"Who sent you?"
I ask the baubles of light swimming in front of my eyes.
Everything's becoming a bit clearer.
The empty bottle in my lap
the taste of rubbing alchohol and pine
that fuzz and pain in my skull
"and why am I in the car?"
I wasn't driving either... what the fuck was up with that?
I was in the back of my own car
that never happens, and I'm half rolled over in that pile of useless discarded shit and trinkets from girlfriends past that never seemed to make it all the way out of my car mess.
"- the fuck are we?"
I ask not looking the driver in the face, or bothering to pull myself up. Damn interior's spinning, doesn't help that we're speeding down the highway. I'd be sick, but by the smell of things, and the dampness of my shirt, I'd say that already happened.
I pull myself up to the causeway between passenger and driver and wobbley catch a glimpse of my good chum Steve and flop back to a seated position.
Like a very drunk king on his very cramped throne.
"Halfway to Beto Junction."
"and why are we going to Beto Junction?"
... there's nothing in Beto Junction.
"We're not, just sayin we're halfway there."
There's even less between here and there.
"where we goin?" I ask putting fingers to very sensitive eyes.
"The promised land."
"... TJ?"
"Nah, they still got that drug war goin."
"the hell happened last night?"
there are little pieces... falling together in my head
like a really slow game of tetris.
The bag full of money I remember.
...wait
I really don't remember the bag full of money.
"-The fuck we goin again?"
