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Hanging Out (1 Viewer)



**This is just something I jotted down as my pals and I hung out one night.**

It's another night at my friend's house. We're listening to Ugly Kid Joe on his CD player--he finally got one. He has a light that flashes along with the music and a huge ass subwoofer blaring the music. If we were at my house the music wouldn't be so loud, and even though his mom is only in the other room with nothing but a blanket nailed over the door, she doesn't complain or yell. She's drunk though, and so are her friends who stumble through the room, say something "clever," and proceed to the bathroom. One bathroom in his house, and you have to go through his room to get to it.

I'm sipping cherry flavored brandy from my brand new Amy Brown faerie flask. I feel awesome drinking from it. The stringy-haired guy at the table is stoned ever-so-slightly and is laughing back and forth at Bosh. Bosh is a little more stoned it seems. They're each nursing resturant sized packets of soy sauce from our chinese dinner.

Jason's sitting on his futon bunk bed listening to the music and spacing out. He usually gets a little quiet this late at night for a bit before he starts freaking out and doing hilarious, be it weird stuff. I don't know if that's his way of coping with whatever is on his mind. We all know what's usually on his mind, but we don't say anything. He won't talk about it anyway, not until he's ready, so whatever.

I take another drink, feeling somewhat guilty in thinking that the first spirit to fill my flask should've been elderberry wine. I've taken a liking to it recently, even though I want to keep trying the hard stuff. Bosh jokes that scotch is my drink of choice, being a writer and all.

We had a Tekken competition earlier, followed by Bushido Blade 2. We only have a few games for the Playstation, most are RPGs though. Jason and I usually play those together; one guy plays, the other navigates and reads ahead in the strategy guide. We buy the books because we want to get everything the first run through so we don't feel compelled to play it again if we don't feel like it. Other than that we have the N64, namely for Zelda. It's all hooked up in the closet. That's where I live.

I have a chair, dresser, and desk in the one-windowed walk-in closet. The window doesn't close all the way so it's freaking hot in the summer and fucking cold in the winter. I'm used to it, especially considering the walking conditions all of us endure for no good reason. All of my electronics, t.v., N64, Playstation, stereo with CD changer, and two VCRs are hooked up in here, all thanks to one poor extension cord racing into the kitchen. The two outlets in Jason's room are scarred with burning from near-electrical fires. I don't trust them. And I like my stuff. That's why I keep it locked up in the closet when I'm gone, with the one tiny padlock that doesn't even lock. It's there for effects.

The song ends and I try to guess what will be next of the three CDs. The mix Bosh brought, Metallica: Black, or They Might Be Giants: Flood. It's TMBG, the seconds-long song Minimum Wage. Brice loves this song, even moreso when he's stoned and slightly buzzed.

I get a can of Pringles down from the top shelf in the closet where I keep the rest of my food (RE: Coke and Ramen noodles). We share and the music switches to Metallica.

We're doing nothing, but this is the life right now.


Some people have suggested I write the story of my life, just because a lot of the down moments would really draw in the crowds (Oprah book fans, most likely).

I wanted to include some happier moments in contrast, and furthermore I wanted to make note of how simple these happy moments were.

I guess my point is that I can't tell if there's sarcasm in Flexbile Garphite's response.