"dark is what I want" apostles of hustle

i looked down at my pathetic attempt to passive-agressively tell coffee shop boy that I love him... and make it clear that I was going insane, but I couldn't afford therapy.
I pursed my lips tight and slowly pulled in a cheekful of wine. A single glass alotted to me for passing a piss test. so what if I had failed the first eleven urine tests to determine if i could phase in some merriment. And YES I tested positive for opium, but give me a bit of leeway. Who'd pass up on an opportunity to try opium from Afghanistan? Not me. and you can't even blame hunter s. thompson. i had conceeded at 16 that I would at least give it a shot. life experience that's not crystal meth. I have standards.
So. Glass. Of. Wine. Mmm mmmm. totally worth the $280.00 for the crash detox kit to flush out the hash and my second round of opium. apparently you have to smoke it twice to get the Real Deal effect.
I don't feel guilty about cheating, it was for good opium and really, I don't get my hands on hash a lot so, you know, fuck it.
Anthony had sincerely asked me to stop when he was laid out in the hospital and the nurses had forgotton to give him his evening dose of painkillers.
No need to dish on the conversation. Maybe it was the post-operative infection causing him to have a fever. Maybe he was feeling assertive after being bossed around by nurses all dau. But I agreed. He thought I was going to kill muself. I thought that I was too apathetic to invest the time in suicide.
A promise. Then he called my bluff and said I'd have to do a urine test. Multiple failures, but I hold my ground on smoking weed. so the eleven thc-induced fails and two back-to-back weekends of opium made me decided to buy a $280.00 glass of wine. just the one. god damned over-priced detox shit. i guess i should write them a letter to say it worked in spite of the inflated price.
I choose a cheap but delicious bottle of Carmen chardonay from South America. NOrmally a sauvignon blanc man, I decided that a tasty wine I wasn't totally mad over wouldn't send me into a frenzy of desire to comsume more.

A neat pile of arts and crafts sat out in front of me in the now.

The reward wine wasn't stimulating my creative drive. Sweet glass of letdown. Pray thee will be more rewarding after more gulps.

I could only do one crafty thing. Well, two. I could make paper. You know... the thick and decorated shit you see in greeting card stores and think, "Aw, that's nice. I'd never fucking use the shit though."
So I make that and then type out short poems I wronte onto them with a typewriter. Ol' Fire Hazzard was a whopping 40 pounds of "portable" one from the 70's that needed to be plugged in. it sounded like a primative microwave if it was powered by a crude fanbelt. it cooled off to the side of the kitchen table as I arranged the six squares I had hammered words onto. a small sheet of note paper sat blank in front of me. i couldn't decide what I would comit to the paper other than, "Dear Noah".
Yeah. Coffee shop boy's name is Noah. Noah and Nathan. Bleh bleh bleh. Never going to happen.
Dear Noah... Nothing. I got nothing.
Anthony shuffled past me and quietly looked over my shoulder at the powems. I had tried to scribble out some ideas on a rough sheet of paper. he jingled a mojito in a glass. cool and fresh smelling with freshly smooshed mint. fuck, i should have had that.
"'Dear Noah - You are the most interesting person I've met in 10 years and it scares me.' 'Dear Noah: Sometimes I think of you so much that I zone out at work for 45 minutes at a time.' 'Dear Noah, I like you to the point that I don't think about you when I jerk off because I respect you that much.' Ha ha ha!" Clink of ice in his tall glass.
Faggots drink things like mojitos!INside yelling. He'll take your wine away.
"Oh... Oh MY. I'm glad this is the rought draft phase."
I looked forward with a sour pout plastered across my face.
"Awww... Sensitive.."
He did a little back and fourth dance waving his hands around making the glass patter out a fast beat.
"I loooooooove you Nooooooaaaaaah! Ha ha h..."
I socked him in the crotch from my eye-level point at the kitchen table.
"Bwaaarfff... FUCK!" It was hard to get him swearing. I'm proud of myself.
"Auuhuhhh... You piece of... I had massive hernia surgery two months ago!" He set his glass down and leaned on the table.
"Whatever. If it pops out again I'm just laying you over the butt end of a hockey stick to shove it in."
I can be so mean when I'm mostly sober.
Anthony hobbled over to the living room to sit and I took a long gulp of his drink. Maybe mint is inspiring.