dandy warhols - the entire come down albuuuuuuuum

brad was on an informal suicide watch. i couldn't fathom him ever dicing himself up or the risk of having ligature marks for an open casket funeral... no, it was more a self-motivated desire to comit social suicide and crawl back to the pack of twinky douchebags that had sent him into exile.
i got him so stoned that he promptly passed out on the floor with 3/4 empty bag of salt and vinegar chips. he snoozed with my feet propped up on his chest and i resisted my burning desire to streak a toe over his lips. then frowned at how aroused that made me feel. it's annoying to be single for so long that fetish becomes the norm. spend enough time jerking yourself off thinking about all the sick shit you wish you were doing and it kinda weaves itself into your psyche.
thankfully he had turned his cell to vibrate but i watched the led slowly cycle from blue to purple... the tell tale sign of an upper echelon friend trying to reach out to him. no sense waking him up for that.
author by trade, he had managed to crank out two novels by the time he hit 25. fucking impressive to say the least, and admittedly a source of pouting from me. but subliminal only. er, well i supposed it comes out when i'm drunk every once in a while... and only when i'm drinking brown liquor.
so my darling roommate and accomplished writer was under the gun to finish his next great masterpiece by the end of June and he felt like that simply wasn't enough time.
he moved around the apartment like a thin vapour that flitted from kitchen to the bathroom to his bedroom. i mean, i'm a consumate only child so normally i would be in heaven with this sort of arrangement but the smothery healer in me couldn't stand the thought that someone was hurt and going through life without my advice.
sometimes i caught him out on the balcony, back to the cement barrier and slumped forward. eyes down and the petered out butts of joints with ashy-topped cans of diet coke around him. it was too much to stand sometimes. well, as much as i could actually care about a guy who i only met two months ago to lease a bedroom.
i came home from a long day at the office to hear something akin to suffocated tears in the bathroom. i'm all for people getting it out, but i had to shake out a monster shit and had paced up and down the hall for a definative eight minutes before i gave a knock.
"buddy?" [i'll never escape growing up lower middle class and the hierarchy of pet names]
water turned in the tub and i got the sensation that he hadn't realized i was home.
"y... yeah?"
"I gotta be a doucher and kick you out, man. i need to crunch some numbers in there."
the lift of water and his footsteps came towards the door.
opening it wide, a wallop of steam pushed out and i actually had to flip my hands around through the moist fog.
he attempted to walk proudly past me with a swollen face and savagely red eyes. i wanted to shit my brains out in a whalloping thud into a bowl. i didn't care if there was piss mellowing in it. [fucking hippy fag brad....] i want to push it out and wham i slam the door. ahhhhhrelieffffuuckiwonderwhatssooooohwrongwith. brad. ah.
clensed, i am renewed in my quest to make a bond with my roommate. maybe it was the 1/2 litre of wine i had after work. maybe it was the $40 bag of blow i did in the bathroom... but i was going to make contact and make this dude know someone cared. and sure it meant only a little since i wasn't a hot twinky telling him this, but damn it, my opinion mattered. to me. my opinion mattered to me and sharing it with others. my opinion mattered to me and inflicting it on others was my bag.