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.