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6.14 P.M.

 

"Did you take it?"

        "F*ck no."

        "You sure?"

        "Why? Did you take it?"

        "No."

        "Well then ..."

        Curry was miffed at Ross for mirroring his question.

        Ash, Curry's best pal, watched the exchange from a computer chair. He was smoking a blunt as he listened to his two very different friends.

        His bedsit hid behind curtains always pulled across a window that never opened. Ten empty bottles and two full ashtrays set the scene.

        "You want any of this?" Curry asked, pushing a five-skinner at Ross.

        "No, thanks."

         Curry's eyebrows raised. "You sure?"

        "It takes me days to straighten out. No, but thanks anyway."

        "Dope doesn't make you high for days, what you talking about!?" scoffed Ash.

        "No," said Ross, "but the nicotine stays in my system for days. Remember I used to smoke. Thirty-odd years that'll likely kill me before my time."

        "So why not have a toot now, if you're gonna die anyway?"

        Ross thought it odd how Curry would share saliva yet worry about sitting close together on the tiny couch. Ash on the other hand was sure Ross had never actually taken the poison spear and never would.

        Changing the subject Ross asked, "Long you lived here, Ash?"

        "Twenty-six ... no, twenty-eight years."

        All three wondered at this in silence. By now each had slipped into a reverie stoked either from tooting or in Ross's case through passive smoking.

        The beers by at last exhausted it was crunch time for Ross: Call it quits and go home? Or head out to get fresh supplies for a night with an uncertain end?

Ash and Curry looked settled for a long session. "I'm gonna get going," said Ross, finding his jacket. He headed for the door and home.

        "You sure you never took it?" called out Curry.

        It was 6.14 p.m.

        It was still daylight outside.

 

 

© copyright Russell Cavanagh  

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