Cracking Under the Weight

I can't help but assume things when I glance to my left in German class and there sits a very white, eager, shaven-head man. Whose jeans are too tight.
I wish I didn't make these kinds of assumptions.
But I do.
Every day.
And it kills me a little.
Every day.

I've run out of cocaine. Fully and completely. The mirrored tin in which I hoard my razor, pen, bills, spoon, maxed-out credit cards, dreams and a picture of a former dealer and I is now so naked. So dirty and naked.
This kills me.
I don't even have a source in this blasted city anymore.
This also kills me.
And I if I had a connection I couldn't even afford another gram without pawning or hooking (the later of which I've never done. I think.)
This too kills me.

So I sit sober in my German classes and make horridly unjust assumptions.
Without coke, it kills me even more.