DAILY.

Kneeling before the sea, watching the jet skis whiz past, biting our lips in anger.

Schneider states, ‘They will kill the guy who dealt him the shit. They’ll slay him. Slay his very mother.’

‘D’you reckon?’ I reply, squinting in the sun.

‘What the hell. What the hell? What the hell!’ He goes through every possible clause emphasis, to indicate either his displeasure of my dispassion, or his overall apprehension.

I could say, I am sorry, Schneider. I could splash water at him or drag him overboard. We could laugh and swallow tiny reef creatures, but our hearts are so heavy we might drown, yet you won’t find us admitting fully to the sorrow.

The previous night, we ran an operation looking for Schneider and his small gang; all of whom are soft-core drug-abusers. Finally, they scotched my cell phone and we located them.

Benny and I dropped right by, to face a group of kids in their do-rags and baggies, hunkering on the curb, sobbing.

Benny eyes the scene as if he’s ready to drop dead, resuscitate himself as any regular guy who works at some godforsaken office telesaling transformers for Cambodian microwaves, and leave the site unaffected.

I am merely in a need of a good scream.

‘So,’ I kill some time, affecting a British accent. ‘You have all taken something, and now you are having a really bad trip. Splendid. Allow us to return home and feast on some shu-gah, baby!’

Benny kicks my ankle, and I nearly press the gas. ‘Dude,’ he hisses furiously. ‘These look like they would require some valium tranquilizers.’

‘I could hug them,’ I offer wearily.

Eddie, our quarterback who could be dared into dozens of steaks per guzzle, suddenly casts his threatening shadow against the tattered program van. ‘Yo, this ain’t no huggin’ and candyman situation. Somebody died tonight. So we are sad, and y’all jus’ let us be.’

I forfeit not. ‘Eddie, it’s important that you return with us. We could talk about it. Plus, you need to pack for Eilat.’

‘We ain’t going to no Eilat,’ says Schneider. When Schneider decides, so it shall be settled.

Benny’s inward groan is barely audible, but it conveys mine.

Yes, we did end up in Eilat, after a long drive during which we had to stop every 30 minutes or so to allow our kids to throw up and have their smoke break.

To watch a boy, retching matter-of-factly by tall cattails, illuminated by the early sun.

Duly spraying his toxic fluid on the good earth, flick a cigarette out, red against fiery sky, and exhale the image of his soul, dissipating in the cold.

You think that’s melodramatic? So do I. If your good friend dies of overdose, your father beat your mother to death and your bowels battle you daily – why not just entitle it drama, and leave the minutiae to grudges.

This is how I wallow in daily drama, this is why I would like to share it.

I am about to drown in it.