Hey.
Yeah, the usual please.
No, uh, the Pineapple Express.
Yeah. Quarter. And uh. One sec. Let me check something.
Fuck.
Yeah, and a lighter too.
How much will that be?
Fuck. I don't think I have that much. Uhhh…
Fuck.
Sorry, I don't mean to curse so much. It's a really bad habit. I just—
Yeah. Maybe just an eighth instead.
Sorry.
Thank you.
Have a great day.
Jude sat at his desk, bathed in the pale light of his monitor against the darkness enveloping his room. He was rolling a blunt, as he often did, while wasting away in front of his computer.
How pathetic.
A thirty-something year old smoking weed in a dingy apartment, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and roaches. Truly king fuckshit on fuckshit mountain, sitting upon his throne of fuckshit. Fuck. Shit. He coughed. He wasn't even smoking and he was already coughing. This isn't good. He needed to see a doctor. When was the last time he had done that?
Fuck. Not since he became who he was now. Could he even go to a doctor? The janitors were after him, and probably the feds too. He had killed a few people, and those types weren't ones to simply let that go. Fuck.
No. Damn it, he shouldn't be cursing so much. He had told that twink at the dispensary that he was trying to cut down on swearing. Fuck. Damn it. Ah, whatever, he was already going to hell. No number of mea culpas or Hail Marys could save his faggot tranny soul. Maybe if he went to mass more and stopped smoking as much, but alas, it was too late now.
He sighed, finishing packing his blunt and bringing it up to his lips. He looked around for the shitty BIC lighter he had bought from the dispensary earlier, finding it behind his keyboard. Moments later, the blunt was lit and he was taking a deep drag from it. Smoke filled his lungs, and a violent, hacking cough took over his body, sending aches through his bones and muscles.
Fuck. Damn it. He almost dropped the blunt. Though he doubted it would incinerate his apartment, there was always that danger. Or at least he thought so, being the paranoid fucker he was. In truth, the flame from the blunt was so dull, it was likely to merely singe the carpet beneath him at worst, but again, Jude was as pathetic as he was paranoid. And yet there he was, worried about the flames of hell.
He exhaled, the smoke leaving his body in one fell swoop. Smoking had always helped him feel more at ease, but as of late, it was turning into something to fill time rather than a tool to relax. As if he deserved to relax. Surely someone as fucked up and evil as him didn't deserve anything more than suffering.
After all, he had committed murder. The ultimate sin. Paired with his aforementioned sins, he truly felt wicked. He took another drag of his blunt, this time a smaller one. He didn't immediately break out into hacking coughs, so that was a bonus. He thought about his friends. Esther, JJ, bones, Faeowynn, Dahlia, Andressa, everyone else.
How they looked up to him. It made him sick. He didn't deserve their friendship, much less their admiration. He was just a thirty-something year-old fuck up who spent his entire life stoned to cope with how much of a failure he was. Jude put out his blunt on the ashtray on his desk, then stashed the half-smoked reefer in his jeans pocket.
He had something to do.
Hi.
Yeah, me again.
No, I don't want to buy any more.
I was wondering what your return policy was?
Yeah, the, uh, the weed.
Yeah, I smoked some.
Oh.
Okay, yeah, that makes sense.
Can I at least return the lighter?
No, it's not broken.
Okay.
Actually, you know what? Never mind.
Have a good day.
No, really.
I'm good.
Peace and love.
Jude sat at his desk, bathed in the pale light of his monitor against the darkness enveloping his room. He was smoking the same blunt as before while wasting away in front of his computer.
So much for quitting.
