Hedo Turkoglu sat on the edge of his bathtub, syringe in hand. “More ‘roids! I need more ‘roids!” he shouted, plunging the needle deep into an arm already marked with hundreds of needle-holes. “I will come back to the NBA stronger, better than ever!”
Jose, Hedo’s supplier, looked on sadly. “Hey man, you might wanna cool it with the ‘roids, you know? It takes a while for them to work.”
Approaching Jose menacingly, Hedo yelled, “You’ve been giving me a placebo, haven’t you? That’s why they’re not working!” He grabbed a handful of steroid-filled syringes off the bathroom counter and jabbed them haphazardly into his arm. Staring at his bicep muscle, waiting for it to enlarge, he slumped to the floor when it became apparent that there was no progress. “Why aren’t the ‘roids working, man? My arms are still as flabby as ever!” he wailed.
Barely disguising his contempt, Jose answered, “I told you, man. Steroids don’t work overnight, man. Why don’t we call it a break for today and we’ll keep injecting tomorrow.”
Weak with disappointment, Hedo said, “Just give me the rest of your supply and I’ll take it from there.”
“I don’t know, man, I got at least $500,000 worth of stuff in the car, you sure you wanna be spending that kind of money man?” Jose asked doubtfully.
Flying into another rage, Hedo yelled, “I don’t care! I need to make a comeback!” He flailed his arms like a child until Jose left to retrieve the illegal substances. Now, with his dealer gone, he picked up a used needle and reinserted it into his torso, hoping to get some unused ‘roids out of it.
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“Jose? Where are you?” he yelled after thirty minutes of lying on the floor, licking the used syringes. He could hear the sounds of a car driving away. “Jose! I need those ‘roids!”
Slowly, it dawned on Hedo that there would be no more ‘roiding that night. In the bloody, needle-covered expanse of the tiled bathroom floor, he cried. Not just for his weak muscles, but also for his ruined life.