the ones who still get to have fun
still, in their twenties, ingest Substances nightly and use party as a verb and put their sound-systems’ speakers in their apartments’ windows facing out and crank the volume out of sheer high-spirit obnoxiousness because they still have their girlfriends to pound beers with and do shotguns of dope into the mouth of and do lines of Bing off various parts of the naked body of, and still find pounding beers and doing bongs and lines fun and get to have fun on a nightly after-work basis
Context
The life Green has been exiled from, catalogued as he walks the Depressed-Residential blocks: the hard-partying twenty-somethings who still ingest nightly, still find it fun, still get to have fun — the emphasis falling on still, on the not-yet-arrived bill. The scene sets the recovering addict's grief-for-a-dead-pleasure directly against the crowd for whom the pleasure hasn't died yet, the two states separated only by time and the reader's knowledge of where the second one goes.