Tuesday, September 18, 2012

A schedule

Anyway, Sean calls and she wants to get cocktails, but I tell her I'm not drinking for a week, remember? She says I thought you were joking — it’s Wednesday, she says, we have to go to Sporters. Which is funny as hell, because it's not like Sporters is a particularly glamorous destination. We just started going there because there's nothing else to do on a Wednesday, and Abby knows the bartender who always gives us free cocktails. Sporters is the oldest gay bar in Boston — usually there's no one there, but when there is someone they look like they might be the oldest part of the bar. Tut it's kind of a funny place, with all these Christmas lights on the ceiling or not Christmas because they're white but you almost have to duck to walk around and then right next door is some leather bar that’s kind of part of Sporters, I mean when you go to the bathroom you're in the other bar, but I think that bar is only open on weekends. It looks kind of spooky. And actually Sporters was what made me take a break from drinking or drugs for a week, that means I only have two days left because I never drink on Thursdays, Thursdays is Paradise.

I guess we kind of have a schedule now — Avalon on Sundays, Quest on Mondays, Luxor on Tuesdays, Sporters on Wednesdays, Thursdays we split up because I go to Paradise but everyone else goes to Man Ray where they play ‘80s bullshit and then Friday we usually go to the Eagle, sometimes end up at Paradise, and Saturdays is the Loft for me and maybe Quest first, but Quest on Saturdays is kind of boring so usually I skip it and meet everyone at the Loft, actually that's how the after-afterhours started at our house, since I always do my X at 2 and everyone else takes it at midnight, so then I’m like wait, everyone, come over our house! I mean I'm always trying not to do X, but then, well we know the story. Our after-afterhours is actually working out pretty well so far, especially now that Abby and I are selling K thanks to Billy's job at the veterinarian — yes, we can share with the cats, honey, meow.

I mean Billy's former job — but she didn't get fired for taking six bottles of ketamine to our house, she got fired because she kept flaking and I would flake too if I had to get to Woburn for work, let me tell you. Not that I've ever been to Woburn, but judging from what I've heard I don't think I'll be there anytime soon. But, anyway, last week at Sporters I did too much K, and then Billy wanted to go somewhere to get coke, really, why do you need coke? But then she started whining, so I said okay, I'll drive, and I don't know how long it took us because at every intersection I started pushing on the brakes from so far away that we would miss the light, because I couldn't tell how long it would take, I mean I was worried we would slide past but then I was worried that the cops would notice we were driving so slow. It was ridiculous – I remember when I wouldn't drive if I’d even had a sip of alcohol, but I guess times have changed, honey, times have changed. At least we got to listen to a little bit of jazz on Mass Ave — I don't know where it was coming from, but I got distracted and everyone had to tell me to keep driving.

Anyway, it turned out that the place where Billy was getting coke was the projects in Roxbury so there we were, three drugged-out white faggots in a Volvo sitting on this pitch dark street looking kind of conspicuous, right? Why it was so dark there, I don't know, I was just glad the K had worn off but then while we were waiting Sean started to say that Billy was really getting crack — who cares, what's the difference?

It did take a while, though, and Sean kept saying maybe Billy's dead – honey, you're being ridiculous. And then eventually Billy came back looking really messy, with some guy who I guess was her friend but then he didn't even know Billy’s name but when we got home they went in the bedroom together and of course Billy didn't offer us anything. She's shady.

Speaking of shady, after the two of them went into Billy's room Sean said she was scared to stay in our house and I don't know if it was because the guy was black or if it was because we’d picked him up from the projects but I told Sean she could take her racist shit somewhere else, and I went upstairs to get ready for bed. When I got downstairs, Sean was already snoring on the sofa, I don't know how she does that.

I will say that whatever Billy did that night, the next day she looked horrible, dark dark lines under her eyes and when I got up she was in the kitchen scratching at the sink drain with a knife. What you doing, I said, and she looked up at me like she was startled. It kind of smelled like something was burning, I actually looked around but the stove wasn’t on and when I looked back at her I noticed these really dark lines under her eyes. Yes, you could go shopping with the bags under my eyes, that for sure, but the lines under Billy’s eyes were way scarier, maybe because her eyes were kind of bulging out. I guess her eyes are always bulging out, but this time it kind of looked like they were stuck, like someone had put fake eyes in place of her eyes. Are you okay, I said, and she didn't say anything.


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