The Less than Zero Weekend
“Hey Winston, what are you up too? Said Constance in her usual seductive manner, she had a way of twirling her pencil in her mouth while she reviewed the books at the track, that always left Winston thinking of other things. “Oh not much, what about you?” he replied. “I want you to come over and see my new place, I’ve finally left the dystopian paradise, as you like to call it.” “Cool, I can’t wait to see it!” “Okay then Mr. Winston, I will see you tonight.” “Bring some drugs.” Winston knew all too well what this meant. Another night filled with yet another exasperado sighing incessantly, all the while snorting entirely too much cocaine. The only redeeming quality being early morning angry sex, brought on by three decades of daddy issues. God bless America, thought Winston as he put on his puma tennis shoes with his classic fit brown pinstriped pants, knowing full well nothing good could come from this pairing, he left for Constance’s heights bungalow. Delta had approved his request for a transfer, something highly unlikely for a baggage handler. Driving Down sheppard was always a pain, and driving high was a total buzzkill. The sooner Winston could get out of the car the better. Just like clockwork there was the call from Vladan. Winston was really pissed that since his forced leave of absence from Delta, Vladan had turned him into his personal Cato. “Hey Vlad, what’s shaking?” “Hi Winston, I’ve got some gardeners working in the yard, I wanted you to run by Nigel’s for me.” “Well you know, my normal processing fee applies.” said Winston. “Yes, that’s fine Winston, come on by.” Emotions were more of a plaid for Winston, than straight color. Normal rules of life didn’t apply for Winston, the infinite swell of change that Winston swam through was such that the even-keeled life was the fodder of accountants and the like. As long as Vladan kept bird dogging around town in that niggered up Rolls Royce, no successful drug dealers would let him swing by. That irritation was only outdone by the incessant tedium of Vlad’s calls and relentless updates on why he was constantly running late. There was no need to call me and with the factoid that you have stopped to shine your shoes. The tedium of Vladan’s life was little more than a footnote. Winston chalked it up to Vlad’s
investment banker lifestyle and his exaggerated sense of self worth. With that he pulled into Vlad’s River Oaks driveway. The amount of Mexican’s working in Vlad’s yard usually topped a baker’s dozen. It was all that Winsotn could do to control himself from yelling “INS” just to fuck with em. The routine was always the same small envelope on the foyer table, next to the life size jesus statue. Religious Serbians and the need for Vodka eluded Winston, now a bowl of cocaine next to jesus, that’s something special. Nigel’s apartment filled Winston with a certain dread. First, there was Nigel a black british fag to the n’th degree. Playing hairdresser had recently backfired on Nigel, leaving him completely hairless. Ahhh, the lord did have a sense of humor. Secondly, Nigel had a thing for not letting people use his restroom, this happened one too many times for Winston, so he punched him in the face. Time has a way of healing wounds, especially when coupled with thousands of dollars in revenue. “hello Darling” said Nigel as he opened the door. “ Take your shoes off!” “yes, I know the drill.” Winston said flatly. Ever since his falling out with Reznor, Winston longed for the comfort of kilo home delivery. Nigel was too much to deal with and too sloppy for the amount of product that Winston moved on a weekly basis. “Nigel, can’t you have the shit weighed before I get here” said Winston more than mildly irritated. “Slow your roll soul sister. A girl moves as fast as she can.” Fucking fags, they always talk about themselves in the third person.