***
J: Holy balls that was funny. I feel lightheaded.
C:That's the acid talking dude. Touch your hand to you nose
and it will get better.
J: Ok.
C: Not like that. That's not the way.
J: Ok
C: Better...
J:Ok
C: Ya...no wait, no. Fuck no. Did you ever find Stephen?
J: Ok. Who?
C: That's it!
J: This is two
fuckin’ hands...
C: Yes. Your son, Steven? Remember burnout? He's here with
us? He's five? Seen that?
J: I have to walk around with both hands on my nose? Fuck!
C: Yeah. Nope. Hey give me the cocaine.
J: You HAVE it dickfuck. Give me the fucking acid!!
C: Ha! I fooled you fuckerface! You've been drinking it for
the last three hours!! I fucking RAINED on your snapple when you weren't
lookin...Put like a tablespoon into that fucking thing at least. Hope you
didn't have plans for the weekend.
J: My Snapple?
C: Yep. Heh. Funny. No? Fucked
up! Whooo?
J: Mmm hmmm. Funny. Where was "my snapple" again?
E: Excusemesir?!!! SIR?!
***
Jeff left Crowe with “Excusmesir” and crept back to the
entrance. Crowe had gestured in this direction when queried about the Snapple.
Jeff had a vague memory of putting his son's lifejacket on somewhere, but that was just after three hours of constant driving and cocaine inssuflation. There were no memories. Even so, he didn't have to look long
for the lost beverage.
It was on a table, next to the similar-looking Snapples
of a very large group of two adults, and hundreds of small children. Jeff recognized his Snapple
immediately, mostly because Crowe had written “LSD HOMO” on the label with a Sharpie. Jeff could read the big block letters from ten feet away. The small girl who
he watched pick up the bottle, however, didn't look old enough to read. The
child opened the snapple, and before anyone could object, bolted down an
enourmous gullet-full. Another child came running up, also pre-literate,
yelling:
Mine…Mine…Mine…MYYYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyne.
Mine…Mine...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jeff remained stationary, dumfounded at the kid-chaos. He
watched the second child grab the first’s Snapple mid-swig, spilling the
acid-o-fied iced tea all over herself and the first child. A grown - up, 50-ish looking
woman in a beige sarong came rushing in. She separated the children, threw out
some stupid-sounding kid conflict platitudes, and then snatched up the tea.
After this, she wheeled, and dumped the remaining half-Snapple in a pitcher -
already in use for other, non-narcotic tea - at the group's plastic table.
Jeff watched, stunned into immobility, as the sarong-lady poured
out ten tiny dixie cups of iced tea. A small Asian kid grabbed a cup and began
sipping. Just then a pair of red-head twins of questionable gender grabbed a
cup in each hand and started tossing them back. A fat kid wearing cords buried
a cup in one go. A tiny baby girl crawled to the tables edge, helped herself up
with a chair, and started clutching at the remaining Cups. She was able to
score only one cup, before Jeff finally broke his stasis. He hopped
over, grabbed the three cups, and drank one of them before the sarong lady peeped
him and started getting up again. He rushed her, handed her one
of the last two acid-cups and “clicked” his against hers in impromptu toast.
To us?
The woman took the cup, smiled back, blasted the tea down in
one shot as Jeff did the same.
To us! Someone crying?
***
No comments:
Post a Comment