A Shower in Vodka

As I thought of dragons, I heard a voice, and snapped out of my reverie.  It was G talking; he was excited.

“I want to do whippets and smoke cigarettes and fuck pussies and blow an eightball off a glass coffee table with naked girlies under it…lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu!….and take a shower in vodka, the people at the party just pouring bottles down over my head, and run then run out onto the street, naked and wet, shaking my hair and shouting and frolicking on the street like a fucking jackass maniac…light some firecrackers, maybe, too, off my cigarette…and when I’m too drunk to walk, fall into a tattoo parlor.

I could pass out and they could cover my entire back with a dragon…”

We were sitting on the ventilation grate under the stairs.  He was smoking a cigarette…

Just after saying this, he put his hands out to his sides, vaudeville-style, made pop-eyes, and shook his tongue and his hair.  Then he looked down at his shoes.  His mania subsided a little.

“Fuck me…  I just want to smoke,” he said.  He tapped off some ash and watched the little pieces drift down through the grate, down into the corridor beneath us…

 


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