I have a caffeine addiction. A cola addiction, to be exact. It started when I worked at one of the three neighbourhood pizza places in high school. I worked the graveyard shift, closing at two in the morning. Unlike our competition, Tony's (owned by Doug) didn't deliver and had no seating, so as you can imagine it was dead after 11 p.m. I spent a good deal of time sitting on a milk crate out back drinking my free watered-down fountain beverage. I wasn't allowed to use the cups, so I brought in my own mug and washed it at the beginning of each shift. I bent the exhaust fan so the smell of greasy dough would blow away from my spot. The back of the store looked out over the dimly lit town hall parking lot. It was always empty, except for the odd rocking car or urinating drunk. Greg and Lisa dropped by fairly regularly. One of them, I'm not sure who, dared me to steal a municipal parking sign. I never got it down, although I bent it pretty good. I also cut my wrist up pretty good. I still have a scar. There were more than a few summer nights that we got high and took turns flying a kite. We still get together for New Year's. I quit Tony's when I went to college, and I'm in a perpetual state of quitting caffeine.