Louis rolled a Zig-Zag around a filter, stuffed it with a brown moss and flicked it at the first woman. She lit the joint and held it like a cigarette, leaning into the second woman as she dragged. The bed sank in deep and unnaturally under their weight. There, in that spot below, the box spring was bent and ruined. It occurred to me only then that Louis must have hammered away between 1000 pairs of rosy thighs on this bed.
"It's one big organ... organism...." He snickered and trailed off. "Do you want to lose that cape? I'll trade you. I'll make it a nice trade." He placed his left hand middle finger between his lips and sucked the shake off like it was sugar. He smiled wide and pointed at my shoulders. "You can make another cape."
"No thanks," I said. "She and I fell in love making my costume." Sharon and I took a big hit and waved goodbye to the ladies. You could smell the room turning horny.
As we stepped into the hallway, Louis tugged at my cape. Turning back, he clasped my shoulders and started kneading. He smiled again and focused.
"They like your mask." He squinted back over his shoulder at the crimped blonds.
In the half hour spent scoring from Louis, the snow began falling and the sidewalks were perfect: not a single footprint. Stepping from the stairs and onto the concrete, we each felt a blood rush and began laughing. Heat crawled up from the Lycra and over my neck, pins & needles covering my scalp. Underneath the mask, my hair stood on end as I recalled one night we slept on a mattress and box spring with no frame. We woke to eat a tube of Pringles, still faded from the moss. The next day, we took pictures of your pregnant belly and your water broke in the bathtub.
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