His mind seems to be wandering; he’s first mentioning the cocaine he did yesterday, then a fight he got into in the first grade, ranting about his roommate. His mind racing, bouncing from thought to thought, it’s like someone’s pressed a button and he’s living in fast-forward.

He stares intently at a photograph hanging on the wall. He stands up, wobbly at first, but then regains his balance. He walked across the room and stares at the photograph of three men. He points to a young kid – “me” – he runs his finger to the next kid, his brother.

“[He] was my brother. He don’t want much to do with me now. He’s got a daughter, pretty, blonde thing. Hates me.” Jake looks sad, but then his mood shifts and he spouts out colorful insults aimed at the picture and then slams his fist into the wall next to the photograph.

He quickly hustles himself back to the chair, rocks back and forth quickly and seems to be thinking. “You should leave,” he says.

Days later Jake heads to pick up Elizabeth. She is short and curvy. Her face is bony and her hair is long and messy. She is stumbling out of an apartment off of Muldoon and she struggles to make it down the staircase.

The young woman spots Jake is his 1994 Chevy extended cab. She hops in the back seat and is shaking her head. She begins to sob and hit her hand on the window.

“Calm down Liz,” Jake says and puts his hand on her shoulder and rubs. She grabs his hand and violently throws it off of her, but it doesn’t faze him. “Liz, it’s okay. It will all be okay.” She is shaking now and puts her head in her lap. “Pull over!” She shrieks and Jake jumps.

The car hasn’t even stopped moving and Elizabeth is opening the door and vomiting. When she is done she wipes her mouth on her black Alaska Grown sweatshirt, and for the moment seems okay.

“I gotta get some,” Elizabeth smiles and tells Jake.

Jake responds proudly, “No. I don’t want it.”

She responds “Then why the [expletive] did you pick me up?” She is shaking again.

“Because you asked me to, calm down.”

“All I have is blow,” he takes out a small bag and hands her the latest Sports Illustrated. She cuts a line and snorts it off of the magazine, takes a breath and all of her anger seems gone.

KTVA asked Jake why he didn’t want to get bath salts and he began to sob. He put his face into his rough hands and replied “I can’t. I can’t. I have to stop. I hate who I am. I hate it. You will never understand. Do you know how old I am? Do you? Because the other day my co-worker asked me how old I am and I didn’t [expletive] know. My brain is [expletive] shot. It’s [expletive] shot. I had to look at my [expletive] ID. Do you want to know what is more [expletive] up?” He takes a minute and takes a deep breath. “Do you know what she was doing in that apartment? She had been on bath salts for hours. She will never graduate high school; she will never go to school. Do you know how she gets drugs? Do you? She trades. She trades herself for bath salts. And if I was her father I would shoot me because I am just as bad. I supply her so she doesn’t [expletive] for bath salts.”