My return ride to my humble abode was unexpectedly vacant of bother to me, perhaps as my mind appeared vacant too. Ahh, the thoughts of the day. What’s wrong with Joseph? Adrian and Haruka, will they, won’t they? Do I actually give a shit? At least my thoughts, however dull and dreary, rendered me an obliviant to the blithering idiocy I was encroached by the majority of the trip. With the screech of its piston whispering the soft echoey message “fuck off”, I made ground outside my decrepit domicile reigned over by the supreme monarch known as 'double mortgage'. More termites than wood comprised its crumbling exterior, contoured with a distinct style a beautician might call “dilapidated”, paint chipping and cracking like a stylistic modern art piece. It towered like an old tree that had deceased long ago but had not yet fully crumbled. A husk of a former luxury manor amidst urban civility now divided among five family units of middle class degenerates, segregated by walls of low-cost plaster but united by their infuriated profanity directed at each other penetrating the structure to spread disgruntled ‘neighborly courtesy’. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaL4BHKHBhK
I inhale the fresh air and relish its unpleasant musk, the fragrance courtesy of flat three’s delightful crack fiend Mr Chalmers and his almost remarkable neglect for basic hygiene. With the waft of pungency filling my nostrils I am reminded that I am finally home. Once again, neither of my parent’s vehicles could be seen along the road, indicating that I would spend yet another afternoon indulging in parently irresponsible proportions of freedom. To what excuse do I owe an empty house this time? Late shifts? Spontaneous Shopping? It’s too early to be Happy Hour. Who knows? Who cares? I came to the conclusion that the only rational decision was to devote my time to the devourment of dairy confectionery and watch the recording last night’s title bout. I ascended the center staircase with meticulous caution to avoid making my presence known to the mincing boy-hungry paedophile, Mr Fengelslint, residing in flat two whose neighbourly kindness always seemed to lead to him inferring I join him for lunch, I shudder to think what it is he intended to serve me for such a dining experience but I doubt it would receive any positive praise by any food blogger, though it would be sure to stir quite the conversation with a therapist. Concluding my traversal of this steep with a thunderous stomp to hopefully attract the attention of my far less inviting but far more alluring neighbour’s daughter Layla Farcourt, the darkly dressed beauteous figurine of emo elegance behind the door opposite that of my own home. Alas, I heard not the slightest creak of a door to indicate an interest in exchanging pleasantries thus I went about my day. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxbJjwQGBnf
An affront to my entrance of my home was the notice left upon the door. with my luck its probably to inform me they’ve fucked off to Aussie without me or wherever the fuck. As my parents were of a decade of obsolete means of communication this kind of surprise sprung upon me written on a sheet of paper wasn't out of character. However, this time it seemed bizarre, almost sinisterly placed. “Michael - Carl called and said he’s in town we need to be there for him. There's money on the table for pizza, sorry” The note was full stopped with a crudely drawn smiling face as if meant to somehow soften the fury and disappointment that flooded me. Carl Vaughn Darrick, A name that turned my spit rancid once uttered, leaving me with but a foul taste, one which shanked me with a cold contempt that ran the length of my spine whenever it caught my eye on mail falsely addressed to my home, a residence which had not been his for what neared five years. He was my brother, the man that caused me to be infantilized by the prospect of being born an only child to such a degree that I all but erased his existence from my memory. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv9STdEL1ew
