Who: Zeus and Heracles What: Surviving When: Current Where: MacArthur Park Warnings: Language, references to drug use/abuse
MacArthur Park had gone through a revitalization in the past few years but while the crime had gone down it hadn't gone away. Zeus sat on a bench with a cup of hot coffee in his shaky hands feeling like shit. Coffee might work for a hangover but it didn't work on the start of heroin withdrawal. So far it was just the hand trembles and mild stomach cramps but it would get a lot worse soon if he didn't get another fix soon.
Zeus stared absently over the rippling water of the large pond that comprised the southern part of the park. There used to be more bums in the area but most had been scared away. Zeus stuck out like a sore thumb now but he was in a secluded spot where people wouldn't complain about him and have the cops make him leave his bench while he finished his coffee.
How far had he fallen? How far did he have left to fall? Was this rock bottom or was there more left to go? He looked down at his hands which were now shaking enough that it made it hard to hold the paper cup of coffee and he was feeling cold even as it got hotter in the park. Not good. The God of Gods was about to be made laid low by the lack of heroin. He couldn't die but the side effects of the withdrawal would be very painful. The memories that would rush back would be far worse. That thought more than the symptoms stirred him to move.
Rising on creaking knees, Zeus tossed his half finished cup of coffee cursing that he'd wasted precious money on it. He shuffled out of his secluded spot heading across the park toward more familiar haunts and another fix.