There are no old drug addicts. That's what everyone says, at least.
So how did Chuck get to his forty-third birthday and find himself
still neck-deep in this scene? He knows he's the creepy old guy
with the drugs or the guy who's too old to be at the party doing
everyone else's drugs, but if it ain't broke ...Well, he manages to
make it to work at the dwarf whale distributor every day. He may
hate that his dearly seedy San Francisco has become overrun with
Starbucks, startups, and Lululemon moms, but he makes do every
month for the rent-controlled apartment he shares with roommates he
never sees. It's not perfect, but it's livable. In the end, though,
every addict has that one special vice that can tip them from
relatively functional to completely unhinged. For Chuck, it's a new
drug that doesn't even have a name yet; it's just a smokable,
everlasting gobstopper of mellow high. But when chunks of time
begin to disappear and rearrange themselves , he wonders if this
really is just another life-ruining drug or if it's something
straight out of a Philip K. Dick universe. Word on the street is
that this
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