Let your mind go, let yourself be free (pt4)
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~*~
“Fuck, look who’s deemed us worthy to visit, Crop” the guy in the baggy jeans and puke-green shirt sneers when Jared steps into the gloomy bar.
The walls are covered over and over in graffiti, mostly skate-themed pieces but some wildstyle words and a huge copy of the amazing script from a wall in San Francisco, done in complementary colors. It’s smaller than the original, stretching opposite the entrance so everyone who steps in is immediately hooked by its force. Jensen feels his breath hitch and he can’t take in anything beside this graffiti.
He never could.
“Aye, but look what he brought with ‘im.” The grin on the long, thin face of Cropper is infectious and true, and he slides out of his booth and over to Jensen and Jay. “Dude, welcome back along the living.” Crop slaps Jensen’s chest with the back of his hand, affection in his eyes when he looks up at him. “You look exactly like the last time we seen ya, only worse.”
Jensen ducks away and snips Cropper's cap from his head, astonished when it doesn’t reveal a mop full of locks. “Aww, thanks for caring so much about me, Crop. You, though, look awful as always, if it weren’t for the hair. Where did it go? You sell it to the boy-scouts so they can tie a rope with it?”
“He lost a bet, that boy.” comes the honey-sweet voice from the billard-tables, and when he looks over, a curvy, small girl with bright blue hair sashays across the floor. “He said Spock, McCoy and Kirk went camping in Star Trek IV, the idiot.” Jensen feels Jay flinch next to him. If they’ve learned one important thing in their lives, it’s that you never-ever doubt Blue Lou when it comes to anything Sci-Fi. She’s got a wicked memory for that crap.
“Baby, I only let you win” Crop coos but while she lets him kiss her temple, she rolls her eyes. As if anyone would believe Crop would ever part from his long brown curly hair voluntarily. Blue slinks over to them, rises on her tiptoes and slips her tongue into Jensen’s mouth.
It’s a good kiss, something he used to love. But he can feel Jay tense behind him and he knows that whatever there was between them is over. She didn’t even call him once, anyway.
A sad smirk plays on her lips when she parts from his mouth, maybe a little guilt but Jensen’s not really keen on analyzing that. She’s always been a strange girl, never let herself be pinned down. If she ever gets real with a man, it won’t be Jensen - and they both know it. Have known it for a long time, if they were honest.
“So, what brings you here?” Tom has stayed at his spot during the reunion, not leaving the bar against which he’s leaning, arms crossed over his thin chest. He’s got a cast on his arm and for a minute, Jensen fears he won’t be able to participate. Then he remembers that Tommy got his name - ‘Bones‘ - from skating in competition with a broken fibula.
He won.
“We want the crew back together.”
“Right,” Bones sneers “you’re out and suddenly we’re good enough again for Woody here”
“Dude…” Jared starts but Jensen interrupts him, stalks over to his friend and grabs his shirt.
“Listen up, Bonesey. Listen good. I was in prison for two years. You know how many people came visit?” Tom has the decency to look away, his blue eyes shameful “Right. Exactly one. So maybe you shouldn’t be asking if Woody is good enough for you. Maybe you should be asking how you are still good enough for us!”
He’s only whispered, but from the silence of the room, he gathers it wasn’t low enough. Before Bones can apologize, Jensen shoves away from him and swallows. He isn’t really pissed, never really thought anyone of their friends would come. Still… it’s only fair to say it out loud, he thinks and from the proud look he gets from Jared, Jay’s thinking the same.
“I really don’t want an apology, explanation, whatever. It’s ok, I never expected you to come. We’re not here for that, anyway. Where are the others?”
Blue speaks up, curled around Crop. “Ducky’s working. Her dad told her she either gets a job or he’ll cut her pocket-money. She’ll come by later, though. ‘round ten-ish,” It’s six-thirty. The bar just opened.
“Yeah, and Robin’s probably with his band. They’re getting real good.” Crop butts in. Jensen nearly asks about Spider but remembers that Matthew broke his neck when he fell off the bridge he was decorating. Jay told him, and he’d spent a silent tear in his cell later, remembering the fun he used to have with the wiry little guy. Matt 'Spider' Murphy had just turned twenty.
The whole bar seems to get what he’s not asking, the room full of sadness and loss. Jared clears his throat and walks over to the counter and Jensen rubs his hand over his face. Before anyone can say anything, a slim black woman steps in from the side-door, a wooden box with liquor in her arms, and interrupts the subdued atmosphere.
