1 - Missing You
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The sun casts brilliant streaks of magenta across the sky, a vivid brand on the crispness of the evening breeze. Los Santos is abnormally cold for October. Businessmen are slow to anger when elbowed by passersby and radio deejays recite their talking points an octave lower, their words clipped and restless. It doesn't stop addicts from trailing in to get their hands on their products of choice.
Then again, nothing can stop an addict but death.
Trevor leans back in his truck bed, amber eyes turned upward to the sky. There's a small army of empty beer bottles beside him, standing at attention like a disorganized army of glimmering soldiers. It's enough to make the ground rise and fall like the ocean beneath him but not nearly enough to shut down the multitude of warring voices in his mind, conveniently enough.
It's at times like this, the whole of the city warring and buzzing and rushing to and fro in all of its oblivious self-obsession, that he takes refuge in the solitude of the brittle desert. He thinks of Patricia.
He wonders how she is. Where she is. If she's eating well, if the imminent decay of society showcased hourly on the news worries her. He wonders whether she's encircled in her husband's arms or reclining with a book, trying to ignore her gnawing fears as to his whereabouts.
Trevor occasionally dreams about cutting off Madrazo's other ear. He thinks about this now and snorts, momentarily amused from his reverie.
Finishing his current drink in one long pull, he raises his hand high, releasing the bottle and letting it crash into the others with a piercing sound that slices through the silence of the night. The dull buzz of the insects is obliterated. Heavy shards of green glass spin and wobble over the smooth surface of the metal. The fading tears of sunlight through the heavy gray sky reflect on them.
It's on nights like this when the aloneness is both soothing and deafeningly empty.
As darkness envelops the Bodhi, Trevor sighs and squeezes his eyes shut.