He was not quite consumed by a toxic lifestyle so much as it consumed him. With those damned syringes he transfused his livelihood, dignity and conscience for the pleasures of Heroin's possessive embrace, a succubus forever guiding him along the stream to a despair of his own doing. Like a sparrow, he soared from suburbia to suburbia scrounging for scraps of all that he had forsaken, all for his love of that seductive mistress of chemical malfeasance. Whatever had possessed his narcotically sycophantic brain to return to a home he was long ago rendered unwelcome to is beyond me but rest assured I gave no cause to my parents pitiful compassion for him though on some level I’m sure I held some pity for him, consciously, I had nothing but disgust for him, he sickened me. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXRQTrto8fW
While my parents scrambled to reclaim a child that had died long ago I opted instead to lounge about as if my eyes had never glanced across this farce of an excuse from my supposed caregivers.On some level I always found my parent’s persistent forgiveness an annoyance even when directed at me, I can only assume they perceived their actions as saintly in some manner but anyone who seen the world with even a vague degree of rationality could see that their virtuousness was cannier to passive-aggressive obedience to a spoilt adolescent and yearning for the recognition that their son’s abysmal failure of a life was not their fault at the cost of the respect of myself, the child who had the good sense not to become hooked on opiates and in spite of their unfortunate affliction for apathy and sarcastic lingo had at least made some semblances of a plan for his future endeavours. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGLmm9KUuJv
Whatever! Fuck it, I’m borrowing dad’s Johnny Walker, that should do nicely for this weekend. And so as I lunged for the vulnerable liquor bottles, the prey of this pubescent predator, my phone tremored, an incoming call from Adrian How do I have his number again? I answered with a sigh both welcoming and also preemptively frustrated with the predictably cringe-inducing cack would have to endure in this chat “Yeah, what’s it Adrian?” I tiredly garbled out “Can I trust your absolute silence on this matter?” Great, another sob story someone’s about spout off to me. At what point is it polite to bash my head against the table during a conversation? “Sure, fire away” That’s a negative, do not fire away! I repeat, do not fire away! I winched, puckered my proverbial and braced for round two of this pain in the ass. “My uncle paid us a most displeasurable visit this morning, it’s best said and my father’s vendettas to one another are long from quashed” He fluttered out exhaustively excited with not a single breath of air within the sentence. “He left behind his musty old tweed jacket when stormed off and I found something in its pockets” he exclaimed with haste “He appears to have some affinity for pharmacological misuse” he said with the screech of a giddy child. For once my brain made effort to process his excessive vocabulary flexing. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Satan, Marley and Hendrix! This is a fucking miracle! I stammered my way through five failed attempts of a sentence before muttering “What’da they look like?”. He detailed the tablets gorgeous characteristics “Large pinky textured circular tablets, almost akin to vitamins”, he then scoffed, “Though they are certainly far more hedonistic in their purposes” without hesitation I knew what my course of action would be, as if almost a gift of foresight and my course of action would be to get more incoherently enamored than Christopher Reeves on a meth pipe. “Bring them on Saturday, that’ll be pure next level shit. I can’t believe the find” I spoke with an almost fatherly pride in him. “I’m not sure what they are, isn’t best to perhaps withhold until someone such as Leon has taken a proper look?” he said with his typical manner of scepticism, unfortunately, he was right. “Yeah but you’de never reach him. He doesn’t pick up. You can’t really catch him till tomorrow, guess you’re packing some extra treats in your lunch box homeboy” I satirically asserted “Great but what about Haruka?” he further objects “Yeah what about her? Oh right… Look, mate, it’s not sleazy if you’re both high”. He chuckled offended yet grateful at my understanding of what he was really dying to say “Nevermind, I'll talk this over further tomorrow, farewell” he said, defensively retreating.”Cheers for the find mate, I'll talk to you later” I punched skyward as the dial tone graced my ears. Mike, your weekend is on its way to legendary status. With my escape of the week’s vexations secured I found myself almost content to solely occupy Ole’ Casa de Darrick in the absence of my supportively vacant parents.
