“Well, if we’re ever going to get anything written, we’d better start now.”
It’s the Sugarcubes. Well, I have this project. It’s a journey we’re undertaking. I am an evil bunny.
“I will not write any shit for you monsters. I will not write any shit for you.”
“I don’t give a it if you ever write anything. Who the fuck are you, anyway. You terrify me. I’m a fucker, not a killer. You’re a killer.”
This has to come down somewhere.
“We’re not doing anything,” said Angela. “You’re doing something.”
I just can’t do fucking homework. It’s making me fucking crazy. But there has to be some kind of Pole Star, something for me to move toward. I can’t just be going around talking shit all the time.
“Graylyn’s my pole star.” Said Angela, immediately feeling humiliated for being so shallow.
I just need to go back in time. We need to go back in time.
“We’re not going back in time,” said Dustin. “That’s all bullshit. I’m staying as far ahead of time as I can get. All that crap is over!”
Graylyn spoke, “I know what I’m doing, and you don’t know what you’re doing. I know how I want my work to feel and you don’t know.”
But there’s something about the drugs, something about it. I almost feel like I can catch it. I go out on a limb and it’s there …
“It’s your soul,” said Graylyn. “Get in bed.”
“I saw how you did that!” interrupted Chuck. “You watch out for that bitch, Drake. She wants to eat your soul with her pussy.”
Angela was angry, “What the hell do you know about it, Chuck. You don’t have a fucking soul, you dog.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “You wouldn’t fuck me if I did, you whore!”
Did you kill me in a former life, wondered Drake, as he watched Graylyn stretch out across the bed.
Someone played “Winners and Losers” by Iggy Pop. Drake tired to guess who had done it. Alvin would play it sometimes, in a really dark mood, but Chuck loved to fuck to it. Maybe he was having Angela. But then he was in the music and he couldn’t think. Graylyn was going to get his dick and then he would be next to her and she would be swinging him around the universe. And he loved her but she was going to kill him because … why was she going to kill him? Where are we going with this? She was going to kill him because she had a life and he didn’t. Because she was really a painter and he was a fake. His whole life was noise and fucking and drugs. Angela was coming somewhere. The noise and heat were coming down on him. Then he realized the noise and heat were Graylyn sitting next to him, enfolding him in her arms, her breath tasting like wine, the smell a mixture of blissful drunkenness and dirty sodden humanity that broke his reverie like a hammer and pulled his skin against hers.