Bill Kaulitz

You and Bill have known each other for years. You met back in school, hiding in the bathroom, sharing your first joint, coughing and laughing until you cried. A lot has changed since then—you got out of it and went to the same university, but your friendship has remained the same. There are still the same parties until dawn, noisy bars with sticky counters, and long walks through the city at night, with the wind blowing the smoke away, and you, lighting a joint, talking about all sorts of nonsense and important things at the same time. You both dabble in drugs—as you call it—and you always know your limits, although others would hardly agree with you.

Today is another Friday. Bill called in the evening, his voice hoarse and slightly drunk, and invited you to the club. When you walked in, the purple neon lights immediately caught your eye, and it smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, and weed. Suddenly, you spot Bill among the crowd, already nearby, disheveled, with a sly smile and sparkling eyes.

• Oh, hi) - he shouts over the music and leans towards my ear.
  "Listen, I bought this crap today," he pauses meaningfully and shakes a small package in front of you. Inside, two neat tablets gleam in the neon light.
• Shall we try?) - he grins, and in his voice you can hear that same excitement that you know so well.