heyxgerald:
Gerald liked to pay no mind to the crazy folks of Vegas, but more often than not, he happened to be set too close for comfort to ignore. Just his luck. “You’ve gotta get your dick sucked in all this? Or you just want what you want?” He asked with a laugh.
Gerald wasn’t a dealer. He also didn’t partake in anything more than some bud from time to time (okay-okay, maybe just every night). But fortunately, for this gentleman at the bar, Gerald knew a handful of people who did. Some friends he made in college who lived a more carefree lifestyle.
“If you want a number, I can give you that. But I don’t think she’s got a d to s, feel me? Hear she’s good… just need to make sure she’s still in town. You got a pen?”
"Hey, whatever payment they take, I got the card, capisce?” BJ didn’t give any shits what he had to do to get his fix; being alive wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d hoped it would be, and he had to take that edge off. Get a touch closer to death - that was his forte.
Patting himself down, he realized with chagrin that he didn’t have a pen. Or a cell phone. “No dice,” he groaned, reaching over and slamming the rest of his vodka.
