While The Boys Get Blitzed
“Dude, I think it’s eating your cellphone,” said the ginger with his fingers in his mouth, spitting crumbs of Cheetos out as he spoke. His eyes were bloodshot from the effects of the m*******a edible, as were most of the boys. Everyone but Stocks had partaken in the consumption of the weed chocolate.
If Parlay had eyes, they’d be bloodshot too, I’m sure.
“I don’t think Parlay is eating my phone. I mean, I don’t know. Parlay? What are you doing?”
“I am eating your phone, but only the perishable bits. The data. The information. I am consuming. But your phone is almost empty.”
At first Stocks didn’t understand, because all he saw was a small pink blob pressed against the screen that was rapidly changing colors and flashing lights. The phone, not the blob. What
