The Unknown: The Red Line.
  SCOTT: Skag. White Horse. Mexican Mud.… Guys, I can’t write about being addicted to heroin. I’ve never done it. Dammit, Dirk, of all the drugs to get me addicted to, you had to pick the only one I’ve never tried.

DIRK: You’re a fiction writer, Scott. I thought that was your thing. Dissociation of sensibility. Out of body experiences. In other shoes as it were.

SCOTT: But aren’t I supposed to write like about what I know?

DIRK: You’re a writer. You don’t do much at all. Your life is boring. Write about drugs.

SCOTT: But why heroin?

DIRK: Need I remind you of THE PUBLICITY?

SCOTT: What the fuck’s heroin got to do with publicity?

DIRK: It’s in now. Have you not heard the term ‘heroin chic?'

SCOTT: Isn’t that some kind of feminist reappropriation of patriarchical fairy tales?

DIRK: ? Look, if you’re really so concerned about verisimilitude, get yourself a few grams and a needle. I got some right here, matter of fact. You should do it. Vollman did it.

WILLIAM: Fucking Vollman.

SCOTT: I don’t know Dirk, I don’t know.

DIRK: LISTEN TO ME. You’re feeling very tired, very, very tired and… and now you’re feeling relaxed, very relaxed, so relaxed, you can feel the tension dissolving, it’s like oozing into a primordial bog, all becomes formless, shapeless… so relaxed… the whole world seems to be melting away.

SCOTT: Melting away

DIRK: Let me see your arm. Pass me that needle, William.


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