i hurt. i got on the mush last night and cried there for a long time. i drank. i wanted more to drink, so i somehow staggered across the street i was walking home when an attractive man in a nice car stopped and asked me for directions.
his car smelled like pot, and when i pointed this out he invited me to get stoned with him. this is at 1 a.m. in hyde park, nominally the south side of chicago. so i got in the car. he promised not to moles me; i knew, though, that nothing's free. it was okay; utter debasement is what i wanted.
we talked. i remember some of the conversation. i told him i was in love with a biracial man; he said he was biracial. he stopped to buy pot. we drove to a deserted school parking lot and had several hits. he kept insisting i take in more smoke and i wasn't in the mood to argue.
i was flying. the world was exquisite and colors had notes and music had smells and smells were beautiful beyond design. and, of course, he pulled his dick out. i give good had, and he'd given me good pot, so i took him in my mouth and did mysterious things with my hands and tongue and just a tiny bit of teeth until he came. i rinsed the semen-taste from my mouth with wine cooler.
we took another hit or two, he drove me home, i annoyed the shit out of alan, confused hydroxy on the mush, blissed for a while, then fell asleep, woke up, talked to a certain angster for four hours, and went to bed for the rest of the day.
payment given, value received, though i'm pretty sure adam smith never envisioned this.
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sine | deb
useless whore helping the invisible hand
do its work