« on: September 11, 2014, 09:52:35 pm »
I received the phone call at 3:38 in the morning on Saturday night. I had thought that P3nT was going to hit up Arizona and then either spontaneously combust upon his first exposure to direct sunlight, or fuck off back to Scotland. Apparently he had some business to attend to in New York City, and I was the closest person contractually obligated* to meet him. The person who called me had the distinct sound of a person using one of the last working phone booths in America, without pants. In between the sobs and gibbering, I made out that I was supposed to meet P3nT at a fancy joint in Downtown Manhattan that evening.
P3nT arrived in a speeding taxi, whose driver screeched to a burning rubber halt on the sidewalk about three paces away from where I was standing. Looking carefully, I could see that the driver had recently either vomited or been vomited upon.
P3nT crawled out of the backseat, and somehow pulled a full-sized ocean kayak out of the back seat after him. He checked his pockets, and after swearing vehemently enough to frighten nearby pedestrians, said something like "Oy cockshit, forgot me facking wallet. 'Ere, take onna these..." Whereupon he reached his fingers back into his mouth, extracted a gold tooth and tossed it into the stunned driver's lap.
He greeted me with a friendly punch in the gut and dragged me by the belt into the restaurant, leaving his kayak with a homeless man who was too terrified to do anything but clutch the thing like it was his hold on life itself. I blacked out.
When I came to, P3nT had eaten the meals that he had apparently ordered for both of us. I could see in the mirror on the wall behind him that he had drawn at least seven penises on my face in permanent marker.
I could tell that I'd shat myself while I was out.
After downing what appeared to be his twelfth beer and chucking the glass at the weeping manager, he leaned in and spoke as if continuing a conversation that had been going on for quite a while:
"Right, one more thing 'fore I fuck offa this pissing waste of a country. I 'ad a fucking great time with this bloke an' his wife down in Noo Zeeland just the other day, see? And 'ey got somethin' going there that I think would be bloody PERFECT for the rest of us. Let me tell you about Miguel..."
I passed out again.