Lane couldn’t hate anything more than he hated cheap cocaine. Every morning started with 3 cups of black coffee, and on the occasional line of cocaine on the worst of mondays. Lane tried to stay away from the stuff on most occasions, but lately, he was finding himself growing closer and closer to the drug. The previous day he had bought some coke for what he thought was a great deal, and obviously, the deal had been too good to be true. The cut was not up to Lane’s taste, but that was besides the point. He made it a goal to try to get off the stuff for good, but he knew that might be too ambitious for him to tackle alone.
Lane lived on one of the top floors of Dreamwood Terrace, in a somewhat extravagant and well furnished apartment. Dreamwood Terrace was not the fanciest place to live in town, but some of the upper floors were well above standards for apartments. Lane had come into a little wealth over the last decade through his construction company, Masterson Construction, Inc. He started it, well, ten years ago after being exhausted from working countless for his boss without gaining the success and income he desired. With the connections and proper entrepreneurship skills, Lane started his own local construction company, quickly gaining contacts, clients, and attention. Over the past ten years, Lane slowly drifted from a calloused and crafty construction worker to a man living a life of extravagance and comfort. He was the head of operations, never showing up to a job site in his old Carhartt work gear but instead in one of his many suits he purchased from Brooks Brothers (with a hard hat for safety of course).
Through his life of extravagance and wealth, Lane found himself spending large amounts of time at bars, clubs, fancy restaurants, and any other old place that he could get a kick out of. See that was his thing these days….. He was never bored when he was still a functioning construction worker, but an easy life filled with sitting around (not to mention tons of money) made him feel bored, used up, and useless. It wasn’t until last year that he began his now re-occurring cocaine problem. One night, Lane went out of town with a client (Clark Thompson - wealthy business owner as well) to a really nice club for a fun night out. Lane’s company had just finished constructing a new office building for Mr. Thompson, so they decided to celebrate. Before hitting the club, Mr. Thompson removed a small but intriguing bag from a small pocket near the back of his suit. Lane, already influenced by the effects of alcohol, decided that one hit of Mr. Thompson’s cocaine wouldn’t do any harm. Cocaine had been the kick he spent days searching for, the spark missing from his life that he once had.Lane, sipping his black coffee (and hating the taste but liking the effects), decided to call his new girlfriend Chelsea to see if she wanted to get lunch. As he reached for his phone, the thing started buzzing, surprising him. The caller was actually Chelsea, so excitedly, Lane picked up. Once the conversation was over (and a lunch date was put in place), he chugged his coffee and ran to his bedroom to get dressed. With disappointment, he couldn’t wear any of his button ups because none of them had been starched. Reaching for a T-shirt from one of his drawers, he saw it lying there, the little white bag that would put the kick back his day. He reached for the bag with his no longer calloused hands, but stopped himself. Not today Lane said. Not today. Chelsea was slowly changing him, and maybe, hopefully, becoming the spark in his life. Lane stepped out the door of the lobby of Dreamwood Terrace, taking in the air outside. There really wasn't much to take in however. The air was damp and cold, and fog (Lane loved fog) was heavily present throughout the town. Lane was walking around, waiting for Chelsea to call him when she finished getting ready. They hadn't decided where to eat lunch yet, but that was no matter for him. He had all the time in the world.