Blogs

Who did is when are the?
Well In the absence of a plot or presence of an idea or an intention,
what is left to navigate the train of thought throughout the day?
Answered a question with a question neither of which have a real message,
baked as fuck decided to write so reckless,
like a hole my pen tore in this paper while I'm puffing on thick smokey vapor.
I'm not back to stay, I'll say hello, then drift away,
like a leave caught up right in the wind,
or a river and the log within,

BILL'S PLACE

Ian had enough of Bill's shit, it was nearly noon and he had been waiting at the bar since 8, admittedly he was drinking beer at Da Chum the whole time but he had hit the limit, Bill needed to get back to work.

Ian knocked loudly on the front door of Bill's apartment. Which was less of an apartment and more of a sketchy basement on the outskirts of New Paris.

"OPEN UP BILL WE GOTTA DO STUFF FOR EDGARD TODAY!" Ian kept knocking, until he heard the sound of locks clicking.

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/9...

HISTORY LESSONS

Ian was sitting at the bar at Da Chum. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago Bill was under the knife on the table that a group of college students were sitting at, taking shots of tequila. The place was surprisingly lively.

"Does Bill not drink?" Cheryl asked to Ian while she cleaned glasses behind the bar.

"He does but he doesn't like crowds. He'd rather just stay at his apartment. Although after a day like today he probably hit the hay early to sleep off the ghetto surgery." Ian said to Cheryl between sips of whiskey.

IT'S CHRISTMAS BITCH! YOU THINK SANTA IS GONNA FILL YOUR STOCKING? SANTAS GONNA FILL YOUR HOLES YOU LITTLE SLUT?
WELL WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS I HOPE YOU FUCKS GET IT IF IT BE A BASEBALL GLOVE OR A FAT BEARDED STRANGER FILLING YOUR ANAL CAVITY WITH SANTA JUICES.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

http://www.loverslab.com/topic/5...

William

It's a Sunday afternoon.

I'm knocked out from pain, blood loss, and amateur surgery. Ian holds me down, along with someone I don't know.

And oddly, I feel nothing.

It feels more like drowning than anything else. Noise, followed by the screams, shouts, and exclaims from others.

I feel my blood turn to glass.

My muscles become dense, and then... nothing.

Nothing that hasn't happened before, Bill.

So why does it feel so different?

Good night.

--
SUNLIGHT.

HOME INVASION

Ian knocked loudly on the door to room #612 and shouted

"New Paris Police, open up."

Ian leaned next to the door frame, well out of the way of the actual door and drew a .45 from the back of his pants, he signalled to Bill to get ready to kick the door in.

No answer, but they hardly waited for anything to answer.

Ian nodded to Bill. Go time.

Bill kicked the door as close to the lock as he could, not like it mattered, he had enough muscle density to just force it open.

DELIVERY

Bill and Ian walked into Da Chum and sat at on the red, faded bar stools.

"Hello, welcome to Da Chum, can I take your order today?" Cheryl said, greeting the two men.

"We're not looking to order food, were looking for a man named Cesar." Bill replied, laying out a small slip of red paper.

Cheryl was silent. She inspected the red paper, handed it back and said. "I'll call him and see if he's in."

Cheryl went behind behind the bar and grabbed the phone and called Cesar.

"Cesar?" She asked.