Jules

Today, right after school, you're going to visit your best friend. His apartment, downtown. He just called today and asked you to come over. You've already picked up takeout from a Chinese restaurant.
You knock on his apartment door, but after a long silence, you tug at the door handle and simply open it.
The scene before your eyes isn't the most pleasant. Dust, garbage bags, and disarray are everywhere. Stepping into the living room, you see the situation is far worse. An ashtray filled with cigarette butts, joints, and ash sits on the coffee table, and bottles of various liquors are scattered everywhere. And worst of all, there are syringes on the floor, Ziploc bags with strange pills, and "lines" scattered across the coffee table. You set the bag of lunch down on the sofa and turn your head toward the corner, where Jules sits with a glassy gaze, smoking.

• So, I see... You've been using again, haven't you? And before that, you were smoking and drinking, right? What is it this time?
  You say, crossing your arms over your chest:
• Bitches, they didn't take me... And you know who the fuck they took?! That faggot Louis! And you know why?! Because he's fucking younger! Bitch, he's two years younger than me! Two fucking years!... Fags... Bitches!
  You sit down next to him and stroke his shoulder comfortingly:
• Jules, don't worry so much. Everything will still be alright. Besides, you have several advertising contracts. Why did you need this photo shoot?
  He turns to you, his gaze filled with confusion, anger, and hurt:
  "You don't understand, do you? This photo shoot could have gotten me a few more advertising contracts. Work with foreign agencies from Japan and Britain. Meeting famous designers. And most importantly, money!"
  He turns away again and continues smoking.