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March 06, 2004

F(r)iction factory fragment.

Sooner rather than later, my presence was noted. Will came trotting out seconds after. I tossed him the other can of beer, which nearly made him drop the drug-bag - a near as possible copy of the good Dr. Thompson's satchel that I'd bought him as a wedding present. Somedays I'm nice, other days less so.

"Cheers Kyle."

"No worries. Start as we mean to go on, yeah?"

"Mmmm. Shall we?"

"Ok, ready. Let's do it."

I love early Human League. It lets you use words like 'Ballard' and 'psychoscape' without coming across as a pretentious arse. The later stuff's not worth a light. Same awful lyrics, but the smarmy production fucks it rigid.

I don't talk much when I'm driving. This unnerves some people, who try to make ever more embarassing attempts at brittle chit-chat. I tend to take the attitude that piloting the thick end of a ton of metal is something that deserves, if not demands a level of attention that most people are incapable of. Certainly, when I've not been concentrating, I've wrecked cars. This is entirely fair. Unfortunately, the chatterers don't see it like this and take me to task for my 'appalling driving record'. I've not been enough of a bastard to point out that I've yet to damage anyone but myself. Will knew the drill and had cranked the stereo up to pleasantly loud before we'd left his road. By the time we were out of town he'd rolled up a pleasing little number of grass and black, which is exactly the sort of behaviour that we both appreciate in passengers. A couple of hours later we had to stop for a piss-break and decided that a couple of lines of coke each were more than required. One of my favourite recreations, when funds permit, is balancing several different drugs so you feel normal only more so.

Posted by Hirez at March 6, 2004 11:20 PM


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