The preceding events of that week left much to be desired, little of any relevance to the highs or the lows of this tail came into play, my days imitating a despicably repetitive pattern of wake, whinge, study, binge and if fortune favours me, a dash of sleep amongst it. Rising apt for mayhem on the dawn of Saturday morning I trampled through the familiar careless hygiene neglect that always followed and uneventful reunion with Carl for upwards of a week before my parents once more come to realise the futility of mourning him. The kitchen surfaces, a barricade of hygiene procrastination. Floors laden with wrinkled and musty clothing, typically my father’s, given his pungent pheromonal stench. Today was the day, the very same bag with which I filled my mundane Monday survival guide was now a rucksack for a night of hedonistic carnage; two bottles of the absolute finest in cheap, bottom shelf elixirs. Half a gram of exquisite hydroponic delights brought to me by one of Leon’s many associates, finely ground eastern-sourced Sativa, what a delight. An entire box of, as of yet, unused condoms, before you make judgement of my unwilling abstinence, would you expect someone with as much unbridled snark as me to be appealing to the local damsels? I wouldn’t think so. Third zip always stores my emergency hangover recovery kit, two Red Bulls, Ibuprofen and anti-nausea tablets with some indiscernible German name. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd8LRCC8HwL
Thoroughly equipped for the trials and tribulations of drinking more than could be comprehended, I dressed for disaster and set off shortly before lunch, departing from my parents with the final stage in a week long elaborate lie to study for an assignment which had never existed, even going so far as to write notes for a completely fictitious research assignment on “Post-Humanist Libertarianism” a series of compelling words which when thrown together actually mean absolutely nothing. Rest assured beginning from that evening I had not the slightest inclination to civility. From the forty minute tread into the darkest depravity of suburbia to meet with Leon, acquiring Tangi along the way, my sense of the calming stillness of a casual stroll receded as we hastily made way through the picket-fenced abaddon of the neighbourhood just south of our school district. The ambient howling of chained hounds breaks the unnerving silence as one comes to the realisation that the safety of numbers and publicity no longer apply, we were Dorothy coming to discover that we were no longer in Kansas. It was otherworldly how one journeying south from abodes of suburban mediocrity in which our school district was encircled briskly transported you to a seemingly lawless gangland in which some not only survived but thrived in squalor, the carelessly directed gaze would bring one to eye contact with an assailant in waiting almost fiending an opportunity to test their mettle against a passerby. We were no novices to this route, both I and Tangi had a procedure for this, hoods up, eyes to the ground, and quicken our pace a measure.430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3TcBDjg8xh
The terror felt as I made way through the mere seven blocks of this small town hood peaked as I passed the Howard Dennison Rugby Club a dilapidated hall and bleachers stand aside a field almost a bog in the morn of last night’s downpour, it always emanated the aura of dread, this field had seen more blood than a hospital dumpster. The cold-blooded demise of a local pamphlet deliverer too simple of mind to understand why someone could be so cruel to him, the hospitalisation of one of Leon’s many jobless and nomadic acquaintances, and the coup de gras, my own delightful ass-kicking some years ago in typical schoolyard fashion. But the true terror was not these less than fond memories but what lay beyond it perpendicular to us, the address that struck catatonia into my heart when hearing it, 486 Greenwich street, the local Mongrel den, the bloodthirsty entrepreneurs of all things underground that made everybody for the next four blocks every which way fear the growling pit bull emblazoned on their backs and had more than a slight disfavor of Leon’s associates and their independent yet modest homegrown business. Tangi and I, as if our minds were entangled made the same expression of urgency and made a land speed record clearing the next two blocks. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgNdauuWNBv
Before our heels had even brang us to a stop we had cleared the trepidation and arrived at Greenwich park just a stone’s throw from Leon’s usual residence. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc54RTsjgpq
Like the most peculiar game of ‘Where’s Waldo’ we peered through the throng of children at play “I don’t think he’s here” I said doubtfully “Don’t be so sure” Tangi asserted pointing to the subtle cue of his proximity, a trail of smoke from the shrubbing just beyond the fort, no different from the Navajo signal fires of old, where the ganja burns, Leon lurks just out of sight, it was his niche and it would be a stunning turn of events for him to not be at the least bit stoned on a perfectly fine day like this.
We cautiously peered around to see a grizzled squatting figure coughing convulsively into the foliage. At first startled, it sprung to its feet in a panicked scramble, instinctively shielding not it’s own vital regions but the aromatic joint still alight between its fingers, there he was and as discontent with a sober reality as all ways. “Oh, fuck! Fuu...yeah dudes, you’re here fast.” he expressed through smoke-spouting breaths. “You started without us…” Tangi said with a slack-jawed pout of disappointment “Chehe, you know how it is man, fuck mornings. Real though, I was fiending” Leon replied with his typical not-words. Being that the day was young we partook for an hour until we drowsed on the sidewalk spinning the yarn over no particular subject that would make much sense to you, as our history of saturday nights has a legacy dating back as far as the dawn of our pubescence I could not begin to tell you of the memories we exchanged in anticipation of the night ahead.
