The air was thick, dense with smoke, a large cloud hung over those in attendance. Chill out music played. The punters were mindless. It had been a long night, it had been a long weekend. There had been casualties, but there were always casualties - some injuries were obvious, some not so. Nobody had to seek medical advice, which was always a good thing.
Guido was holding court, naturally.
I was fucked - my head spun, my feet hurt. Guido wanted to fix me up with Max. I was keen, if it was my kind of fix up - up to his room, door closed. No annoying cameras of Guido’s hidden anywhere. But, I'm sure it was Guido’s kind of fix up, another deal to get me through the night. I didn't need any more of that, I was sure about that. I could do with a little of what Max had in his pants, but I figured that wasn't what Guido was talking about.
I lay on the bean bag and let the night, the morning, the day wash over me.
I’d kill for a joint, I thought. Then there was a tap on my right arm and Scott was handing me a joint, as he grimaced and exhaled. Then there was a tap on my left arm and Van was handing me a joint and grimacing as he exhaled. Then I crossed arms and handed Van’s joint to Scott and Scott’s to Van. They both laughed.
Then I just laid back and watched the circus, wondering, exactly, how I got caught up in all of this. It had been Guido, of course. He’d knock on my door and said come out. When I said no, he called me a boring fucking shit and somehow that spurred me on and got me out the doors.
I had a good time, sure. I was glad Guido pushed me.
Now, I'm just fucked up. I'm home, took the day off. I pashed Max, which was nice, but that was as far as we went.
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