The Dirty Version
Posted: Sat Mar 28, 2009 5:08 am
The grandeur of life's design and the fleetingness of it all never seemed more apparent than when you were doing something to destroy said life: with a gun to your head you sensed everything and anything that ever was, your entire mind realizing that it could be ended in a few fractions of a second due to a miniscule twitch from your muscle.
Of course, Dirty D didn't turn to fire arms to gain this enlightenment, instead his weapon of choice had a plastic end stuck in between his lips, coated with a small layer of saliva, a long brown paper shaft burning away as a taste similar to charcoal entered his mouth and slid down his throat and the scent of vanilla exited from the device.
If there was a more homo erotic way of describing smoking a black and mild, I don't think I can come up with it, I'll tell ya what.
It wasn't as if he smoked regularly, quite the opposite, he tried to avoid the vice, his band mates tended to do it, but he never caught on to that fad. Drinking and fast food did enough to kill him slowly, why bother with tobacco and cigarettes?
Says the boy smoking a black and mild.
"Sasha, I'm headin' home, my hours are up, so yeah, gonna start headin' out."
Sasha, his manager, fuck buddy, y'know, the standard deal, she gave him extra hours, they had casual sex, he got his pay check: standard deal, really. He imagined everyone employed in the living hell that was the Promenade -funny how spending every waking moment in the teenage hot spot could drive you to hate it- had a similar experience to him: a boring trip to the parking lot, a cliché filled journey through stores to talk to people you don't like and buy shit you don't need with the money you barely have.
Large gobs of spit escaped dirty, hairy lips as he continued walking through the mall...
Maybe, maybe today would be different.
Of course, Dirty D didn't turn to fire arms to gain this enlightenment, instead his weapon of choice had a plastic end stuck in between his lips, coated with a small layer of saliva, a long brown paper shaft burning away as a taste similar to charcoal entered his mouth and slid down his throat and the scent of vanilla exited from the device.
If there was a more homo erotic way of describing smoking a black and mild, I don't think I can come up with it, I'll tell ya what.
It wasn't as if he smoked regularly, quite the opposite, he tried to avoid the vice, his band mates tended to do it, but he never caught on to that fad. Drinking and fast food did enough to kill him slowly, why bother with tobacco and cigarettes?
Says the boy smoking a black and mild.
"Sasha, I'm headin' home, my hours are up, so yeah, gonna start headin' out."
Sasha, his manager, fuck buddy, y'know, the standard deal, she gave him extra hours, they had casual sex, he got his pay check: standard deal, really. He imagined everyone employed in the living hell that was the Promenade -funny how spending every waking moment in the teenage hot spot could drive you to hate it- had a similar experience to him: a boring trip to the parking lot, a cliché filled journey through stores to talk to people you don't like and buy shit you don't need with the money you barely have.
Large gobs of spit escaped dirty, hairy lips as he continued walking through the mall...
Maybe, maybe today would be different.