It Wasn't the Distraction, but the Bother.

It wasn't the sound of the train,

The constant or consistent churn of it's measured gears,

And careful path.

It wasn't the idea of an operator I couldn't understand,

With a path so plain before him,

So much weight behind him,

And so little to do.

It wasn't the half kept business hovel,

Occupied by landlords who kept their order,

Of currency and obligation,

Without the aesthetic to purchase dutiful faith,

And a sense of obligation.

But with tittle enough to sit in a filthy wheeled office chair,

And crack a whip,

Without raising a finger. 

It wasn't the cheap jug of drug store wine,

Round and loving,

Cradled by the fetus of my adulthood.

Emptied by the child of the upright bearded forever-untill-never.

It was the past-tense,

Easy and painted up,

Shinning like a new bike.

It was the nonexistent,

Ever present,

Always fading,

Never leaving.

It was the unbrushed hair of childhood,

Made to look intentional by backward eyes.

It was true love in the classroom,

Made to seem undying by the sound,

And texture,

Of a crumpled and miss spelled note.

It was the pocket hole in thrift store pants,

For a dumb girl's hand,

And an anxious boys cock.

It was the lunch bell,

That tore apart the most important conversation,

That had ever been ended.

But really it wasn't anything.

Because it still is.

And it will be.

I still think one day I'll see the future.

Despite my fetish for the past, 

Mt washington warzone

7 beers deep, sweating that good july sweat on a friends porch.

Redwood planks kissing the leather souls of my second hand kicks.

4 hours of fire works, illegall yet accepted pyro launched into the space between Mt washington and echo park.

We cooked these bombs up to show thanks and respect for those who gave their lives in order to make a home, a new country.

Fun bombs to stage a less violent reenactment of the bloodshed that led to our beautiful unyielding freedom.

plenty feel we glorify the violence humanity has adopted as a way of shuffling itself into order.

I dont feel violence needs glorification, there is an inherent glory in offering your life for an ideal.

This isnt a poem.

It isnt a story.

Its a calm, comfortable fuck you to those who wont accept that our life here in America, the greatest Nation in the world, was bourn of bloodshed, death and sacrifice.

Reality is dirty, get witht he times and salute the fucking flag

In the imortal words of Bullshit- I present to you...

In the immortal words of an unborn bullshitter,
I present to you:
The broken hammer handle.

In the drunken prose of a friendly stranger,
I pour on you:
Contents of an empty glass.

In the stuttering tattoo of a brain-dead philosopher,
I attempt to explain to you:
Once everything was nothing,
And now,
Nothing-
Is everything.

Bent,
Then straightened arms,
Pulling their way up.
Silver aluminum rungs,
Pushing their way down.
Summer sunburns growing,
                                            escaping.

A facade of yellow teeth,
Wind-struck on their behind.
A plastic pint,
A half warm beer,
Holding the last few circles of air,
To remain appealing.

An impression,
Rectangular,
Leaving behind the dense fur of cardboard.
Leaving behind a thin sheen,
Coating the calculated genetic hilltops of exposed muscle.
The shivers of mortal skin,
Shaking,
Creaking
Releasing,
Finding a nowhere shaped hole.

'Let them bleed and heal'
From an unkempt maw.
'It aint lumber, but it aint free'
From a more or less reformed criminal.
Breaking a hammer without a solid swing,
Takes a particular,
Lacking.

'Poor guy, he doesn't know his whiskey'
Sliding out of a proud child's mouth.
'Do you know where you are?'
Sing two lips, cracked and tanned by an age we couldn't remember.
White, clean skin,
Singing from a stool,
That could hold its tongue.
Bright blue eyes,
Wet round sockets,
An open and dangerous cunt,
Hovering,
And whispering nothing into a read pleather seat.

'Is t working? Is this real?'
From an angry,
love addict.
'Its real, its starting. Where am I standing?,'
'Where was I standing?'
From a happy,
Drug addict.
A mirror,
Holding the Mule self of a skinny,
Wanna-be,
Grown up.
A rented bed,
Cradling the Bi-Oceanic life organ
Of a hesitant,
Pensive,
And vicious
Huntress.