“Holy hell, Jack-my-boy.” she yells, drops the box on the shelf with a clang, grips his shirt and pulls him over to grab his face. “You’re looking too thin - didn’t they feed you inside?”
“Nope, Golds. They tried to starve the badness outta me.” Jensen grins and she kisses him on the forehead, like his mom used to do once upon a time. She’s still smiling when she shoves him back and snorts.
“There ain’t an inch of badness inside you, buddy. Not in any of you. Woody, come here right now! You’re not turning up here years later and not get a good hug from me. That ain’t my way and never was.”
Reluctantly, Jay steps over and around the counter and lets her have her ways. They both know it’s no way out anyway.
“You’re even thinner than Jack. WILLIE!” she yells and Jared winces from the volume. “Willie, get outta here and look at them Brothers, here. And go get them some food, pronto!”
Willie Hall steps out, grumbling about ‘freaking woman can’t make up her mind’ but smiles happily when he recognizes Jared and Jensen. The big man looks more like a bodyguard than a cook, but that’s what he is and a pretty decent one at that. Quickly, he disappears again and soon after the smells of fries and steak drift all through the room.
~*~*~*~
One by one, more folks arrive, filling Goldi’s with life, banter, talk and the faint smell of aerosol. It’s a well-known place for sprayers and skaters, the half-pipe in the back luring them in, the beer, liquor and cooking keeping them hooked.
Jensen and Jared sit with their friends in the big booth right next to the emergency-exit, shooting the shit and updating on their lives. It’s a rather short subject for Jensen - been in prison, got out - and Jay’s time without him seems to have been even more boring. Got a job, produce cheese in cans, boss is nice, co-workers boring but ok.
Alan Rubin, or Robin as they all call him, arrived last, still smelling faintly of sweat and smoke from the practice-session he attended. He’s a saxophone-player and Jensen has always envied him that. He loves saxophones, but he’s got no talent with it. He can string on a guitar a little but anything that requires a melody instead of accords is too much for him.
Ducky, who looks anything but duck-like, a sexy dark-skinned woman with a beautiful body and a wonderful way with colors on walls, smells less like an ashtray and more like coffee. Her father, a very strict and wealthy man, had forced her to get a job, she said, but at least she was allowed to choose it herself. So she’s a barista now and if Jensen would guess, she’s probably drinking more coffee herself than she sells. Her addiction is worse than his. Then again, with her looks she could probably woo a vegan to get a double-mocha-cappuccino with extra full-fat milk. A female vegan!
She’s been talking for the last fifteen minutes, but that’s ok. She’s fun, her voice is pleasant and Jared’s solid weight against his side makes it a nice, lazy evening.
Around ten, Bones takes a deep breath and finally asks the question that has been hanging over the group. “So… What d’ya want with us?”
Jay and Jensen share a look. In silent agreement, Jared tells them about Paint Wars, the winnings they might get and what they want to do with their part of the money. It’s only fair to let them know they’re in it for more than just the bucks so there won’t be surprises later when they get bitchy and competitive.
And they will, Jensen knows.
Donatella sighs when Jay’s finished, a sad frown on her face.
“Ducky?” Jensen asks, but he already knows what she’ll say.
“Man, I’d love nothing more than to take part. But… I wanna go to college. I really wanna go, even if it was Daddy’s idea and all. But I could study what I want, and … well…” she looks up at them with her big brown eyes and tries a smile “I’m really sorry, but I can’t. If they catch me…”
“Ducky, that’s bull-shit.” Blue snarls. “If they get us, you’re the one to fear the least consequences. Man, your dad is Marvin Dunn, nobody would charge you with a lot. He’ll get his lawyers -“
“No, he won’t, Blue. He said so last time I got caught racking for paint. He said if I ever get caught again doing shit like that, I’m on my own. And really… I don’t wanna risk that.”
Bones stares at her, a look of silent betrayal on his face. Much the same as Crop and Robin, but Jared’s got compassion in his eyes.
“It’s ok, Ducky. I wouldn’t risk something like that either. If I could go to college… “ he trails off and Jensen can only think about what he’d do - and not do - if he could somehow help Jay getting what he wants. He certainly wouldn’t risk Jay's future, so he nods at the girl.
