Spoons
They never gave “H” a welcome home party, but it is back. Had to be with all of the suburban kids reaching into mommy’s medicine cabinet to get barred out on Xanax and, more lethally, high on Oxy. First you pop a couple, then a handful, then a heaping handful. Then you grind and snort, then you shoot and those little pills cost 5 bucks a piece when mommy’s supply runs out. Even suburban kids eventually need something cheaper. The romantics say cocaine is a mysterious lady, well horse is a really flexible young guy with a prostate destroying cock, it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but if that is something you’re into he will get you off like nothing else.
I don’t sell horse, since I moved into middle management but now I am stuck providing it for free to Jacob’s silly little cunt. He doesn’t want her turning tricks. I think it would be simple economics for her to use her best asset as leverage to get what she needs. Maybe she is doing it anyway, more power to her. Jacob is my boy and all, but it is a real drag having to keep a schedule 1 drug around to keep his girlfriend from blowing the neighborhood. It is tempting to mess with the purity and see if I can accidentally, on purpose, bring this to an end, the way all three of us know it is going to end anyway, but no, we have to play out the string.
After I set her up, I tell her she needs to get thee to a nunnery, or at least a methadone clinic, she pays me about as much mind as usual then goes on the nod. Earth to Orson, come in Orson. She is back and she needs a ride, of course. I have a nice ride, it isn’t a Ferrari or anything, but the Beemer befits my wealth and station. The junkie in the passenger’s side isn’t a bad accessory I must confess. The fact she doesn’t have to do anything really bad to feed the monkey (except for the once) have enabled her to keep her, admittedly amazing, looks. I press some money into the kids hand and tell her to eat something and not worry about her next fix.
As I am letting her out, some kind of Yosemite Sam motherfucker, short, facial hair, waving a gun comes walking up. Jacob would have shit his pants by now, but not Copperfield, not he who makes problems disappear. I am already moving. I don’t even hear what he is shouting “THUNDERATION!” probably, or quoting Robert E. Lee, or giving the Texas Tech score, I don’t give a shit. Too much adrenaline, I guess, cause I break his arm, disarming him. I could put the knife in his throat, but then I would never know who he is or who he works for.
I am just starting to think of what to do next when Lisa says to Foghorn, “Daddy”…I turn around, I will let Jacob deal with this one.
I don’t sell horse, since I moved into middle management but now I am stuck providing it for free to Jacob’s silly little cunt. He doesn’t want her turning tricks. I think it would be simple economics for her to use her best asset as leverage to get what she needs. Maybe she is doing it anyway, more power to her. Jacob is my boy and all, but it is a real drag having to keep a schedule 1 drug around to keep his girlfriend from blowing the neighborhood. It is tempting to mess with the purity and see if I can accidentally, on purpose, bring this to an end, the way all three of us know it is going to end anyway, but no, we have to play out the string.
After I set her up, I tell her she needs to get thee to a nunnery, or at least a methadone clinic, she pays me about as much mind as usual then goes on the nod. Earth to Orson, come in Orson. She is back and she needs a ride, of course. I have a nice ride, it isn’t a Ferrari or anything, but the Beemer befits my wealth and station. The junkie in the passenger’s side isn’t a bad accessory I must confess. The fact she doesn’t have to do anything really bad to feed the monkey (except for the once) have enabled her to keep her, admittedly amazing, looks. I press some money into the kids hand and tell her to eat something and not worry about her next fix.
As I am letting her out, some kind of Yosemite Sam motherfucker, short, facial hair, waving a gun comes walking up. Jacob would have shit his pants by now, but not Copperfield, not he who makes problems disappear. I am already moving. I don’t even hear what he is shouting “THUNDERATION!” probably, or quoting Robert E. Lee, or giving the Texas Tech score, I don’t give a shit. Too much adrenaline, I guess, cause I break his arm, disarming him. I could put the knife in his throat, but then I would never know who he is or who he works for.
I am just starting to think of what to do next when Lisa says to Foghorn, “Daddy”…I turn around, I will let Jacob deal with this one.