Swinging the steel action of an unchanging tool,
Collecting the sheets of a compromised,
And desperate,
World.

Drinking the corner out of hand-warmed plastic,
Gathering ounces of manufactured courage,
And thirsty for less,
More.

Squeezing a sphere of soil-bourne sugar,
Exploring the pillars of liquid someones god dreamed up,
And knowing their smell,
Taste.

Toil and the sweat cash,
It expels.

Recklessness and the dumb pride,
It offers.

Mindful mindlessness,
and the present nothingness it remembers to forget.

Hammers swing.

Glasses empty.

Tabs dissolve.

Earn.

Spend.

Forget.

Q
W
E

.

Pawn Scum Prom

INT. CHRYSLER -NIGHT

The warm glow of streetlights creates a strobe effect on leather jackets and pale hands grasping for a silver flask. We see the flask unscrewed by one hand and lifted out of a shaky frame by another. Wanda Jackson fills the cab with vibrating rock and roll.

JERRY

Hey asshole I opened it to drink it, not to watch you!

GLEN

Ahh whatever man, once you get wheels- you get first drink.

GLEN takes a swig, head back- not watching the road. His Pomp holds tight all but for one small lock coming lose in the front. The Chrysler swerves and the headlights of an oncoming car illuminate the cab. We now see the full band- "Jerry and the Only Ones" pilled 5 deep and covered in instruments and gear. Sketchy looking youngsters with more grease than the car they drove- in their hair.

JERRY

Hey watch it man!

GLEN

(Laughs)

BOBBY

Ey you keep driving like that well never make it to the dance!

JOEY

(Tossing a copy of teenagers from mars over his shoulder in shock)

I wanna get laid tonight man! Watch it!

GLEN

Cool it guys were fine. Another 2 miles and well be surrounded by skirts.

GLEN throws his arm over the leather bench seat, left hand on the wheel, right hand wiggling the flask in JOEYs face. GLEN takes his eyes off the road.

GLEN

You wanna get laid, your gonna have to stop bein such a PUSSY.

JOEY 

Man, I aint no-

JERRY

HEY WATCH THE FUCKIN ROAD!

BOBBY

FUCK! TRUCK FUCKIN ---TRUCK!

GLEN throws his right arm back over the seat to grab the wheel. The cab is once more illuminated everyone inside is stricken by a look of terror, except GLEN who looks into the lights as if he knew the driver of the big rig they faced would "Chicken". 

We see GLENs eyes in a close up. Everything is dark except a rectangle of light showing the lack of fear in the youngster's gaze.

JERRY

Turn you sonofabitch! TURN!

JERRY reaches over from the passengers seat and grabs the wheel- violently jerking it to the right, out of oncoming traffic, into the proper lane, and past.

GLEN

Damnit Jer-

We see the gang cover thier faces as the Cab is washed with headlights then goes dark.

WIDE SHOT EXT NIGHT- ANABEL'S PASS BRIDGE

We see the Chrysler slam through the railing of the bridge and plumet over the edge.

WIDE SHOT EXT NIGHT ANABEL'S PASS (CREEK)

We see the Chrysler violently meet the water and begin to sink. The car sinks. The music stops.

We cut to now  mostly calm water. Bubbles begin to rise. First many. Then fewer and fewer. Then calm.

A distorted lead guitar line tears apart the summer night- sinister and out of tune. We see a wet scalp begin to rise from the dark water. GLEN (Now DANZIG) emerges from the creek as if being lifted by the spirits of the damned. His Pomp is now destroyed and matted down into a singular lock running from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. His eyes are now framed by black circles, Pond scum adorns his cheeks and shoulders as he emerges, yet somehow his filth looks groomed. The work of some demon barber. The rest of the band Rises with him and they stand-float- feet just bellow the waters edge. They appear dead yet remain living. DANZIG produces a crooked smile and looks up to the moon as it washes its light over their upright corpses.

CUT TO

EXT NIGHT ROAD ( JUST PASSED ANABEL'S PASS BRIDGE)

The band walks down the road in the direction of the dance. They drip dark green river water from their jeans and leather jackets. Destroyed instruments on their backs, they leave the glow of the street light and disappear into darkness.

