Two lefts, then a right down a mold-filled alley, and I've found them.
At first, I think Sam and Anders are laughing at me, and why the hell not? My nice pinstripe suit and narrow red tie are an instant punchline with this crowd. Matt the yuppie, Matt the straightedge, Matt the fashion victim.
Just because I have a legitimate job doesn't make me a stiff, I remind them, but then I see where they're looking and I laugh too. Rick the ex-con is ten yards to my left. He's leaning over Sarah, muttering in enraptured tones. I glimpse a tab of Mona on his tongue when he opens his mouth.
She's also laughing. "Not now, Ricky, you've got stubble and we've got a customer."
"Listen," Sam whispers in my ear. So I listen.
"Sarah, you're beautiful, you're.... why are you smiling like that? You're a masterpiece, Sarah, you have the most perfect eyes. God, what a smile." Rick stumbles slightly and belches. "What an unbelievable smile." She laughs off another of his advances.
"Wow," I whisper back at Sam, "this from a guy whose idea of a romantic evening is cheap vodka and a pirated football movie."
He grins. "You want? Same price as the Rembrandt."
I consider his offer. Could be a fun evening, assuming Jill is free. Anders shoves past Sam, though, clutching something in his left hand.
"Dude. You gotta try this stuff. It's new, it's epic, you don't wanna waste your time with sissy Renaissance bullshit."
Sam's eyes widen. "Whoa, Anders. That stuff isn't tested."
"Fuck off, buddy. If Rickass over there keeps sampling the product, we're gonna stop making quota. This tab's gonna sell like hotcakes."
"Is it safe?" I interject, "No marketing bull, is this new one safe? What the hell is it?"
Anders leans toward me confidentially. "Don't tell our competitors, but this is brand new grade-A surrealist. Salvador Dalí circa 1931."
This, I gotta try. I fork over the two grand. Sam gives me a worried look but says nothing.
I look at the square of paper one last time before using it, admiring the composition: Persistence of Memory. The bright cliffs in the background contrast beautifully with the shadows on the melting clocks (I consider myself an art lover.) Then I pop it in and let it start to work its magic.
At first, nothing happens, and I start to wonder if Anders has finally robbed me, but then the brick wall behind me suddenly crumbles into dust. I look around for the dealers, but they're long gone -- I see four skeletons in the corner. I look down, and poke a finger through my empty rib cage.
This isn't what I signed up for. But just as I take a step forward, the walls come rushing back, red powder reconstituting itself, and all four of them are there for a split second before they shrink into infants and disappear.
"Shit. Sam? Anders? Not cool guys. Shit. Shit."
A team of workers quickly dismantles the alley walls, and suddenly I'm in a field. Then the sun overhead grows and turns red, and the field catches fire. I look at my watch, but the hands are spinning crazily and the face is starting to melt from the heat.
I'm standing on bare rock now, because the dying Sun has sterilized the Earth. Vaguely I hear voices in the background -- "Fuck, dude, that dose was way too high."
"Did he O.D.? Shit. Fuck. Hide the body."
"Fuck you, Anders. He was a good customer. Asshole."
I don't really care what they're saying anymore. I'm more concerned with the red flame filling the sky, igniting the oxygen in the atmosphere -- and then all I can see is burning red, and the heat melts my soul.
i didn't know he died that way.
#15
At first, I think Sam and Anders are laughing at me, and why the hell not? My nice pinstripe suit and narrow red tie are an instant punchline with this crowd. Matt the yuppie, Matt the straightedge, Matt the fashion victim.
Just because I have a legitimate job doesn't make me a stiff, I remind them, but then I see where they're looking and I laugh too. Rick the ex-con is ten yards to my left. He's leaning over Sarah, muttering in enraptured tones. I glimpse a tab of Mona on his tongue when he opens his mouth.
She's also laughing. "Not now, Ricky, you've got stubble and we've got a customer."
"Listen," Sam whispers in my ear. So I listen.
"Sarah, you're beautiful, you're.... why are you smiling like that? You're a masterpiece, Sarah, you have the most perfect eyes. God, what a smile." Rick stumbles slightly and belches. "What an unbelievable smile." She laughs off another of his advances.
"Wow," I whisper back at Sam, "this from a guy whose idea of a romantic evening is cheap vodka and a pirated football movie."
He grins. "You want? Same price as the Rembrandt."
I consider his offer. Could be a fun evening, assuming Jill is free. Anders shoves past Sam, though, clutching something in his left hand.
"Dude. You gotta try this stuff. It's new, it's epic, you don't wanna waste your time with sissy Renaissance bullshit."
Sam's eyes widen. "Whoa, Anders. That stuff isn't tested."
"Fuck off, buddy. If Rickass over there keeps sampling the product, we're gonna stop making quota. This tab's gonna sell like hotcakes."
"Is it safe?" I interject, "No marketing bull, is this new one safe? What the hell is it?"
Anders leans toward me confidentially. "Don't tell our competitors, but this is brand new grade-A surrealist. Salvador Dalí circa 1931."
This, I gotta try. I fork over the two grand. Sam gives me a worried look but says nothing.
I look at the square of paper one last time before using it, admiring the composition: Persistence of Memory. The bright cliffs in the background contrast beautifully with the shadows on the melting clocks (I consider myself an art lover.) Then I pop it in and let it start to work its magic.
At first, nothing happens, and I start to wonder if Anders has finally robbed me, but then the brick wall behind me suddenly crumbles into dust. I look around for the dealers, but they're long gone -- I see four skeletons in the corner. I look down, and poke a finger through my empty rib cage.
This isn't what I signed up for. But just as I take a step forward, the walls come rushing back, red powder reconstituting itself, and all four of them are there for a split second before they shrink into infants and disappear.
"Shit. Sam? Anders? Not cool guys. Shit. Shit."
A team of workers quickly dismantles the alley walls, and suddenly I'm in a field. Then the sun overhead grows and turns red, and the field catches fire. I look at my watch, but the hands are spinning crazily and the face is starting to melt from the heat.
I'm standing on bare rock now, because the dying Sun has sterilized the Earth. Vaguely I hear voices in the background -- "Fuck, dude, that dose was way too high."
"Did he O.D.? Shit. Fuck. Hide the body."
"Fuck you, Anders. He was a good customer. Asshole."
I don't really care what they're saying anymore. I'm more concerned with the red flame filling the sky, igniting the oxygen in the atmosphere -- and then all I can see is burning red, and the heat melts my soul.