Thursday

Through The Haze (491 Words)



Smoke hangs heavy in the air of the small flat and ash clings to every surface. Vince is sat in his tattered armchair blowing smoke rings at the ceiling; the tv is showing old Tom and Jerry cartoons with the sound muted while the stereo plays a static thrum as the needle bounces off the end of the record.

I don't know how long we've been sat like this, it could be hours, could be days. Time doesn't really count for us anymore. We stay up all night drinking, smoking, watching trashy movies and spend the days snoozing with the curtains closed, blocking out the sun.

I rub my eyes and run a hand over a good few days' worth of stubble. My mouth is dry and tastes like shit, last night must have been a long one.

"Hey man, what time is it?"

Vince doesn't answer; he just sits staring at the ceiling.

I try a bit louder this time, wary of bursting his mellow bubble "Vince, what time is it man?"

In slow motion he turns his head my way, his eyes are hardly open and every movement seems like a chore. "Hey man, you're awake! You want a hit? Betty was right this is great."

Betty, oh god Betty was here, things are starting to make sense now. He's just got back from a few months in the 'Dam and promised us some top notch blow. When was that? Last night? The night before?

"Na I'm good man, what time is it?"

Vince blinks at me a few times. "Dude I don't even know what day it is, is it Wednesday? Two secs."

Turning his back on me he pries open the window. Fresh air comes streaming in, the smell of the bakery a few doors down reminds me I haven't eaten in a long while and my stomach grumbles pitifully. Vince, half hanging out of the window yells with the plumy tone of a Victorian gentleman at some kid in the street. "What day is this?"

This makes me giggle for some reason I can't quite put my finger on and I miss the answer. The window slamming closed snaps me back to reality and with the fresh air gone the staleness of this hovel really hits home.

Vince has a stupid smug grin plastered on his face. "I fucking told you it was Thursday!" he announces triumphantly.

I let it slide, there is no point arguing with him. There is no point to anything in our lives these days. If it really is Thursday, and there is no telling in all honesty, it's not like Vince is exactly reliable. I have missed my court date meaning I'll end up back inside for a while. With a heavy heart I tell Vince to chuck me the pipe, I don't know how long I have left so I may as well fog out reality while I still can.

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