CUT TO- 

INT  NIGHT GYM - SCHOOL DANCE

Teen girls in colourfull dress spin and shake in the arms of their sweethearts. Young men in flamboyant formal attire spin and swing their girls from side to side. Some confidently- some with nervous calculation. We see feet shuffle and scratch the gym floor.

Two exceptionally pretty Teens, JOHNNY TENDER and BETTY BOPPER dance closer and slower than the crowd around them.

JOHNNY TENDER

Baby I want your soul

BETTY BOPPER

I need your soul!

The two embrace only to be torn apart by the GYM TEACHER in an ill fitting suit, still with his team cap on and a whistle around his neck

GYM TEACHER

Lets make our pastor proud- Leave room for jesus- and watch the floor will ya?

WIDE SHOT

we see the dance under way.

CUT TO 

the PRINCIPAL and his SECRETARY facing each other, leaning on the punch table. The PRINCIPAL is clearly stressed, soaked in sweat, trying to keep his comb over in order. The SECRETARY is twitchy and eager to please leaning in to comfort the unaware PRINCIPAL.

PRINCIPAL

Where the hell are these guys!....I shouldnt have paid them up front. ahhh bunch of-

SECRETARY

Bunch of no good scoundrells! I agree, its not your f--

PRINCIPAL

Oh quit it. We need a band or these kids are gonna go crazy....

SECRETARY

Im sure theyle show up! its just a matter of--

PRINCIPAL

I need a drink

We see a mischevious teen about to spike the punch.

The PRINCIPAL grabs his flask and takes a hit. the teen dashes off terrified. 

PRINCIPAL

(To the SECRETARY)

Dont you have somewhere to be?

SECRETARY

Hmph!

She storms off.

CUT TO-

SHOT OF THE STAGE FROM THE DANCE FLOOR 

Music stops as the needle on the record is clumsily removed.

A NERDy teen with curly hair and freckles stands at the mic. He taps it and it feeds back with a hellish fury.

NERD

Hey folk! looks like the bands a little late, so im going to go ahead and give you a taste of real Annabel High Comedy!

The room goes silent.

JOCK

Shove it nerd!

Just as the crowd begins to laugh and mock the NERD we see the back door to the gym slam open supernaturally. 

Four soaking wet silhouettes stand hunched over, holding guitars covered in river-bottom scum. The harsh light of the school hallway shines past them destroying the cool blue lighting of the dance. The room goes silent.

We see the PRINCIPAL crane his neck and drop his stolen flask.

The NERD at the mic slowly backs off the stage, stumbling at its edge.

JOHNNY TENDER and BETTY BOPPER loosen their embrace as their faces grow awash with concern.

 JOHNNY TENDER

Who are these punks?!

(P

WIDE SHOT OF THE GYM

as the band stands still in the door way. 

DANZIG takes one step forward and we hear the wet squish beneath his boot.

PRINCIPAL

Is this the- uh - the

The PRINCIPAL looks around the GYM.

PRINCIPAL

Goddamn hooligans.

The PRINCIPAL begins to stomp angrily toward the BAND.

PRINCIPAL

Youre late and youve got another thing coming if you think were paying that 12 dollars you asked for! These kids are-

DANZIG

(groan)

The band saunters toward the stage as the room of highschool teens looks on , bewildered.

The band takes the stage and readies their instruments, Heads hung down, deathlocks hanging still in the vacum of a school gym.A sonic feedback rings out and swells as teens cover their ears and wince. When the feedback reaches its pinacle we see a push in shot of a girl hollaring and covering her ears and finally her head explodes as JERRY strikes the first note of (INSERT SONG HERE) and the room goes wild in terror. They begin playing and DANZIG begins singing.

We see a wide of the gym- Teens run around in fear, falling, trampling one another, trying to escape- but the doors slam shut and apear to be locked by some demon force.

We see the AV NERD scrambling with a bundle of un plugged cables, obviously confused by the fact that the music is playing but nothing is plugged in. Suddenly he is electrified- lit up like a christmas tree.

We see the GYM TEACHER scrambling around in the crowd, trying to find a way out. he spins around and we reveal the VARSITY BASEBALL TEAM all in tuxedos but wearing their baseball caps (matching the GYM TEACHERs) They have become demonized and the BATTER in the center of the row swings a bat and demolishes the head of the GYM TEACHER.

