[Swordfish941]

Another passage:

“Oh, it’s just you. You could’ve just said hello.”

“Rocco, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, to make a long story short, I got evicted from my place because I couldn’t keep up with the rent and I need a place to stay.”

“And of all people, you’ve decided to stay with me?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, you can stay here until you get a new place to live. Just don’t mess up my stuff.”

Greg put the revolver back in the drawer and return to his lunch. Rocco came out wearing a t-shirt, wind pants, and sandals. He took out a pearl handled stiletto and start to clean his nails with the blade. He looked hungrily at the other half of Greg’s sandwich. Greg gave him the other half and took a sip of his Coca-Cola. He took his drink walked into his bedroom, and closed the door. He took a packet of Marlboro Lights off of his desk and light one. He grabbed a copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet off of his dresser and sat down on the bed, beginning to read. The stereo began to play some song by The Velvet Underground.

Greg took a few puffs on his cigarette as he turned the page of the book. He was in a trance for a few minutes before Rocco interrupted him. He suddenly broke out of his trance and stared at Rocco.

“I need some help unpacking my stuff.”

“Your stuff?”

“My personal belongings. Are you or are you not going to help me?”

“Sure, since there’s nothing else to do around here.”

The two of them walked into the spare bedroom where two large backpacks were sitting on the bed. Rocco opened the first one and dumped the contents of it onto the bed. It was a total mess. Among the hodgepodge of junk were two sets of worn out clothes, a few pornographic magazines, a half eaten bag of crisps, and other various knick-knacks. Greg opened up the second bag and looked at the contents. There were two bags of marijuana, a hookah pipe, a small baggie of pills, and a bottle of whiskey.

Greg turned to Rocco with an annoyed look on his face. Rocco gave him a toothy grin.

“I’m perfectly content with you being a drunk, but drugs?”

“It’s not the hardcore stuff. Just grass and acid.”

“And what are you suppose to do this hubbly-bubbly?” Greg said picking up the pipe.

“You smoke the grass in it.”

Greg put on his jacket and boots and walked towards the doorway.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to get a drink, and no, you can’t come.”

Greg walked down to a local dive bar called Miller & Carlyle. It was a simple place with a cigarette machine, a snooker table, and a dartboard. The bartender was in his early forties with a bad haircut. Greg ordered a Coke and Rum without the lime wedge. The bartender handed it to him and he drank in silence.