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these days. The yo-yo of alcohol and cocaine during my waking hours and pills to sleep is messing hard with my constitution. But I'm functioning. I'm killing it every night on stage.
    We're in Amsterdam now. Yup, that's right—the land of hash bars and the Red Light District. It's like Christmas. I've talked the guys into taking a field trip. They were surprised because I haven't gone out with them the entire time we've been in Europe. Clare's pissed at me because I didn't invite her. Whatever. Just because I've been, for the most part , sleeping with her exclusively doesn't mean I'm going to take her out. We're not in a relationship. We have an arrangement. Two totally different situations.
    After walking along the canals and feeding the pigeons in Dam Square, we eat an early dinner to get in out of the cold. Everyone we come across is so friendly and most of them speak English, which surprises me for some reason. After dinner we venture out in search of all things uniquely Amsterdam. When we step inside the first "coffee shop" we come across, it takes no coaxing to entice Franco, Jamie, and Robbie to join me, even though they rarely partake in pot.  
    Thirty minutes later we're all stoned off our asses, reminiscing about how our band got together and how god awful our first few shows were. I haven't laughed in a long time, and it feels good. I'm relaxed, just living in the moment. It's exactly what I needed.
    Hours pass before we leave and move on to the Red Light District. We're all blissfully stoned as we pass by and watch window peep show after window peep show. I can't talk the guys into going into an actual brothel, so we settle on a live sex show. It's real-live porn, just a guy and chick going at it. It shouldn't be funny, except that for some reason it is. It's funny as hell. And none of us can watch with a straight face. We're all laughing like we're thirteen years old and have never seen boobs or a dick before.  
    We got kicked out before the show even climaxed. Dammit.
    It's around midnight when we get back to the bus. Everything is quiet. We're still laughing about the sex show when Clare steps out from her room. We must have woken her up. She looks fucking murderous when she slides the bedroom door open and scowls at us. "I'm trying to get some sleep." Up north she's wearing a paper-thin tank top and down south she's wearing a thong. She's oblivious to the fact that four sets of eyes are on her.
    "Somebody's in a bad mood." I laugh, because even she can't ruin my mood tonight.
    She narrows her eyes at me, then exhales bitterly. "So, how was the hash, anyway?"
    I smile. "Fucking. Excellent." This is the first time I've smiled at her.
    She notices. Suddenly her anger seems to have disappeared, and her lips curl into a smile. It's her seductive smile. It's the only one she ever wears. It's basically safe to say that her smile is a proposition. "Excellent," she purrs as she takes a handful of my T-shirt and pulls me into her room.
    She slides the door shut behind me and just like that she's on her game. "Did you fuck anyone?"
    I laugh. "Excuse me?"
    She's direct as she pulls my T-shirt over my head. "I said, did you fuck anyone? Prostitutes?"
    I'm a little slow on the uptake. "Oh, no. We watched, does that count?"
    Her smile returns and her dark eyes look possessive. "Good. You ready to have some fun?"
    Fun always includes drugs and sex. "Hell yes."
    She begins digging through her side table drawer and pulls out a plastic baggy filled with several different colored pills. She sifts through them and pulls out two identical capsules. She pops one in her mouth before handing me the other.  
    "What is this?" I usually never ask her anymore.
    "Does it matter?" She playfully challenges.
    "Probably not," I answer, because it really doesn't matter.
    She's removed her tank top and steps out of her thong. She's unbuttoning my jeans when she says, "That pill is going to make what's about to happen in this bed the most