It was another year in the summertime. The wind was blowing in the city, and I didn’t love it yet. It was the season to be jumping fences and breaking into parties through the window. It was the season for bloodstains on the mattress and sleeping on the couch. It was the season for stationary Range Rovers in that one parking lot where I learnt to smoke pot and my best friend got addicted to shooting up.
“Keen for Would You Rather?” Said the kid in the Lakers jersey.
“Not if you don’t pass me that doobie.” Replied the girl in the Rock’n’Roll shirt.
“Never mind then.”
“But it’s my weed!”
“And it’s my car.”
“You’re starting to sound like my best mate.”
“You have mates?”
“Cut me deep, why don’t you.”
“I wasn’t aware you had feelings either.”
“Would you rather,” he said, ignoring her razor sharp banter “be happy or drug free?”
She leaned over and snapped the tight roll from his fingers with entitlement that is characteristic of a complete lack of gratitude.
“People only have a certain capacity for fucked up things,” she said with a nice long drag. “And once you’ve exceeded that capacity, happiness isn’t really an option anymore. Once you’re over the limit you’ve just gotta medicate.”
“I don’t think that really answers the question.”
“I’m saying I can’t have either.”
“Yeah, but what if you could? If you could, which one would you wish for.”
“Giacci, if I could wish for anything, I wouldn’t waste it on me.”
“You’re being a real downer tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the one being a little bitch about my dad.”
“Know what’ll help my mood?”
She pulled out a needle, and they both smiled.
They were the poet kids writing about life with cocaine lines. She was the bleach to the teeth and whitening strips. He was the parked car conversations that I never had. These were the friends I loved the most. And I was at home with a bone in my hand that kept me tethered to a drink. These were the friends I loved the most.