Sick Boy's always been lacking in moral fiber.

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• No way would I poison my body with that shite, all they fucking chemicals, no fucking way!
• You can't sit around all day with your heroin and listening to Ziggy Pop.
• Daddy!! You are not respecting my boundaries.
• Feel better now?
• I don't feel the sickness yet, but it's in the mail, that's for sure. I'm in the junky limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep, too tired to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way.
• I dream of massive, pristine convenience. Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of Chanel No. 5, and a flunky handing me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I'll settle for anywhere.