We see the SECRETARY toss students aside and jump a table, only to lose her footing and impail her eye with the pen she so diligently carries with her.

We see the PRINCIPAL on his hands and knees in the crowd.

PRINCIPAL

My glasses, where are my glasses?!

The PRINCIPAL recovers his glasses and stands, looking toward the stage. We see JERRY point his guitar neck at the PRINCIPAL and let lose a visible wave of rock n roll terror- frying the PRINCIPAL until he not more than a smoldering skeleton.

We see JOHNNY TENDER and BETTY BOPPER holding one anothers fore arms and looking around in fear.

JOHNNY TENDER

Dont worry babe, ill get us outa this.

BETTY BOPPER

Baby! LOOK!

Betty bopper points to JOHNNY TENDERS corsage which is now sprouting a carnivorous murder pant. it hisses and bites his neck releasing an ocean of blood. BETTY BOPPER shrieks and quivers as her crown grows bejeweled tentacles and strangles her blue. 

The Cold edge of the Round Table ( A CCTV feed of the world Sludge left behind )

Creases had formed on the forearms of Mr. Runner. It had been 32 visits since the sweating had stopped. 20 since the the shaking stopped. 13 since he'd had to use the buzzer at the entrance to the visitors area, they knew his face now. Case Runner had been in this room filled with worried family members so many times, all of them leaning on their own tables, and still the weight of the room itself bent its creases.

His soul had formed callouses months, even years ago, but those dents lain into his arms couldn't be defended against by some passive function of the flesh. The light of his life was dying. The sun in his sky was fading, not due to some celestial inevitability, or a planetary incursion creating a blinding illusion, but by her own hands.

Case tapped his side in an involuntary gear check to find his keys were missing. A nano second of anxiety passed when his eyes met the blue corn-plastic bin resting in the administrators office. They took anything that could be used to cause self harm upon entry, as the patients of this particular ward were hell bent on leaving it any way they could. While Case knew his machine was old and metal, a grav bound Mercedes that spit poloution what could choke a factory crow, the thought of his toothy key being used as an instrument of death seemed barbaric, ancient. Everytime he loosed them into the tray, hearing the slap of six mag-chips and the ring of one aluminum key, he couldnt help but think of his girl violently dragging its edge across her wrist, over and over, trying to free the red fuel that kept her bound to this plane. Smelling the tears of desperation as she clawed helplessly against her skin with the key.

Case shook his head and snapped back into the cold room. The wood print vinyl looked up at him from the round cafeteria table he patiently leant on.

'Uhg' He thought. ' How many plastic trees had to die for you?'. Runner had to jest to keep from snatching that key and taking a note from the guards warnings.

"Mr. Runner?" A tall nurse called from the entryway to the visitors room. He was the same man who ushered Sheena in every time. Handsome in his own way and made more appealing to the eyes by the lack of beauty he was surrounded by. He stood about six foot but gained a couple inches as he was rail thin. 'Hutz' was etched into his badge. Case guessed this was his last name based upon his common sense knowledge of name tag protocol. Sheena had mentioned a man fitting his description who she had learned to trust in her time here, but never referred to him by name. Case knew this was him, and despised the man for the time he was allowed, but couldn't help but be thankful for his loves comfort.

"Right here," Case said lifting his arm slowly and turning. 'You know its me you fuck.' he thought.

Hutz stepped back, pushing the door behind him with the ridge of his shoulders. He looked to his right, down the corridor and let loose a slight but knowing smile. He stepped out and all that was left was the back of his left hand holding the door opened.

Sheena stepped through, not yet looking into the room but up at a now invisible Hutz, returning his smile. His hand slid to the edge of the door and he was gone. The weight of the door now came to rest on the frail, stark white hand of the object of Case's affection, love, and worry. Sheena.

