“Can't sleep neither?”
“Not even.”
“This is weird, ain't it, bro? Here we are, muthafucker, the top cats without no top hats.”
“I'm hip.”
“All we can do is gut it out and hope them lucky beads of yours keeps the odds even.”
“You high, man?”
“High on nothin’.”
“Wanna get f****d up?”
“I could dig it.”
When I get back with the dope and my cigarettes, Callme says, “Sure is shitty to have to start thinking about getting killed again, say?”
I don't answer him. He doesn't expect one. The moon floats onto the top of Callme's head after the bowl, and it makes him look like he's wearing a halo. The only thing I can hear is the whirling of TOC's generator and some radio from the same direction that must be on Artillery's push. The night is warm and seems like it rubs against my face, soft s