“I don’t mind either. It’s just a question. If any of you don’t want to, just say so. It’ll be a bit riskier than what we did before; we’re going for visibility here, after all. So if you got any doubts - say it. Only, you can’t leave once you signed in. Or well, you could I suppose. But what I got in mind is for at least two teams, so … it’d be hard if you dropped out somewhere in the middle.” Everyone nods in understanding, and Jensen has to admit that he’s got a good feeling with this.
A very good feeling.
~*~*~*~
They get the crew together. Steve Cropper, Tom Malone, Louanna Marini and Alan Rubin. Not to mention, of course, Jared and Jensen. They all signed in that same evening, their real names and the names that’ll be seen on the roll-calls: Crop, Bones, Blue, Robin, Jack and Woody.
No, he’s got no idea why he’s called Jack. Goldi started calling him that long before he ever signed a piece and it kinda stuck. And nobody really knows why it’s ‘Woody’ for Jared, though there are guesses. Jensen knows it’s his fault, Jared wanted to call himself ‘Wookie’ but Jensen had misheard and the rest, as they say, is history. Or mystery. It’s fun to pull their legs and give ridiculous reasons for the name.
~*~*~*~
Next step in the plan is getting supplies. Jared is in charge for that, he’s got connections and he’s got ways to rack spray-cans from a bigger company without so much danger of getting caught. It’s gotten near-impossible to lift something from the smaller shops nowadays, with tight security and plexiglass covering the shelves.
While Jay is out, doing some planning with Bones and Crop for Monday and their big coup, Jensen is checking the places that Jared noted as possibilities. They need to be visible, big enough and extraordinary. On his way, he spots some more and notes them down. He’s also using the time to get some training. There wasn’t much chance to run up walls in prison, though he’s felt like doing that every other day. So whenever he finds a good spot for a well-crafted graffiti, he’s rewarding himself with a little run-and-jump. Up the wall, over the stairway, down the balcony and off across the bridge. After all, they have to know how they can escape if spotted, right?
It’s pretty easy to move around on a Sunday morning. Most people are home or in church and he’s got the streets pretty much to himself. He spots some awesome scaffolding on a high building and oh, yeah, they are definitely hitting this!
With a glance around, he crosses the street, lurks a bit under the scaffold and when there is no-one looking at him, he jumps on the first metal-bar and climbs up. As usual, the work-crew has only removed the first ladder, letting the others stay over the weekend and leaving him the luxury of getting at the higher levels without needing to jump and pull up. He could totally do that, but there is cement-dust all over and he’d rather not have his black suit covered in gray. On the sixth level, he stops and takes in the view. There is still work being done here, so if they’d spray on this level, their piece would only get scrubbed off when the workers come back the following day.
Without concession to the danger, he leans over the railing and turns, hitches his ass on the metal and pulls himself up so he’s standing. With a little leverage from the scaffolding’s bracket, he’s on the top in no time, crouching so as to not accidentally overbalance and fall down fifty feet. Jared would kill him if he did.
It’s perfect. They can work up here, don’t even need to reach high, do most of it lying down or crouching. There’s space and best thing about it? Nobody’s gonna look up here at night and the light from the street will be enough to cover up their torches’ shine against the dull gray concrete.
Jensen’s already in love with this place.
On the ground again, he backs away so he can see the empty space where their piece will end up, judging the angles he needs so it’ll be looking right even from way down.
Ha can’t wait for Monday night.
~*~*~*~
After the scaffolding, there isn't much that screams 'perfect' at Jensen the same way. Sure, there are possibilities, and a lot of them. But it's not the same and he knows that the high-rise will be their master-piece. Still, he needs more places for more art, and he knows that while Blue has less talent in spotting than he does, she's still pretty good. So he doesn't worry when he gets back to the closet-apartment that night, waiting for Jay to come back.
The bed is still lumpy but compared to prison, it's paradise on earth and despite the earthquake-rumbling from the passing trains, he's drifting off to sleep sooner than he wants.
~*~*~*~
His dreams are full of laughing boys, big trees and dull prison walls.
