Fragment 2

“Shit – everything looks like it’s got glitter on it.”
“What about this?” Michael holds up a scratched CD that’s lying amidst a heap of clothes and other mess on the floor.
“No. Weird.” Says Smudge, squinting up her heavy-on-the-eyeliner eyes in this way that kinda makes Michael feel crazy. “You’d think that it would … because … you know … it’s shiny already.” Michael gets a little high listening to Smudge talk. He zones out on her voice. It sounds like there’s some kind of heavenly satellite delay. He zones in when she says:
“But look at the fucking scratches on it.” It sounds violent, Michael jerks back into the conversation from whatever blissful, tingling place his mind has been speeding at for the last … three seconds?

Smudge is still talking about the CD, she’s holding it and examining it like a little kid would a shell that they found on the beach. She holds it out and shows Michael. She’s right, the scratches on the CD look deep like any lustre that the disc might have had has been sucked into the surface damage. Michael doesn’t like looking at it – it feels like a … warning? Smudge tosses the CD back towards a pile of scrunched up bedroom debris where it gets lost, ceases to exist, resets the atmosphere of the room back to playful confusion.

“When did we take that stuff?” Michael stares at Smudges face. It looks like there are two versions of her, both vaguely transparent hovering just out of sync until they get a little more aligned and … click … yeah, just one Smudge. Cool.
“I don’t know. Not that long ago.”
“It feels like we’ve been this way forever.” Michael gets a kick out of how the drugs seem to make everything Smudge is saying sound profound; so that when she says “I can’t remember not feeling like this,” it just sounds so meaningful and deep that he feels like he could serious just fucking die happy right there on the weird, glittering carpet. Michael rolls back and lies down on the floor smiling.

*