Thursday, June 11, 2015

pastel and poison part two

Everybody’s got their poison, me included. I think mine’s pretty benign, but then I would. Wouldn’t I?

My partner, for instance, he’s addicted to tight spots. (That’s not an innuendo.) Maybe Slick’s just addicted to bad judgment or shitty people. I don’t know. He can pull a swag deal out of thin orange mist, though. Next fucking step, second fucking breath and he’s brought in the shakiest pill-jockey or most obvious quick-turn Tim within sight.

He’s been hounding potential and drowning it in bad ideas since we were kids. I just keep pulling him outta grates and catching the shake. We’ve been together since the orphanarium.

Anyway, so here’s how last night shook loose:

Showed up early to the Rusty Bucket. Chatted up a too-healthy Sally. She looked a little on the South End. More importantly: she had a sparkle in her eyes and smile on her lips I just couldn’t quit. She was slinging precut pharm-cards like tomorrow wouldn’t slide on through.

Then Slick Natural clanged on through the door, and trouble followed. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I always am.

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