~*~*~*~
He wakes to voices from outside the paper-thin door and peaks his ears, but the two men arguing are already leaving, getting less audible. It must be morning already, the sun is filtering through the dirty windows, harsh and smoke-filled and gray. There is a warm body pressed next to his, arm thrown over his hip and a soft snore in his ear. He knows it's Jared, would know even if it wasn't their shared bed, shared apartment and shared life. Jensen knows Jay in a way he would never know anyone else, knows his scent when freshly showered or covered in sweat, knows his eyes even through the dark shades they wear and would find his figure among thousands that have the same height and build - if there were thousands like that.
He's known this kid since he was eight and Jared was four, has felt him through nights of terror and fear and misery, his own or Jay's, makes no difference. They have not only grown up together but grown into each other, a fucking symbiosis, one organism even though there are two hearts beating in it.
Some might call it love, some might call it sick. Some people would tell them it's weird, some say it's unhealthy but no-on would be able to forbid it - and even if they did, there wouldn't be any use. They are two-in-one, like a special offer at Target.
So it doesn't bother him at all to snuggle deeper into his friend, brother, home, his whole world. He likes the heat, the protection it offers to have this man behind him, knowing Jay'd kill or die to make sure he's safe. He knows that because it's the same for him, no hesitation. They would both jump in front of a train for the other, and it's weird that they don't think it weird at all. It's just the way they are.
“You awake, Jens?” A low murmur against his ear and Jensen smiles, knows that Jared can feel his grin in the way his body moves and tenses. “Cause if you are, I have to tell ya that you got dirt all over your pants and you have to get up to speak with that guy Whicker. In -” Jensen can feel him move his arm and he misses the warmth it lent to his body now that it's gone “- one hour. I would skip breakfast, if I were you.”
Jensen groans, annoyed. He planned to get up, have a nice, long, expensive breakfast with Jay and skip out on the bill before they'd go and talk with the crew, plan the coup Jay had figured out with Bones and Crop and sketch a bit with Blue Lou so they'd be all set when the countdown starts.
But there is really no way he's going back inside for something minor like not talking to the probation-officer. They all might sit in prison come next week, but at least it would be for doing what they love, not for not doing what he hates.
“Jensen?”
“Yeah, yeah. I'm goin'. Stop freakin' be so pushy.” He can feel Jared chuckle, a nice feeling that makes his body shake.
“Dude, don't be grumpy yet. Just grit your teeth, make notes, be … well, I wouldn't be able to say 'be pleasant' with a straight face, so just be less yourself and when you're back, we'll have the cans here and we're set to start. I got an idea already for a great piece, so if you're up for it, you can sketch it. You know I hate using those things.”
He's talking about pencils. For some strange reason, Jared hates pencils with a passion. He says it's because they only make things gray, and the world should be full of color. Still, he likes what Jensen sketches and never had problems knowing instinctively which color has to go into what element of the drawing.
Jared is weird sometimes.
~*~*~*~
Shower and shave, deodorant and a fresh pair of pants later - black, of course - Jensen is sitting in Thomas D. Whicker's office, trying not to wear his gritted teeth to little, useless stumps. He might need them for biting the man's fat, wobbly wart off his nose.
That disgusting image keeps him sane for another ten seconds before he has to concentrate again on the fucker's diminishing talks.
He's like those nuns, telling him what he can't do, what he isn't allowed to do, what he shouldn't even try. And he's so fucking close to do all those things, right now, in this office. Jensen has never considered peeing in public - or semi-public. But he's getting the urge to do it now, piss on the man's disgustingly clean desk and messing up his paperclip-collection.
~*~*~*~
After he's been talked down on enough to last a lifetime, Jensen has to lose some energy before he'll be put in prison for committing homicide. Jared told him not to call, so he's got no choice but run alone. His sneakers hit the pavement and he feels his heart beat again in his chest when he jogs along the sidewalk, just warming up for the real running.
Soon, he spots the perfect place, the big square in front of the city-hall. It's filled with skater-kids already, the snarrrr-snarrr-scritch of the wheels creating the perfect background for his exercise.
He starts with the stairs, up, one step at a time up, jumping five-at-once down, then vice-verse. Up, down, up, down, then off to including the railing, side-vault over and over and over, then up on it, standing and gliding downward.
Jensen can feel the tension ebbing off him, and soon he is jumping from one railing to the next in long steps that make it seem easy and effortless but could break his neck and legs and back in no time if he misjudges.
The trick is to not judge at all, to not think about what he's doing. Jay started this, like so much in their life. He was the first to see it on TV, the first to try it, the first to break his arm.
But he was also the first to master it, is still the best traceur Jensen actually knows.
