when are:: coming home?
::at the house of T. I write out the text but don’t send it. Cancel cancel. Cancel again to make sure. Jules: I don’t know. I might not come home tonight.
Chad’s across from me on the carpet. Brooklyn, Zombie. MJ is outside making love to flowers or smoking them or something. I’ve got my little purple bag in the trunk of my car.
"Did you call Ash?"
Chad still has his phone in his hand. "Do you want me not to?"
Brooklyn says: "Matt, you play with me. Chad: you call Ash. And call Soren and Christina—"
"Drug Dealer Christina?"
"Yes, Zombie, Drug Dealer Christina—"
Zombie claps her hands together. Drug Dealer Christina—as we call her, to distinguish her from all the other goddamn Christinas we know—and Soren, are sure to bring LSD, in liquid form. Sweet little eye-dropper, and this house will be off its bricks.
I almost say that I have my little purple bag in the trunk of my car but then I realize what a stupid idea that would be. Everyone knows that stupid fucking bag is in my car; that’s probably why they invited me.