This girl had eyes that could tear a hole in an oribiters hull, weld it shut again, then hop inside and steal every molecule of oxygen scrubbed for consumption. Though she was sick and without colour, there was still some radiance, not some youthful beauty, or warmth, but the glow of the moon on a plasteel walkway. Stepped on and sad, but unyielding. It always looked as though she had just finished crying. The rims of her eyes were red and inflamed. Her lips were wet and pink, recently licked and refreshed. Her pale red hair was braided and tossed over her right shoulder. The girls in the ward had very little to do, and as Sheena had explained, took to braiding one anothers damaged and broken hair several times a day. The freckles Case had loved so truley, and counted hundreds of times had faded yet still remained. Faint but still present as if they had begun to recede into the girl, feeling her withdraw from  the world and following suit.

Sheena took the same nine steps she always had to the round plastic stool beside Case. Her slippers sliding across the once smooth Lino, now marked by stool leg indentions. She gently laid her hand on the table top and lowered herself onto the stool.

"Hey" She said smiling big and tugging her braid. Her turquoise robe settle on the floor and she crossed her legs. Loose fitting sweatpants met silently. Left over right.

"Ive missed you so much, im sorry I couldn't call yesterday. I was stuck without my phone and didnt make it home." Case said sliding his hand across the table to meet her fingertips.

"Its ok, I understand." She replied pushing her fingers over his just has far as the index cuticle. There wasnt supposed to be any contact in the visiting room to ensure nothing was being passed back and forth and to make sure the other visitors weren't made uncomfortable.

"How have you been, I cant believe its been a week since ive seen you already. You've been in here so long the wednesdays kindof, I dont know, push up against each other. Everything else is just filler." Case said pushing his index finger further beneath hers and sliding his ring finger atop hers.

"Ive been alright. I kindof lost it the other day though. They were making us all go to group therapy twice in one day and everyone was pissed. It basically meant that our time to do what we wanted was cut down to an hour as opposed to 3. When you have that little time alone it gets to you, someone taking it away you know?" Sheena said adjusting herself on the uncomfortable stool.

"Yeah I can imagine..." Case started. He had thought about her plight in this place more when she was first admitted, but not witnessing it first hand. It had become an imaginary routine that flashed by in the instant of a fleeting day dream. Overshadowed by his own dreams of being with her outside again."Thats bullshit. What do you mean by 'Lost it?'".

"Yelling throwing shit. Im embarrassed about it. But The nurses were cool about it and everything. I calmed down eventually." Sheena said leaning forward and smiling again.

Case tried not to be jealous of some nurse, as they were trying to save the love of his life, but he couldnt help but feel some envy for someone who could do what he couldnt. Someone who was allowed to help. Fucking Hutz. More and more the thought of the man bothered him. Some fucking saint helping his girl calm down in his absence. Case wanted to help. He thought he could. He tried for years. Eventually there came a point when he was proven wrong and it killed him. That gangle fuck was saving his girl while all he got was 15 minutes on the phone a day and 30 minutes a week in person, in a room of a fucking crying mothers, stoic fathers. It would be wrong to say anything, to ask if she felt for him, for Hutz.

"So, have you made any new friends?" Case asked. 'Godamnit, why do I have to ask, why do I have to torture myself? Shes not going to mention him'.

"No no one new has come in since last time." She replied. " Good news though..." She started.

"Ya? what?" Case said grabbing her hand full and tight. This was unacceptable contact but the notion of good news was overwhelming when you spend your days with nothing but the bad.

"If I do well this week I get a pass to go outside next time you visit!" She said squeezing back. Her head shot to the side, whipping her braid into the air. She looked over her shoulder to the room guard/nurse and let go. He didn't see but she had to make sure.

"No shit! thats amazing!" Case exclaimed. This was good news. He hadnt held the girl in months. Hadnt kissed the girl in almost a year. He needed it. They needed it. The want for contact had grown beyond a point of merely wanting. It was a need and he was on the verge of losing his mind over it. It wasnt just wanting sex, it was wanting any form of physical affection. Not to say that Case didnt desire her whole body. He thought of it constantly. Before Sheena had fallen into her depression they had made love with the consistency of the moonrise. They had fucked with the frequency of a string of summer power outages. They lived for the sound of hips clapping together, the sound so loud it would almost make your ears ring.

