[ WP ] Poor people are able to pawn off their memories .

I was on my last one. Well, not my REAL last memory; just the last one that was worth anything. No one wants to remember their first trip or how they got addicted. People would pay to get rid of the memories I had. No, just one valuable memory left. The most valuable, in fact. It was the memory of my parents. 
 I walked down the street paved with rain and the tears of those just like me. I had never even considered of getting rid of the memory of my parents, but my finances had dwindled to nothing and reflected all I had. I walked, head down in shame at the duty to be performed, until I saw the lights of a store come back from the water below me. I knew where I was. 
 I had been there several times before. Once to sell the memories of the love of my life who left me alone in this world. Again to sell the memory of my best friend before he hung himself. I hold sold everything, good and bad, for another fix. All that remained was loss. 
 Before I could open the door, a man with a bandage upon his head drunkenly made his way out of the local Memory Pawn And Trade. He held in his hand what must have been $ 100 and did not bother to pocket it. I watched the sloth of a man make his way down the street past me and to a figure standing with an umbrella. There was a quick exchange to hide their misdeeds, but I knew what they had done. They did exactly what I would be doing on my release from the self-proclaimed `` Memory Hospital.'' 
 Through the door I went to sell what was left of my mind before I would have to sell my body too. A chime reverberated on my entrance and I got a soft greeting from the devil behind the counter. 
 `` Hey, Tommy! What'd ya come to sell Harry today?'' Harry announced with a greedy smile on his face and rub of his hands. 
 `` The last one.'' I replied with my head still down in disgust at myself. 
 `` Are you sure?'' Harry lyingly worried. 
 `` I'm positive.'' I assured. 
 I knew Harry did n't care about me. He did n't care about any of the dirt bags that left his shop to get another fix. He only worried about where he would put the cash after he sold their memories so no cops would find it. 
 `` Well, you know where to go.'' 
 Harry continued on his work at the counter, making sure that he was n't jipped out of even a penny. I made my way to the backroom, mentally saying goodbye to my parents. All that would remain afterwards is how they died in the fire that took my home and my happiness. 
 In the middle of the backroom sat a dentistry chair with a fluorescent bulb hanging by a string above it. Harry would never let people see the Brain Drain for fear of people trying to recreate it and cut out the middle man. I sat down and waited for my memory's executioner. 
 `` Alrighty, just had to sort the register.'' Harry entered with a thirsty grin on his face. 
 `` Are you positive about this?'' Harry inquired one last time with his fake concern. 
 `` Just do it.'' I replied while I closed my eyes. 
 I felt a sharp stab of pain through my temple as the memory device did its work. It sucked every joyful moment I had had with my parents for the 9 years I had them out of my head. Nothing remained in less than a minute. 
 After bandaging my head, Harry let me out on the street with my $ 100. Although I could n't hardly walk a straight line, I managed to make it down the street to my dealer, who was waiting in the rain. As I walked, I did notice one thing: a man with a hoodie on briefly made eye contact. I rubbed it off and kept on to my fix. 
 The trade of hands took no time. After so many hits, my dealer and I could do an exchange in front of a cop and not be noticed. I finally had my fix. The bottle say in my hand, colorfully designed like a fourth grader with crayons would do it. It read: `` Poison.'' 

