JET BLACK, SO COOL

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his skin itches a little bit and his eyes are burning. there was never an absolute fun in hanging out with his drugged friends without getting high. he has thirty bucks in his back pocket from an early drug deal and cigarettes in another.
and if a police man patted him down right about now they'd find some illegal substances.

he has a pepsi can filled with beer gripped in his left hand, it's twelve pm and it's too early for alcohol, but he doesn't care that much. it's twelve pm and it's too early for meth, but he doesn't give two shits.

he presses a trembling cigarette to his pink, pale, chapped, scabby lips and breathes in through stained teeth.
a swollen tongue.

he's a wreck, as always.

his eyes are darting back and forth, examining the hallways, determined to get out of here before a 'person of authority' shows their cocky face. tendrils of smoke escape his nostrils and the corners of his mouth and he walks with a crooked step.
his skin is crawling and his blood is on fire.
and he whips past a walking, white stick of cotton candy.

and he keeps going until he realizes that he had just moved past his favorite pink-haired transvestite.

and he's stopping and he doesn't know that he's not supposed to go up and talk to kitty while he's high, he's not in the right state of mind, oh, sweet euphoria.
he tries to hide it.

he pulls off a 180 on the spot and twists around, "hey!" he's got a stupid jack o' lantern grin on his tired face. the faggot.
"kitty kenzie mackenzie cotton candy cat! hey, how're ya, i ain't seen ya in forever and a long time!" he's talking too fast and he's starting to sweat a little bit, he's tapping his fingers against his thigh.
the fucking faggot.

riah zips up his jacket and shuffles over to her, "how ya been? how's life? man, i miss ya!" cigarette smoke follows his words and he sets the pepsi can of beer on the decorative table dripping with fake flowers that kitty was standing next to. he nudges her with his elbow and his pupils are dilated but you can't see much behind his glasses and his hair.
he needed a hair cut.

his blood is still racing and heart is still pumping and his fingers are still twitching and his mind is still running. and the shit-sucker's actually trying to hide it, he looks down at his feet and then her stilettos. oh, he was glad he liked dressing like a boy. he would never ever survive in a pair of six inch salmon pink heels and lace pantyhose.
he rubs his eyes because he only got a half hour of sleep last night. "who're ya here with? i got m' car, we can go n' get a bite to eat er somethin'." he shakes his pocket and his keys make some audible noise. he's in no state to drive but the coney island is only down the street. they'd be fine.