ramblings

rum and weed was the smell that seeped under the doors of grahams room in what he liked to call his own personal hell. that was, in fact what he has written on the sign on the outside of his door. to any untrained nose this particular scent could, and usually did, cause nausea, heartburn, upset stomach, and/or diarrhea. the room was very much lived in; the floors were covered in piles and piles of clothes that were almost as tall as his computer desk. the walls were bright lime green and orange, almost uncharacteristically so, and were covered in writing and paintings he had done over the past 4 years. his favorite was "FUCK THE PIGS, DAMN THE MAN" which was written in red paint in sloppy, drunken handwriting. this was done only 3 nights after he had just painted his room and he had gotten escorted out of a sports bar by a particularly nasty pig whose fat spilled over his pants and had traces of donut icing around his 5 o'clock shadow. besides the enlightening message about the police, he had several murals he conjured up when he was blazed out of his mind (the only way his art work was ever created) and different band posters he had collected on tour. upbeat guitar riffs and a melodic, hypnotic blend of trumpets, trombones and saxophones blared out of the computer speakers that sat on top of his computer monitor. graham was downing another swig of captain morgan as he simultaneously tapped his toes against the hardwood floor. he was listening to big d and the kid's table. although they had grown pretty mainstream over the years, he couldnt bear to toss away the music that had helped define who he even was as a person. looking down at his half empty bottle of rum, graham decided it was just about time to venture out into the real world and find something fun to do. it was 1 am and the night was utterly young, and mischief and mayhem was just begging to be had. he was wearing a pair of dingy, bright green jeans that he has stumbled, literally, upon at a flea market. they were about 3 years old, but they were his absolute favorite pair of jeans. he has worn them out to the point of extreme comfort and the holes were in all the right places. he had a striped black and white shirt on, which he had slept in the night before after finding it on his floor. his stomach was screaming at him in pain and hunger and he jumped out of his computer chair a little too quickly. he put his slightly brown hands out in front of himself to steady himself and grabbed a black sweatshirt covered in patches and pins off of his floor. he stuffed the bottle up his jacket and kept it very close to his heart, where he preferred all of his alcohol or any other illegal substance. dylan had been expecting him for at least and hour, and he was starting to feel a little guilty which motivated him to move his ass. the ride to her apartment wasn't as brutal when he was drunk, so it felt like only a couple minutes and a big blur of lights and faces before he was stumbling his way up to her apartment. he pulled out the cheapest plan verizon offered out of his pocket and dialed number 2, since his was usually to intoxicated to go through any other process of calling someone. he wasn't as drunk as he usually was but his words were starting to stick together when he shouted a little too loudly into his cellphone, "captain morgan and i have some business to discuss with you!"