boryspavlikovsky



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    “I don’t have anything, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Theo says. “I’m clean.”
    “So am I. Remember how I said? Can stop anytime, no problem?” Boris raises his hands, palms towards Theo, fourteen years old again, free-handed on the BMX down the slope of Desert End Road, Look, Potter! No hands! “See? Clean. Boom, like that.”

    (Two years after Amsterdam Boris shows up on Theo’s doorstep in New York and he hasn’t had a hit in twenty-four hours.)

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    11 Apr 2026