With all but Owen present in our quartet of madness the story which is sure to never be forgotten, despite how fiercely Tangi wishes it would, surfaced once again of the night Tangi became Owen’s new daddy, as Leon in hilariously excruciating detail almost mimed the sight burned into his retina of what he had walked in on that night I struggled with all my might to hold back Tangi’s warrior’s fury. “Here’s poor fucking boy me going to get my phone so I can get my shit, have one last cone and fuck off and your brown ass is out and proud, this far horizontal into Milfy Fielding” He stuck his clenched arm into the air in a sick euphemism, Owen’s mother’s real name was Milly to the acquainted and Mildred to the hated but trust a bunch of puerile boys with unnatural urges for there friends mum to quickly come up with a substitute “She was dug in like a fucking bike ride, how the fuck weren't you squealing with those claws in you bro?” he continued mockingly. Tangi sunk in claws of his own “Pretty sure your mum would scratch harder though…” considering the precedent that was not a threat to be taken lightly.
As the saying goes “speak of the Devil and he shall appear” the Devil himself Owen Fielding scratched up to the sidewalk in a rugged Hilux as the undisputed marker to shut the fuck up on all things regarding mothers or coidal relations with them.
“Somebody order a piss-wagon?” he bellowed springing his gangly neck out the window grinning with delight, flicking his hair away from his face. My first thought differed from my fellows reaction of Sweet, we’ve got a ride, that’ll catch the lady’s eyes to one of more concern; firstly, who in their right mind at AA deciding to grant our lovable maniac a license, and secondly, who is going to chase us down to reclaim their prized pick-up truck as it is quite apparent that this was not his by reputable means, and where this one of his mother’s vehicles how effectively could Tangi defend himself from her succubine clutches should she come to reclaim it? That being said, I believe in this instance the ends undoubtedly justified the means, those means being the use of the back of this truck for an “intimate two-person suspension test” so to speak, provided we did not pose to canny a likeness to back country yokels come to nab some city folk wives.
Tangi and I hurled our bags in the back and I cringed at the echoey clatter of glass as I recalled the fine liquor I had stored for this occasion, hearing no subsequent shatter I exhaled in a hallelujah and cursed my own blithering stupidity. Tangi’s landed with a sloshing thump and our eye’s met as I recalled the last time Tangi carried an exorbitant amount of canned beverage, his hubris to decimate two slabs of Double Brown in their entirety, the time that shall ever scar him with the name “motherfucker”. He made a confirming nod and I knew he would be assured to once again outdo himself. Leon, as gracious as ever, elected himself to ride in the flatbed and slouched to resume his unresponsively spaced-out demeanour.
The callous revelry of us four on this occasion was to be pacified by my chaperoning responsibilities, the awkward despondent text exchange between myself and Adrian, laden with delays in reply due to his hesitant nature and my negligence, kept me of relative knowledge of his whereabouts and never ceased to pester me of the sanctity of Haruka as if she were being taken to an internment camp as opposed to a party. Through frustratingly long periods of answerless messages I was able to decipher he was, much to my own surprise, ahead of us and had swooshed down half a bottle of wine, unbeknownst to his parents, in sheer anticipation Well, well, well, the apprentice is outdoing the master, what a turn of events. Owen, brang immense discomfort in his typical fashion with that gleefully excessive smile that gave facial narration to his internal, no doubt deviant, thought. I shuddered Oh god no, what’s he up to? He astuted “Y’know a truck as big as this at top speed could probably clear the dip on Dunverb street without touching the ground?” swinging his head around, eyes bulging. We all collectively gasped in terror, my instinct took hold and I braced as he slammed the accelerator like a rocker does a pedal board and our heads snapped forward not unlike his spectators would, Leon nearly being met with a concussion by the brutal application of the forces of physics. 430Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZK5CvW42IO
Thus forward we zoomed to debauchery and madness ahead
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