Case could still recall the shape of her hips as she bent and arched her back. Her smooth white skin reflecting the sharp blue neon from the street. The way she would pull herself away from him only to push back fast enough to break both their bones, but with the fluid grace roboticists have pined for for centuries. The feeling of his hand at first cupping, and then grasping tightly the back of her neck where her hair grew fine and her spine shook chills to her shoulders- down her arms to her finger tips-down her back-around her hip bones to her stomach- up to her chest- a wave over her breast making the skin taught and sensitive- from her hips to her thighs and up between her legs where he could feel her shiver and surround him, tight inside of her- down to her knees tensing and bending-down the back of her calves and around her ankles to twist and wash across the bottoms of her feet to meet curling toes. Case could remember not with his mind but with his body how his shoulders would ache and swell, using every ounce of energy inisde him to pull Sheena by her gentle waist to meet his front. Her soft tissue pillowing against his waist  as he travelled deeper into her. He could see that blue neon striking the sweat that studded their bodies, entering each drop only to twist- distort and release itself into their eyes. The room would always grow hot and humid. The sheets once neatly drawn across their Nano-cushion bed now pulled from every corner and bundled beneath Sheenas stomach, between her knees and elbows. He could imagine perfectly the creases on the pillow as she pressed the side of her face into the thing- her hair now wet- her cheecks red- mouth open. He could see her tongue moving back and forth across the back of her teeth and her eyes open just enough to shine a slit of un spent tears. Finally , almost like clock work but without monotony, she would release her last deep, heaving breath and exchange it for the whistle of air being drawn through tightly clenched teeth. Over and over. Every muscle tightened from jaw to shoulders, from arms to legs, from stomach to back, and from inside to out. Case would take the cue as if there were some kind of choice and let go, still moving but without any inward impetus. She would shake and go limp. He would fall to her side. The blue neon would lose its edge, and the night would have its way, drenching their minds, and bodies, with its dark shawl.

"Thats so great." Case said resting his head in a cupped hand and arm propped on the table. The sex was one thing, but what they both needed now was some faint reminder they were still alive. Still in love.

The idle conversation of a hospital visiting room ran its course and Hutz re entered. Time was up.

"Times up." Hutz spat without feeling. Fucker.

"Ill call you tonight when im off work. Be good. Lets get you out of here." Case said standing.

The two exchanged a platonicly masked hug and Sheena as ushered out with the others. Hutz Lingered untill the last of them exited and shot Case a glance.

"Nice girl, Sheena." He said smirking.

"Ya." Case replied clenching a fist. 'Cant hit em.' he thought. 'Cant do it. dont do it.'

Case reclaimed his "dangerous" belongings and walked down the fluorescent sewer of a hallway. The elevator bell rang.

'Goodbye.'

The Derm, The Bomb, and the Erotic Thunder.

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Hiroshima, The Derm,. and the Rectangle Scar

Jet leaned back into his set for the first time in hours, leaning on the accelerator withe heavy, even weight.

'Time to get fuckin HOME'  His thoughts spat. His head was fuzz. Dense foam. There wasnt more than one thing on his mind and it filled his skull like a wad of toilet paper jammed into the cylander it was uncoiled from.

Waiting for drugs was the worst.

The craving had started the second his dealer replied " Yeah, im around." The Craving, true craving never started untill he knew he was going to get his fix. Jet's Hunger had driven him to message the pusher, but the feeling of drive and urgency had only arisen once the Sludge was within reach.

He had hurried out of the Compacto-grade quaters him and his bitch stuffed themselves into and rocketed into the drivers seat of his RoadWave rx92 within nano seconds of recieving the reply. The Wave had been a slick sex machine with a no questions , nonstop hover rig when he bought it. Now it was a second rate grav-bound piece of shit with four wheels more than anyone wished to worry about. When you live on the ground floor of Highland park a hover rig is only worth what the fucker who chops it off your car can sell it for.

But fuck it. It wasnt about cars anymore. It wasnt about status. It was about Sludge, and where it could take you. Where you might end up. When you might end up. Modern life is rubbish, right?

Jet had sat outside the squat where his Pusher pushed for a good 45 minutes. This was a fucking eternity. The drive only took about 15 and by minute 7 of the trip he was already buzzing with anticipation.