Which isn't really impressive when you know that Jensen knows just about two - himself included.
But Jared is good, better than Jensen could ever be. His body is lean and freaking long, and where Jensen has to jump high, Jared just reaches and pulls himself up like it's no fucking deal. But it doesn't matter who's better. Jay says it's just because Jensen can't shut his brain off well enough, and that might be true but it's really not important. He doesn't mind being not as good as Jared. He's better at other stuff, after all, and the only competitions they get into with each other are of friendly nature, only for training's sake.
~*~*~*~
Running like this is hard. Jensen can feel his breath burning in his lungs about forty minutes after he started, but he pushes on for another thirty. It's always a tingling sense of accomplishment whenever he overcomes his own boundaries, not caring one fucking bit about how his thighs hurt and his chest heaves and his fingers are bloody from scratching on rough concrete.
He contemplates going into the apartment for a quick shower but freedom has made him wanting more: a locked door isn't enough, he craves a clean shower.
His jacket is sweat-soaked and his pants are dirty, dirtier even than the ones from yesterday. There is really only one place he can get clean clothes and a shower, so he heads off to Goldi's, hoping he's got time for a bit to bite as well.
~*~*~*~
Jensen's just finishing his bread-roll, wiping up the nice, runny, golden-orange yolk on his plate when Crop and Bones saunter in. They're grinning, and a huge weight that he didn't even realize drops from Jensen's heart. Nothing happened that wasn't supposed to, and Jay is safe.
They possibly have the aerosol as well, but that's really only secondary.
“Hey, man. You missed a helluva great sting!” Bones greets him, ruffling his still-damp hair.
“I usually do.” Jensen grumbles and shoves him, wondering briefly how someone so skinny can be so hard to move. Then he remembers this kid from the orphanage, Riley? Ryan? Something like that. Thin and small, but man, he was hard to wrestle into submission. The kid had to be running on pure adrenaline, but Jensen never managed to keep him pinned down and shut up.
Usually, the nuns would come and tear him away, not caring one fucking bit that the skinny fucker made Jay cry all the time by calling him a ‘freak who was never wanted by his parents because he was so freaky’.
Jensen hated that boy with a passion and finally got him to stuff the attitude.
It took hanging the jerk out of the fourth-story-window on his ankles to do that. Only cost him a week with nothing but plain bread and water and standing in a corner six hours a day.
A pretty good practice for prison, Jensen thought, though it was much more worth it than spraying.
“Dude, we rocked it! Nobody saw us, and Woody's fucking smooth. Can I adopt him?”
Jensen smirks. Bones was never able to hold a grudge, and even if he could - there is no escaping Jared's charm. “Gotta ask him that. Though if you do, you gotta feed him three times a day or he'll eat your board.”
Bones looks horrified, pressing his skateboard close just as Jared steps inside and grins like the moon just hung the stars. Jensen is smiling along, because, as he said, there is no escaping.
“Jens, we did it! Got more'n enough for whatever you got planned. Whatcha got planned?” he bounds over, plasters himself against Jensen's back and steals his last piece of toast. Jensen sticks his fork in his hand in retaliation. Jared only frowns and snatches the coffee.
“I got some sketches, I didn't kill the fucking wicked man and I found the best place ever. It's up high, you can't miss it. Dull gray concrete and a scaffold. I checked, they're probably gonna be working on the house for at least five more days - two weeks if they're government-employed” he snickers “and we'll be able to do it at night.”
“Oh no, Jack... you ain't talking about the scaffolding on the Myer-building?” Crop has moved over as well, still wearing a coverall underneath his shirt and looking weirder even than usual. Jensen nods. “That place is fucking crawling with cops, man! You'd be crazy to hit that.”
Jared's looking at Jensen, eyebrow raised and a glimmer in his eyes that says 'I'm in' clear as rain. If you know that look.
“So? You chicken? Don't worry.” Jensen amends at the outraged huff from both, Bones and Cropper “we'll do it on our own. You all just concentrate on the other stuff. You got any ideas on your own? Or you good with just finishing my sketches?”
And just like that, they're talking shop. Blue and Robin join them soon after and well into the afternoon, their heads are full of ideas, pieces, wildstyle and color-shades. Some time in between, Goldi served them coffee and some pastry, but Jensen honestly can't remember what it was. Donuts maybe. Or danish?
