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Monday, June 30, 2008

Who Needs Any Knees?

“What happened to all the crystal?” Katherine really didn’t want to make it sound like a leading question, but Simon wouldn’t have noticed anyway, plucking out singed hairs from a blister.

“Dunno. It’s all a bit of a blur since,” he chewed on a burned hair and then found a longer one in his teeth, which made him look even more confused than usual, “Um since I came out of my mummy’s tummy, I think.”

“On some alien planet, some poor bint glued to the wall giving it all the, ‘please kill me!’ shit, no doubt?”

“Wouldn’t know. Was on drugs at the time, probably,” Simon countered, tapping the joint decisively over the ashtray, then rubbing his stomach. “I wonder if I’m now less than my birth weight after that weekend?”

“Cock like a baby’s arm, huh?” she glanced at his re-opened fly and didn’t care that he saw. His pupils were like dinner plates, so his todger was probably a miniature caramel walnut whip by this point in proceedings. “You had trackmarks when you got home, oh gate-keeper.”

Simon looked behind him to his pants, then back to Katherine, who pointed at the crook of her arm. “Fuck,” he said, inspecting the right area. “I don’t now!”

“Bruises probably got bored of you and left you. Everyone does that.”

“Oh, go lick dwarf bean, cuntbitchwhore.” He looked harder at his arm, trying to tell pores from pockmarks from pokemarks. “Trackmarks. I can only see pimples.”

“Must be your diet of five fruits a day, innit?”

“Innit. Nah, it’s cool. I don’t do mainline, I’m tube or nothing.”

“That’s a vile mental image, red-boy. I don’t want to know what you’re had up or down your tubes over the last few days. But if you didn’t inject drugs, then what happened to the weekend?”

“We went out to celebrate David’s fucking job. Where is he?”

“At his fucking job, not actually fucking, though, you’re the poor man’s whore.”

Simon looked up as though trying to remember something. Unconsciously, he pushed at his cock through his lucky pants. “Oh yeah, then we were trying to write theme tunes for recreational drugs...”

“Jingles,” Katherine clarified, which resulted in Simon checking his pockets. Satisfied that they still seemed to be there, more or less, he grinned at his flatmate.

“Brush with Confidence - Cocaine!” they both sang, doing jazz hands.

“Yeah! Wow, I remember, and, um, you were betting David he could actually snort a line from your breasts, so you both went off to the boys loos to find out, then I saw this guy, was a bit coked up so went up and chatted him up.”

“When we got out of the loos and couldn’t be bothered looking for you, some bloke said you punched him.”

“Cocaine!” they both laughed.

“Oh yeah, maybe I did. I went out into Berwick street a bit pissed and asked in a hippie shop if they had a bong that worked for crystal meth, they told me to stop waving the bag about so much and, um, there’s not much after that. I think I can remember the taste of bergamot-scented cock cheese though, so I think we know where that all wound up.”

Katherine shrugged. “You made it home in one piece. Is there any crystal left now, perchance?”

“Oh, fuck, the hippy boy shot up in a vein in his cock!” Simon clapped his hands. “You know I always wanted to see that!”

“Was it worth seeing?”

“Kind of killed his boner, but that was comedy enough in itself!”

“Might have been you, cheese lips.”

Simon wiped his mouth. “Bit fuzzy after that.”

“Think you did the bird what works in there too? I know she always wanted a bit of carrot in her. You know, the one with the skirt made from Vietnamese children or whatever she said when we frogmarched you to buy a rolling machine.”

“Oh, her?” Simon looked at the last of the neatly-rolled joint, offered it to Katherine, who sniffed her fingers and shook her head. Simon nodded, “Um. I really hope not. I’m assuming I’d remember.”

“I’m sure you opened her pink curtains to watch her play unfold,” Katherine said, loving Simon’s disgusted reaction. She hooked her thumb into the belt of her leggings. “Want a reminder?”

Simon fled the room with remarkable agility. Katherine peered down into her leggings and nodded her head appreciatively while she could hear retching from the hallway toilet.

“A fine show, Mrs Shakespeare!” she commended her vagina. If it replied, Katherine didn’t stay to chat, looking up as the front door went.

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