After a weeklong bender (whomever is in Silas' apartment)
Dorian pulled the clock resting on the bedside table closer, as his still slightly alcohol-clouded eyes could not make out the numbers. It was two o’clock. Possibly in the afternoon.
“What day is it?”
The young man lying next to him mumbled into his pillow. “I don’t know. Friday?”
“Shit!” Leaping clumsily from under the sheets, he quickly began to get dressed, checking to make sure Silas’…weird thingamajig was still in his jacket pocket.
“You! You…whatever your name is…”
The young man glared over his shoulder indignantly. “David!”
“David. Clean this place up before housekeeping gets here. Put all the drugs back in my shoes. The brown ones, not the Prada ones. Don’t touch those.”
“But there’s no drugs left.”
“All the better. Stay here. I need to go do something.”
--
Thirty minutes and a death-defying taxi ride later, Dorian finds himself rapping upon Silas’ door while preening his newly dyed black hair and popping an Altoid into his mouth to mask the alcohol/opium smell (I have no idea how he does this all simultaneously; perhaps he has three arms).
“Silas? Are you in there? C’est moi, Dorian. I look a bit different, but it’s me.”
He hoped to God that weird chick didn't answer. But he would deal with her if she did.
“What day is it?”
The young man lying next to him mumbled into his pillow. “I don’t know. Friday?”
“Shit!” Leaping clumsily from under the sheets, he quickly began to get dressed, checking to make sure Silas’…weird thingamajig was still in his jacket pocket.
“You! You…whatever your name is…”
The young man glared over his shoulder indignantly. “David!”
“David. Clean this place up before housekeeping gets here. Put all the drugs back in my shoes. The brown ones, not the Prada ones. Don’t touch those.”
“But there’s no drugs left.”
“All the better. Stay here. I need to go do something.”
--
Thirty minutes and a death-defying taxi ride later, Dorian finds himself rapping upon Silas’ door while preening his newly dyed black hair and popping an Altoid into his mouth to mask the alcohol/opium smell (I have no idea how he does this all simultaneously; perhaps he has three arms).
“Silas? Are you in there? C’est moi, Dorian. I look a bit different, but it’s me.”
He hoped to God that weird chick didn't answer. But he would deal with her if she did.