He's not even sure he ate any, a real possibility whenever Jay and food are put into proximity of each other.
~*~*~*~
Before the countdown begins, all of them leave for home to get some rest. The next days will be hard, sleep only possible during the day, and for some of them, that means not all that much. Those with a real job.
Speaking of...
“You good with your boss?”
“Boss?” Jared frowns “Who?”
“Your Boss, Jay. The man who signs your paycheck? In the can-factory?”
“Oh, that boss. Uh, well. I quit.”
He can feel his mouth open and close, can practically taste his words but there is no sound escaping Jensen's mouth. Except an undignified squeak, that might be interpreted as question.
“Yeah, well. We're gonna win that contest. And we'll be rich and famous. So, don't need a job. Especially not one where I put stuff that isn't even close to cheese into a can.”
“But... what if we don't?”
“Don't what?”
“Win? What if we don't win?”
Jay is staring at him like he just started speaking Parseltongue. “Why wouldn't we win? You planning on running in front of a car again?”
It's strangely elating and scary, to have so much confidence pointed your way. Jensen can feel his heart race and his lungs squeeze tight, but he'd be hard-pressed to say if it was a good feeling or a bad one.
~*~*~*~
Jensen is looking forward to sleep on that mattress, even though he'd prefer a bigger bed to share with Jared, who's a bit too much like a furnace to sleep close to more than one night in a row.
They meet a very unexpected obstacle to their plan, though, the minute they turn the corner to their block, car parked six minutes away.
Police-lines and spectators are blocking their path and the blue lights flashing against the buildings shove Jensen back into the day a policeman came to his school and drove him to the hospital, giving an eight-year-old the opportunity to say goodbye to his family. Like he'd be able to grasp the full meaning of that. He shudders at the reminder of the white, smelly linoleum-floor and the shut doors that lined his way to the soul-crushing view of his pale mom, covered in bandages and stuck full of things he couldn't even begin to understand. He only remembers parts from there on. Clinging to her cool body, crying on her chest, being dragged away only to be told that his father wasn't even alive when he got to the clinic, that his mom will be dead too, soon, and if he has any relatives who would take care of him.
He remembers shaking, all over, and he remembers the policeman holding him and saying it'll be okay and that they'd find someone.
They didn't find anyone.
Later, though, Jared found him.
Jared, who's nudging his back now, shoving past him like it was an involuntary contact. Jensen knows better than that, though. Still, he follows, pushing through the crowds like parting an ocean of molasses until they reach the front.
Weirdly, Jensen hadn't expected anything less than what they see.
The building that had housed their tiny shoebox is gone. Rubble. The ambulances stand idly, shut off, the drivers looking a bit pained but not in a rush. If anyone was still in there, they aren't alive.
Not that there was much chance. Because man, that house is completely gone. Bricks, mortar, wooden beams and dust-dust-dust have created a giant pile of gray. Here and there personal belongings stick out and give the whole overwhelming sight a touch of sorrow and loss.
“What the hell?” Jared says and the woman next to them must've thought it was directed at her, because she pipes up.
“Gas-leak, they think. Blew up two hours ago, nearly shook my flowers from the windowsills.” Her voice is bored, like those fucking flowers are the most interesting things in her live. And maybe they are, who's Jensen to judge that.
“Well, fuck.” Jay swears and ignores the woman's outraged glare. “How'm I supposed to get my pictures back?”
Jensen stares into the rubble that a few seconds ago held nothing of import to him. Jay is right here, next to him, so whatever was in it is replaceable. Except, of course, the pictures.
“We'll just make new ones,” he suggests gently. He'd never held them as dear as Jay did, the silent reminders of their childhood. Maybe he was better in keeping those times sealed tight in his mind, the moments he cherishes only slightly less than he cherishes Jared.
Just like that, his heart hurts with sudden longing, his eyes fill with tears because he can see it, feel his hand itch in the desire to paint, draw, sketch. He turns around, hurries off through the people still milling in ecstatic curiosity to get back to the car, back to his sketchbook. He needs a pencil, needs, needs, needs like a dying man needs water, and he can hear Jay follow, calling him but he can't stop until he gets to the car and some paper between his fingers.
He doesn't feel the concrete under his ass when he drops against the side of the Dodge, only feels the wooden pencil and the smooth paper, only sees what his mind’s eye allows him to see.
~*~
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