3. Gluttony
He drank all night. He drank when disturbed or when in denial He drank the very smoke that fled from 2ds' mouth. Neither f them could quit, but the matter was with who was sober.
Murdoc was never happy when sober.
His steel-studded boot kicked a dent into the wall.
"We need a saloon, tequilas, mucha!" he blurted, dumfounded. "You got it lard? It's my dealer."
"If we got some, we aint got it here," Russell mumbled, chipping the skin of a potato with a Swiss army knife.
"Can I have one of those skins?" 2d asked, reaching his long arm across the table.
"For cigarette butts?" he asked. "Your eyes are blistered enough."
"I like the texture on my tongue, it feels like teeth."
"The one I popped out of your mouth?" Murdoc piped up. "Yeah, I did. He he…"
The scraping of the knife continued. Murdoc had a ridiculous idea.
"Fork the skins over here," he told Russell. He got a blank 'no' in response.
"Do you know what is good for you? Do you, lards?"
"You don't. I saw the marijuana."
"It's illegal in the states, not here."
"Don't kill yourself," 2d cried with a mouthful of paper sliding under his tongue. He spit it into a ashtray like orange pepto bismol.
"Disgusting," Murdoc admitted. "I'm walking for a cocktail down in Dublin."
"That far a walk?"
"Who's money you going to steal? Russell added. Murdoc grinned evilly and asked where noodle was.
"No," Russell and 2d echoed the kitchen.
"Where is she before o shave your five-o' clock shadow," Murdoc sputtered, slapping 2d on the head.
"I don't have- she's- wait, you can't…" 2d stuttered.
Murdoc already cracked the door open that said "Privacy, no boys allowed." He snatched her Japanese-woven wallet and punched the front door open. Merrily, hysterically, he sprinted down the street like a toddler running from an avalanche
