. She had known him only for a few months, but now couldn't remember how she lived before his presence. He made a lot of sense.
"Yeah...i can get what you're saying. But I would feel weird about anything that would so expand my spectrum that my past experience with pleasure would be regulated to small blips...on you know...like my emotional radar."
It couldn't be called a house really, more of a cabin. Not something long term. The room in which they sat screamed for temporary residence, small problems that would only fuck with a persons head if they had more then a week to put up with them. The couch spread out, artificially converting the open plan into a living room and a kitchen. Upstairs was cold and uninhabitable due to a shitty roof with shitty insolation. A half bath and a bedroom were found through a door to the left of the couch. She hadn't left in days.
"yeah, thats the problem. It can separate your life into very definite before and after. But you keep your memories... I mean yes, you will know its out there, for you to feel this way, but like...(cough) its going to be just as warm and fuzzy when you think back at a great snowman you built when you were twelve...Cigarette?"
"yeah, sure."
He grabbed two out of his pack and fallowed with a lighter. How long had she been here? A few days maybe. She counted the pizza boxes as she dragged on her cigarette. At least two days, four maybe, he didn't eat. She had met him at a sports bar near here. They had done coke in a bathroom and came back to his place after the bar closed. She hadn't done this before. He interested her. Not attractive, they had kissed in a platonic sort of way but nothing else. It wasn't like that. She had heard junkies weren't after it anyway. Now months later, she came by almost every day. Talked shit, smoked weed, watched the track marks on his arms grow like a rash. He hid them at first, but now they were worn like badges of honer.
"If you ever want to try it, just make sure you do it safe, cause if you get even the smallest bit of air in there it can seriously fuck up your heart. But anyway, your probably tired of me talking about it."
He smiled and she glowed. In some kind of love, they made each other happy. It was easy, no effort just smooth and natural. Nothing to fight about, kung fu movies at night, then he would stick a fix in his arm, she would nuzzle up to his chest and fall asleep to the slowing beat of his heart. She wanted to know what he was talking about.