Dreams

•Three•

"Of course I know Jane Fonda."

"She's got a pretty groovy diet out, it's in the paper's. If you wanna look boss, I'd check it out."

"Really?"

"Really."

"What'dya do?"

"For ten days, just take in a lot of olive oil. You can eat something once every two days in between. Can only be something small, got it?"

"...It works?"

"Have you seen her tits?"

"Steve, Everyone's seen her tits."

"Then there's you answer. Now drink up."

The poor kid threw up everything in his system on the tenth day, all he ate was an apple.

God, I laughed so hard, I was afraid I'd shit bricks.

     "Be at the airport in fifteen minutes, until then, don't fuck anything up." Tim hoarsely muttered to us, his gaze fixated on the silver flask in his hand.

     I barley paid him any attention, before looking out the window.

     The scenery was all the same. Either dry and hot, or green and windy.

     Absentmindedly, my blunt nails raked at the skin of my forearm, and I knew I was ready for another lick of the needle, not To mention, another bag of Nose candy.

     Most restless nights consisted of an hour or two of getting high, laying around, drinking. That's where all our music was derived of.

     Hell, we'd fuck whore's in front of one another, take turns.

     Stevie doesn't mind sloppy seconds, but he makes sure she doesn't forget 'im.

     Before Elyssa, Joe and I had our fair share of girls. We shared all the pretty blondes. Except for one, Isabella Buell.

     She was a fucking goddess.

     Hardly could keep my mind off her.

     Lips full, red as a rose, eyes wide and young, cheekbones defined, hair long and thick, curled at the ends naturally, blonder than the sand of a beach.

    All in all, she was hot.

     Young, too. So naive and  eager to please the big boys.

     Especially her pretty, pretty, friend, Mr.Tyler.

     Rubbing the back of my nose with my palm, I sniffled a few times, slightly causing soreness in the inner walls of my nostril, where I cut it on the bent plastic of a straw.

     Hey, had to get every last gram. Worth it over a little cut.

     "Need more?" Tom's lower voice questioned blandly.

     I glanced his way briefly, and I knew what he was referencing at, as he tapped a thin coffee stirrer against the seat's desk.

     With an eager nod, I cleared my throat and took the straw, shifting a bit as I hunched over, taking the plastic baggy from good ol' Tommy himself.

     Fixing myself two good even lines, I snorted them both, and huffed with satisfaction, leaning back in my seat as I pushed the straw away from me.

Tom cleaned up the bit of a mess I made, wiping off the table top as he set a travel bottle of Daniels down before me, retrieving his own. "God, hope the weather isn't too bad." He muttered, peering out the window on my left.

"Hope the girls are." I replied in a blunt manner, Uncapping the mini Bottle, swishing it's contents a bit, before clinking it to Tom's own glass, downing the bottle at once.

Tom only shook his head and sighed, laughing a bit. "You bastard, be surprised if you don't get warts or something, maybe that syphilis thing." He spoke through soft laughter, taking a drink from his poison.

I couldn't help but giggle, and sigh, rubbing my jaw. "The risk makes it all the more fun, my friend." I countered teasingly.

Raunchy, unprotected sex, my speciality.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As we approached the airport, heading off to the curb to unload, Tom got up before me, giving me room to get out.

I gathered my few bags, slinging two over my shoulders, carrying the small bags with my liquor and scarves, stumbling to the exit.

"Tyler!" A low and pissy voice snapped quickly.

With a sneer and surprised growl, I wheeled around. "Listen porky! I didn't do it!—" I began, presuming it was Tim.

Yet, my eyes locked with Elyssa's, and my eyes narrowed a bit, my sneer decreasing a touch.

"I want a word with you, now." She spoke in a shrilly voice, the jangling of her bracelets obnoxious as she moved her hands to her hips.

"Alone." She concluded.