Stories and substance abuse

Little birds, come fly with me.

Another night of heavenly sleep. She sat there, smoking in the window just like I had done moments before. A mirror of some sort, a retro perspective of everything. She told me about her father, how they used to be close but that all went out the window when she started doing coke. Fathers seem to have a problem with their daughters once they start experimenting, don't they? In the beginning of the story she was a little kid, when I feel a sleep she was somewhere around her fifteenth birthday. I can't remember much about it. I need another hit, another story and another night of dead still sleep. I need her again.