Sometimes he wondered if that feeling, the feeling of wanting, needing, might be more of a kick than any of the junk he had ingested. If they could bottle that feeling he'd buy em out. It wasnt a good feeling but it was a strong one, and for a junkie as far gone as Jet it wasnt about good or bad. It was about strength, potency. The sweaty palms and quivering joints of a Pusher bound car ride was fuckin potent. The waiting was the peak of that miserable high.

He sat outside the squat checking his watch ever minute and a half. The arms on his vintage analog watch swung so slow he often thought it was broken. Old tech had a way of mocking you. He lived in a world saturated with information, so much you could never count it all, never know or see it all, But a quantified set of info shoved in a circle and dictated by 3 slowly swinging black arms was easy to understand. There was no distraction from the truth it was trying to tell. That was it. This is time passing- and your going to fucking watch.

'Hey man whats the deal ive been here 30 mins' jet typed and messaged his pusher.

'Comin' The pusher replied.

'Godamnit' Jet thought to himself. "Comin" meant nothing. It meant he had seen the message. Thats it.

'How easy if your fucking job?' Jet thought, 'Literaly all you have to do is wal outside, hand me two derms, take my money, and go back inside. How fucking hard is that. Im literaly meters away from where youre sitting huffing Nan-Bug, twitching around. Just get up and walk outside.'

Jet looked down at his watch for the 32nd time the moment a ring tapped his window. Finally, jesus.

"Yo here you go man, 600." The pusher said through the transparent plate of passenger side plasteel.

Jet let the window recede into the door while extending his arm across the trash covered seat beside him. He had been holding the cash so long and so tightly it was soaked with palm sweat. If the Highland park coalition of vendors and residents (HPCVR) had still used paper money the wad would have been destroyed, but the sweat slid off the Corn-plastic like it was supposed to and the pusher grabbed a half dry 600 credits.

"Is this good shit? like clean fuckin high and easy travel?" Jet asked grabbing the derms awkwardly with his left hand, body twisted in a rush.

"Yeah, its the same as usual, your gonna shit your brains out." The pusher said releasing the two pink rectangles.

The nerves of waiting immediately fled and before he really heard what his man had said, Jet was half way to the Compacto. The cab was silent, he couldnt think about music, didnt care about singing along to some radio trash hed heard s thousand times. His head was filled with the journey to come. The tingling feeling racing from the derm to his fingertips. Electric pain shooting to every nerve in his body, from the middle out. His scalp tightening and taking an inventory of every follicle of hair on his head. His joints tightening, just to release and disapear into a time he never should have seen move. Into a time in which he wasnt welcome, wasnt understood, and couldnt be stopped from invading, to do as he wished.

He pulled the Wave upto the curb in front of his complex. The thing had been chipped so many times it served as more of a visual delineation of street and sidewalk than a lip. The walk from the wave to the lift, the ride up 33 stories, the sprint down the hall ending with a slap of a thumb against his greasy Print-coder slipped out of history before it began and he was home, sludge still in hand.

"Oh my god that took for fucking ever!" Tema said raising her arms, spilling a feww drops of the Tsing-Tao she had just opened. "Happy fuckin anniversary asshole!" she shouted, laughing.

"Happy anniversary! sorry i took so long, work was shit, but I got us something..." Jet said with a shit eating grin, hands behind his back. He gently thumbed the derms.

"I dont see any flowers...no champagne..." She joked sipping her beer. "Then what? Dick? I have had your dick- it aint a present its a pain in my ass." They both went silent a beat then erupted in laughter.

Jet produced the derms. It had been months since they had tripped on sludge together. Longer since they could afford it.

"Godamnit J- how did you come up with the scratch for fucking sludge!?" Tema exclaimed umping to her feet.

"I been working my ass off and saving for tonight. I wanted to do Hiroshima again like the first time." Jet said approaching her with his arms open wide. The junkie had left him. He wasnt alone in it anymore.

"Oh my god, I fucking love you" Tema said grabbing Jet by the waist.

The spidering rectangle scars on their fore arms ached, and as the lights on the ground level of Highland park grew dim, they peeled back the derms, stuck them to the usual spot, and disapeared.