She was concentrating hard on the credit card. Smooth, blue and expired in three months. Did he ever really use it the normal way? Online vinyl purchases, resort trips, coffee when he realizes that he's left all his change in the car?
He takes the bag out of his breast pocket. She had never seen anyone use that before. Usually it was a place for pens, pennies, maybe a mint. She doubts he would ever use it to carry those anyways. He shakes it in front of her face, showing off.
The white floury substance spills out on the glass table like grated chalk particles. Smells like nothing, and would probably leave a dry, pasty taste on your tongue. The group comes alive as if the flour substance is the only lifeline of the night.
Visa takes care of the lines. Five in total, one for her.
"Go," is all he says, handing her a rolled dollar bill.
She bows her head. The table smells like a wet bar rag soaked in stale beer. Rejecting the urge to gag, she plugs her right nostril, sticks the bill up the left and inhales.
Palms clamy, heart breaking through her chest, intense exhilaration.
She looks at him, pleading, "More."
No comments:
Post a Comment